Tap. Tap tap tappity tap.

The sound of two dancers on an empty floor, so late at night even the moon is sleeping. Or the song of a typewriter, as the blankness of the paper soars under and out, to be given life in the form of letters.

You decide.

For I sit here, unable to tell you. If it was a dream.

A dream. Did it happen? Did she look me in the eyes that night, while I sang of what I believed to be then the most important?

Magic and Music and Bright Lights at Midnight.


Each night they came. Some with masks, some without. Some with lives worth living, some without.

They came to watch the children dance.

The children of the dusk and dizzy dreams after waking, dressed in gold and in colorful rags.

Hidden gypsy princesses. And she was their Queen.

And I, faeie-dazzled, tripping on my feet, danced with her. She was distant, a Queen of Her Kingdom truly. I was weak and foolish and invincible in her eyes.

She took me to her castle tower, that night, and it is no business of yours if we laughed or danced or made love.

Magic and Love and Queen of Moonlight.


Poetry, then.

She came to me, every night. We promised, we kissed, we embraced, as lovers do. We wept, we danced, we gave our hearts to each other, as lovers do.

I had learned then that, Yes, She was the Queen, but she was not. She wanted escape. She did not want Her Kingdom and Her worshiping subjects, Her Tower where they came up to her and wanted, not her but Her, the one solely for them. She did not want.

I simply loved her. Not Her, she was a dream. A Too-Perfect Twin, Cold and Distant Queen.

A Mask. Empty, Alluring, yet Empty still.

But my love, she was a Flawed, white Dancer of Stars. Love.

Magic and Poetry and Shifting Twilight.


I should have known he would have come.

Every story worth telling has a balance: Good and Evil. Light and Darkness. Hero and Villain.

And I, the Hero? Nay, more the Fool than Hero. But he was the Villain.

Or was he? He was the one in Her power, not the other way around. The Queen of Diamonds lured him, enslaved him, muddled His mind. He did not see her, the Flawed Dancer who wanted Truth. He just Wanted.

Whether this was Her intention, I knew not then. I know not now.

We were both mortal Fools, but He wished to possess Her, I only to love, to worship her. Who was the Fool of Fools, Him or I?

You decide.

Magic and Darkness and a Cold Dæmon's Bite.


A life-Time ago she was Juliet.

Was I her Romeo? Blast me for a Fool, I was.

A Life-time before that, she was a Sleeping beauty, still dreaming, not living. I was her Prince, tearing down the suffocating Roses that kept her sleeping.

Before then, we were Stars, each made of each other, too far apart to become one.

As she sings for me, as she lies for me, as she performs the story that never happened but is still True, I see this.

The Villain was not blind. Fooled, by the Queen, but not blind.

Perhaps our ending would have been Love. Truth. Story.

But He was not blind.

Magic and Secrets and No Power to Fight.


Jealousy, Rage, Hurt.

The weapons of Spite. Of the Dæmons of the Night.

A lie is the edge of the Knife.

Cutting, Double-Edged, Damaging.

Saving. Saving with Pain.

I was blind. Fool or no, I was blind.

I was Tricked, Betrayed, Used. I risked everything, just to see.

To see if she would turn to me, to say she had not meant.

She did not.

I was blind.

Magic and Pain and Weapons of Spite.


What happens next, everyone knows.

The Fool saved, the Queen no longer needed, the Dancer set free.

The Villain defeated. Fleeing, into the night.

Love and Light, in her song.

But not forever.

Death. A change. A release. An abomination.

A parting of Lovers.

Whispered Goodbyes, Tears.



Juliet and her Romeo.

The Beauty in her Tower, held captive by Roses, waiting for her Fool of a Prince.

Two Stars, separated by Darkness, Joined in Light.

To every Story, an Ending. To every Ending, a Beginning.

You have heard mine.

It does not matter if it happened or Not.

It is True.

Magic and Hope to you, child.

Good Night.