The Dance

"Step into the darkness," he whispered
"And dance a while with me
The shadows will never hurt you
Feel how they almost caress your skin"
Some heard the sneer beneath the seductive tones
Saw what lurked under the minute cracks in the facade
They tugged at her skirts as if to stop her
But she was already dancing.

"An enchantress in motion," he breathed with proper reverence
His cool hands pulled her deeper into darkness
From the mouth of the cave,
They implored her to venture no farther. She faltered.
His voice against her ear: "See how jealous they are of you?"
"You were the only one invited to my dance"
Her feet began to move again.

She found, to her horror, the old tales were true
Her dancing feet refused to stop
They scorced the earth beneath her
Flames rose and caught her skirts
And still she whirled, trapped in his arms
His rich laughter overtook her screams

She awoke later, in tall grass, many feet from the cave entrance
Sprawled as if tossed from it by a great force
Her legs dangled into a pond
His last words came rushing back into her mind
"The boy I will come for, Enchantress...
"The girl child is your reward"
Crawling from the pond, she thought of the weirdness of dreams
Her yet unnoticed burns glowed hotly red in the sun.

No longer a Mhun who wished to see the world,
She kept to their known caves,
A strange creature, legs riddled with scars,
Only her mother went near her now, tending and crooning
The others stood back, wide-eyed in pity, murmuring about insanity
As her twin children whirled inside her
She imagined them dancing

The boy, they insisted, had been stillborn
His sister robbing him of nourishment in her womb
He died, a weak-thing, unable to take his first breath
She staggered from her sickbed to his grave
Her fingers clawed the earth like wild beasts
Until she revealed the emptiness she knew would be there
Her howling began

She is kept now in a room where she cannot harm herself, they say
Though, she knows it is her daughter they fear for
Zarina, whose throat she tried to shred with her own nails
Still howling, the mud from the empty grave dripping from her hands
Until her mother came into the room
Her surprise of oranges bouncing to the floor
Now, every time they ask her what she has done with her son's body
She cannot stop laughing.

Sometimes, she catches glimpses as she walks by a crack in her room,
Zarina, pale as the moon, with silvery eyes and innocence still clinging to her
Zarina, whom her grandmother wishes to raise into a priestess
Her daughter...her reward
And her feet will move in time to that long ago dance
And she wonders when he will beckon to her again
His enchantress in motion
Everyone still so jealous they must lock her away and call her mad

Penned by my hand on the 17th of Lupar, in the year 268 AF.