It was a habit he kept to himself. He loved to dance. Loved the sort of elegance it had. Loved the way it had to be done just perfectly. Had to be executed just right to come off like the beautiful sport it was. More than once he'd caught himself dancing alone in his room. Dancing with the air, with a pillow, with his mother even.

Sometimes the desire to dance just compelled him. He loved it. He couldn't shake the dance. His mother had always told him he would meet a beautiful woman who would be the other half of that dance. He'd always believed her to be stupid. Why did marriage depend on a dance? Sometimes she said the stupidest things.

When he was older, it was no surprise to him that Karane wasn't good at dancing. Hell, he would be surprised if anyone was as good at dancing as he was. It was more than just the steps after all. It was the clothes. The fancier apparel made it more formal. The way one's arms flowed with the rhythm. It was all important.

Not surprisingly, his dancing habit was unsatisfied by his girlfriend. He found himself dancing in circles alone sometimes when he cleaned. A twist and a step.

His mother always said someday he would meet a beautiful woman who would be the other half of his dance. It wasn't until many, many, years later, while he was sharing a brief dance with his daughter, that he discovered his mother had been right all along.