The Dance

Her mind rewind the memories probably for the twelfth time to the moment not so long ago where she stood upon a mountain of rocks.

It was a memorizing evening. On the arch of the cliff structure she could see the stars alight with the black darkness of the night stretching throughout the sky. The moon lay low on this starry night. Below her fire smoke arose from the flickering of war. Screams were echoing in the night. Wailing of distraught witches ripped through the clashing of the battle.

She could hardly keep her own stance as her heart leaped in for the need to join the chaos below her sight. She remembered begging him to let her go. She pleaded with him for the idea to take a chance. She promised that she would do him just; she would do anything asked of her if she could only get the chance to dance.

It was always just a dance. She arched her back. She counted the steps. She skimmed across the floor with a lightness never seen before. She perfected the twirls. Kept a hand down and one arched in the air for the pose. A lift of her chin, a flick of her wrist and lost in the twirls of her bellowed dress and trestles of curls.

The passion of the seduction to kill heaved her breast against the line of her dress and she became an exotic foe. Her laughter of madness caused blood to grow cold.

It was only a dance. An art. A craft. Yet when death becomes your partner, the delight forever rose. To see the surprise look on their faces. To watch darkness claim their souls. To see the light fade from their life orbs of sight. One was never enough.

Life is only but a dance. To follow your own musical balance. To grace your own personal path. To leap at the surprise. Laugh at the obstacles. To challenge the will. To master the art. Bellatrix loved to dance with the Dark Lord, because there was no better partner then death.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed it. Its short but it is suppose to be. I read a story that was written in this kind of manner and wanted to try it out.