The Last Dance

Elise swept around the room filling it with manufactured sighs and coy glances, though there was none left to notice her. The gown that swished around her ankles, occasionally flashing a bit of bare skin, was trimmed in jet darker than the stains in the rugs. Her face would have been slim and pretty, if not for the intense vacancy in her eyes. Her cheek and brow were as pale and blemish-free as the curve of an egg. Her head was topped with red tresses and, as she danced, they followed her like streamers.

Perspiration began to dot her head but Elise didn’t let it deter her. If anything, she doubled the intensity of her dance, as if total exhaustion was her goal. In her mind she was as focused as a laser, making sure each step, each arm movement, each breath was correct.

There was no sense in noticing all the dead men littered across the ballroom. Elise was content to dance until there were no days left. In the corner a radar beacon blinked to life and still she danced, blind to all, except the dance itself.

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