The drums pounded, the flutes played their lilting melodies, the horns their counter bravado. It is unknown how long they had played; time had little meaning anymore. All the matter was the music was playing. All that mattered was that the dance had begun. Like every performance before, once the music began, there was little else she could think upon outside of her performance.
She had practiced and performed her dance thousands of times before. Not only physically; when she sat, when she ate, when slept, she thought only of the dance. Every flitting step, every flick of her wrist, all of it had become rote. She had memorized the feeling of every landing, the pressure on her ankles and the precise timing of every turn.
It is for that reason she wept during this dance. For the first time since she started dancing, she was forced to dance with a partner.
She should have felt elated; her partner was amazing, graceful, flawless. Every move he made ran perfectly counter to hers, memorizing in its graceful but simple movements, each touch between them guiding her lightly without stopping her, and she guiding him with every movement of her hips, their feet matching at every cross step and gesture.
In reality, however, all she could feel was pain and fear. She had never met one who could dance as well as she. Her performance, her future, was in jeopardy. There was nothing else outside of the dance for her. She was certain she was not getting worse; her performance was somehow better every time. She was told many times her dance was perfected, but somehow she managed to improve upon it every time.
This time, someone had matched her dance. Someone whom she had never met before managed to dance as well as she. In fact, this must have been his first time. He must be better! There is no other explanation in her mind then: he was there to take her dance. The only way to keep dancing is to outdo him.
The musicians were growing tired; the horns ceased their bravado, blaring indiscriminately. The flutes left their lilting, playing boring melodies of low notes. Eventually, even the rhythm of the drums faded; the musicians were exhausted, and could play no more.
Man and woman ceased their performance. They stood, facing each other, open space kept in between as they both heaved their chests, catching a breath they did not know they had lost somewhere in their movements.
“You dance beautifully,” he spoke between gasps. “I never thought to find such a performance out on the field, amongst so much ugliness.”
She gestured to the corpses littered around her. “I did not bring the ugliness. You did. Should you have not brought so many bodies with you, perhaps they would not litter the ground here. Then my dance could have simply continued on its beautiful stage.”
He smiled at her. It was full of warmth. “I could never have matched your dance, if I had not seen it before.”
Finally, she smiled as well. He was not better than her; he watched much, and like her, danced in his head often before performing. “You are wise, but foolish. My dance is inevitable for all. You will join the Dance, or you will become part of the stage as well.”
He nodded, although he did not show a hint of understanding otherwise. “There is another option. The music does not end at my home. You could come dance for me.”
She looked at the man curiously. Music does not end? This seemed unlikely. “You will die. All who come to my dance will die. Do you truly wish this?”
He laughed. “Not all dances lead to death, darling. Not all music leads to dancing. Don’t you wish to listen, dove? Music can be its own end, and dancing need not be done with a blade.”
She stood, staring at the man. Her sword, dripping with blood, now laid limply at her side. A drop fell on her foot; it was warm, and she could feel it move slowly around her toe, seeking the earth and solace, freedom and rest.
The director’s words were harsh, although she did not understand them. The drums picked up once again, the flutes played quickly, the horns bayed her to return to the dance.
The sword dropped from her side. She closed her eyes. She felt the music, deeper than she ever had before, and it felt good to listen.
The man came up to her, dropping his sword as did. He took her arms, and lead in her a dance--a different dance, one she had not done before. She danced with him, her movements not counter to his but with them. She had no name for the feeling it brought to her.
There was shouting, but her eyes remained closed. The music slowly died.
“It is time to go home, my swan. Your dance is now your own; you can open your eyes.”
She took her time, enjoying the darkness and the dance for some time, even after the music had ended. The light was far brighter than she remembered.
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