Dance for Death

One, two, three...

The sound of the orchestra floated down from their platform to the ballroom floor, swirling and twisting around the hundreds of gowns and suits that revolved there. Each note made its way around the glittering plumes of the skirts, the fountains of curls of ribbons in hair, the brush of the feathers adorning the masks. Swerved over the shining buttons of brocaded waistcoats, the ruffles of the silk shirts, the leather of the tall black boots.

Step, two, three...

However, every glowing drop of sound seemed to dance around one pair, turning and swaying in the center of the ballroom, particularly the female dancer. She wore a deep, plum-colored skirt that flowed out and down, held aloft with layers of crinolines, a bodice of black silk stitched with golden roses, and long and flowing bell sleeves fell past her wrists in the precise shade of her skirt. Her gown settled low on her chest, showing her shoulders, the low neckline emphasized by wide black silk ribbon around her graceful neck. It settled around her body in such a way as to make it seem as though the cloth itself were dancing to the soft sounds of music, and merely carrying her gracefully along with it. A shining wave of thick dark hair was pulled into a French bun atop her head, with long tendrils curling about the edges of her mask as the only testimony to the length of her hair. Upon her face rested a simple black mask edged in gold embroidery, with a single soft plume of an ostrich in the center.

Step, step, dip...

Her partner was less colorful--he wore a white flowing shirt, covered in a black brocaded vest with shining golden buttons, a pair of talk black boots, black trousers, and a plain black mask with long strings. His hair was long and black, tied into a loose horsetail at the base of his neck; its only adornment a golden button on the tie, engraved with carefully crafted symbols. His nose was strong, though his mask minimized it, and his skin was pale as porcelain. Less colorful indeed, but no less magnificent.

Step, step, step...

Around them danced women and men in gowns of gold, silver, blue, green, and any other color imaginable. So it was not their garments that made them shine, to any extent. Perhaps it was the smile that adorned her face, the sort of smile that conveyed a sense of unrestrained joy and peace with oneself. Perhaps it was the way he did not dance to the music, but instead made the music dance for him. Perhaps it was anything at all. It did not matter. What was of importance was the fact that they were utterly glorious and content, her smiling and he loving her smile, even as the world crashed down upon them.

Step, step, spin...

Even as they danced, black hoods and cloaks swarmed, green light gathered, and note by note, the music died away. No one danced any longer but they, no one yet lived to dance. Her smile did not fade as green light found her, as she slowly wilted into his arms, as the light in her eyes faded to a dull ember. She did not see the tears that soaked his mask as he saw the emerald glow engulf his beloved, did not feel his noiseless sob as he danced with a dead woman. Still he turned, one hand on her waist, one in her cold palm, merely closed his eyes and breathed a soft sigh as cold green light surrounded him, making him shine for the very last time. One last sorrowful note of a flute caressed their falling forms as they finally stopped dancing.