So She Dances

The white pillared halls were silent, still as the calm mild night. The full moon lined all with glowing quicksilver, filtering through the large windows to wash everything in deep ghostly blue.

The silence was pierced by the sound of feet. Heels clicking gently on the marble floors, she walked quickly, blonde hair streaming out behind her, dark-stained wooden box in her hands. An alabaster hand touched the gilded handle, and the enormous doors opened to reveal the empty high-ceiling room. Her footfalls echoed hollowly as she danced her way over to the wall where a ceiling-to-floor curtain commanded attention. She gripped the think cord; in a lovely twirl the curtains pulled back, and the moonlight spilled forth, lighting up the once dim room with silver-blue.

A lone white table stood in the room. Placing the box on its surface, she opened it. The mystic tones of a music box streamed forth, and her eyes softened at the two figurines that it contained. One was a man, dressed primly in a black tuxedo, his hair tied back neatly. And his partner, dressed in an enrapturing black evening gown, hair done up in minute rhinestones, a girl. Her.

She fingered the boy figurine with a tender hand, and straightened. Taking her spot in full view of the moon, she pulled back the hair from her face, closed her eyes, and turned back time as she lifted her hands up to the sky.

The room came alive, a ghostly multitude of richly-dressed people waltzing through the room. The chandelier blazed with crystal-sprayed light, and the moonlight retreated. She waltzed with them, in and out of the crowd, her shadow following as gracefully as she. She danced, sprang, twirled, her heart singing out for the boy out of reach. The music moved with her; this song, she loved, this melody, that made her heart ache, that lead a tear rolling down her snowy cheek.

She was not the only one who stirred in this silent house. The strains of music had guided him here. He stood now, watching her twirl and spin alone in the moonlight. His heart whispered of the romance he once had felt, its memory silently called from the depths of time afar. He had not the courage then. He had not taken the chance. Now, as she waltzed by herself in midst of her ghostly host, he tempted himself to try once again.

But how could he know where to start? She was spinning between constellations and dreams. He could not reach her there. Yet the rhythm that she danced to fell into place, became that of his beating heart. And the song awoke his soul, granting his feet movement. He knew what to do. He couldn't keep on watching forever. So he gave up his view just to tell her . . .

He had reached her. And catching her hand, one arm around her delicate waist, he joined her in a midnight waltz. Shock was clear on her face, colour rising to turn her alabaster cheeks coral. A gentle smile. He leaned in to tuck a whisper behind her ear.

"When I close my eyes, I can see it. Can you? The spotlights are shining so brightly on you and me. We've got the floor. You're in my arms. Tell me, how could I ask for more?"

She started slightly, and looked around. It was true. Their ethreal company had paused to watch the two mortals waltz. He smiled again, and led them on a dance through the crowd. In and out, round and round, they span, twirled, dipped. His heart sang, hers flew. That timeless romance that they had once shared was stirring, leaping, soaring with them.

Slowly, slowly, the spirits in the room faded, and the chandelier dimmed. No grand orchestra lead the pair in the moonlight, who still danced in the still, silent midnight room.

Night. Nothing broke the stillness of the white-pillared halls, save for the echoing strains of a dark-stained music box, which had long since gone silent, where he and she danced, eternally in each other's arms.