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Songs and Stories

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Song: Danse Macabre by National Philharmonic Orchestra, originally composed by Camille Saint-Saëns

Logo-Comics had Song: It’s the Fear by Within Temptation His story


 

Dip, swirl, step, turn.

 

The dance was a wonderful affair, with light festive music, and gaily dressed people everywhere. Of course the dance was beautiful and brilliant, since it was the royal ball, held in a massive and opulent room at the palace, with ivory and gold trimming every surface.

 

In the middle of the ballroom, one woman stood out from all the rest in her shimmering emerald and pink dress, spinning from partner to partner with seeming ease no matter the music being played. The demure smile, and coy amber eyes invited and enticed, while the ebony mask trimmed in carmine warned others to not get too close. The pale pallor of her skin would have been the height of fashion at one time, but any that held her hand found it to bring about an unnatural chill to their body.

 

Dip, swirl, step, turn.

 

One watching her long enough would see that she had a dance within a dance occurring, bringing her to each suitor in turn and never staying for long. Then the suitors she had left would fade into the background like smoke, leaving her the sole focus within a stage of opulence and wealth. Her dress would flare out with every spin, and her arms would flow gracefully with the rest of her body.

 

As the night wore on, the lady continued dancing, never tiring, never pausing in her dance. Her skin continued to hold the shimmering white of snow, and her eyes always begged for the next person to come and join her on the floor. No longer was it just men that danced with her, as daring young ladies came forth to join her in the dance, their dresses pale and ratty by comparison.

 

Dip, swirl, step, turn.

 

Swirling around and around in the center of the circle, her emerald dress flared out and revealed her dance shoes, long worn by hours upon hours of dancing, formerly some hue of white perhaps, now a deep crimson that trailed behind her in streaks and splotches as she continued dancing. Her lips a frozen, alluring smile, while her eyes continued seeking someone to dance with, and never lacking in a new partner to find and draw in. Even as trails of water rolled out from under her domino mask.

 

The crimson stained the once polished wood of the floor as she continued dancing in the center, the other revelers caring not for her suffering as she continued dancing. Dipping back in the arms of a partner, before swirling to the arms of another, who would catch her and move her into the next step of the pattern, turning her twice before repeating the dip once more.

 

Dip. Swirl. Step. Turn.

 

The hall was filled with the music that drowned out her weak cries to stop, the pleas falling on deaf ears that laughed in return. She had wanted to be the belle of the ball, the crowning jewel to put even the royals to shame, and so she remained.

 

Some force continued her body to move, to dance for what felt like eternities while she struggled to find some release. Her feet ruined and broken from sheer overuse. Had it been days? Weeks? Months?

 

How long had she been captured in this dance?

 

Would she ever find an end?

 

Dip.

 

What magic held her spellbound to the floor?

 

Swirl.

 

What demonic runes did her feet craft as they were forced through step after step of this endless waltz?

 

Step.

 

Darkness continued to creep on the edges of her vision, and yet she did not falter.

 

Turn.

 

Her pleas took a turn now, no longer seeking assistance, but release. That one of her partners would hold her long enough to change the pattern. That one of the onlookers would see her pain and grant her mercy. That the spell caster would stop enthralling her and allow her to collapse.

 

Dip, Swirl, Step, Turn.

 

The dance had been a wonderful affair, with gaily dress dancers and festive music. Everything she had ever dreamed of growing up.

 

But as the darkness in her vision grew and grew, she had come to realize that not all dreams were nice.

 

The dark, humorless laughter of her final partner reminded her as crimson skin nearly burned her to the core, sometimes dreams turn into nightmares.

 

And still the dance goes on.

 

Dip, Swirl, Step, Turn.