Chapter Twenty: Dance

Author's Note: Technically, no one requested this word, but I was inspired and just had to write it. Btw, I'm running low on words to use, so please request some.

They enter the floor gracefully, heads held high with the confidence that only those with experience possess. He bows, she curtseys, the same twisted smirk mirrored on both their faces. The mock manners they show are a cruel joke only they are privileged to know. Rising from their forms of pretend reverence, they begin.

She winds herself around him, her scent invading his being. The rich scent of red wine is intoxicating, and her exotic perfume entices him unlike anything else he has ever experienced. Her movements are graceful and controlled; she is a master of this dance, and her pride of this fact is obvious as she flaunts her skill. Possessively, her hands rest on him, her fingertips fluttering against him coyly.

His grip on her is gentle, but firm, subtly reminding her that escape from him would not be as easy as she makes it out to be. Despite her mastery of this dance, he is the one in control, leading her around the floor with steps and movements that are not part of any dance. His expression is as arrogant as her own, his newly created steps somehow managing to be breathtaking and dangerous all at once. With all the grace and charm of a deadly animal, he pulls her close, then lowers her into a dip so fast it leaves her breathless.

Her hands tug at his neck, pulling him lower than he had ever intended to go. He is pinned by the piercing gaze of her crimson orbs, hypnotized by the way they flutter tauntingly. Her full lips are an invitation, calling to his own with an unspoken siren's song. She has broken through all his defenses, and dragged him far away from his well-planned world of plotted schemes and predicted outcomes, and thrown him into her land of mystery and shadows. Alone with her, he is helpless against her allure. His lips brush against hers teasingly, and she opens her mouth to receive him, but he is gone, and she is on her feet and in his arms once more, and the dance has begun anew.

The way he is able to evade her charms both entrances and confuses her. His endless games are maddening, but they call to her in a way she cannot ignore, and she finds herself letting him lead without putting up any resistance. The speed he moves at is swiftly increasing, his movements bordering on frantic and erratic, and yet, his expression remains the same, a triumphant grin plastered across his face with a dazzling brilliance. It is fake though, and transparent only to her. She can see through it to the pounding heart it tries to hide, and to the other signs that so clearly display that his frantic steps are not part of some facade designed to impress.

She frightens him. Around her, he is not in control of himself, and he is almost unable to keep himself from responding to her advances in the way he longs to. His pace increases, and his frantic movements are a ploy to free him from her grip and to leave her alone on this floor while he dances off into the night. But it's no use; she matches his steps perfectly, her knowing smirk clearly showing that his mask has once again fallen to her.

The silk of her dress brushes against him as they move, as light and haunting as the strands of a spiders web. For, she was a spider and he was a bit of prey, slowly losing a futile battle with a beast who already had her teeth in him. For, as a spider drains the life from its victims, she too drained him. With every haughty expression, with every teasing brush of her fingers, and with every one of his steps she matched, he found himself losing a bit more of him to her crimson abyss. He was drowning in her scarlet gaze, stuck in that vicious sea, and, the worst part was, he liked it.

He had trapped her. She was stuck within this set of sporadic movements he had placed them in. Simply stopping and refusing to carry on was not an option. He had already taken so much from her, she would not let him have the joy of seeing her falter and fail too. Her control had already long ago vanished into his grasp, as had her pride of standing alone. Strength seemed to abandon her in his presence, as she felt herself go weak at the sight of his devious grin, and her common sense must have fled as well, for, though she could accuse him of thievery for taking all this from her, she knew that was not the case. She had freely handed him these pieces of herself. What truly terrified her was that she had no intention of stopping.

They continued on with their dance, gliding across the floor with newly-invented steps. No music accompanied them, they had no need of it. Only they were privileged enough to partake in this. This ever-changing performance was theirs alone, performed in silence but orchestrated by thousands of unsaid words. There was no end in sight to their sweeping movements, but, after all, they had danced this dance for a thousand years, who's to say they could not dance it for a thousand more?