The Dancer

The night air was hot and sultry. Dark, and promising. Her reflection in the mirror was shaded, threatening. Dark lips whispered secrets to the empty room as she prepared.

Her hair was wet from the shower. It fell about her shoulders, twisting into heavy curls. She let it lie where it fell, adorned only with light blossoms. Their heady scent perfumed the night around her.

Naked, she wandered the silent apartment. Her hips twisted and fell, awaiting the beat to come. She found a dress, deepest red, and pulled it on over her curls. Her dancing shoes lay discarded on the balcony. She pulled them on, pulled straps tight, and felt her feet welcome them. A lost love.

The street below was empty and silent. She walked alone, her feet dancing over the cobbles. Empty balconies witnessed her survey her reflections in abandoned cars. The reflections stared back, and she moved on, content.

Below, a heavy beat dominated the town. In the square, the scent of life mixed with her perfume. She walked through the silent crowd, feeling them make way for her.

Before her, a man stood. Silent, and imperious. The music waited to embrace her, waited to take control.

She stepped forwards. And began to dance.