draliman on life

Here is my contribution to Laura’s Literary Lion prompt. I had one for last week (“water”) but it was complete pants quite frankly, and I didn’t have time to make it less pants :-).

This week’s prompt word, kindly supplied by the Literary Lion, is “dance”.

The picture I have used was taken from The Guardian, but the same picture was on multiple websites so it’s likely a publicity shot (from “Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell”) and owned by the BBC.

Mirabelle whirled amongst the dancers, her feet a blur. Her head swam and her heart pounded as she swirled around and around the Hall.

The Lord had wooed her, told her she was pretty and invited her to the Hall. For a poor peasant girl, this was a dream come true!

No longer.

The Lord of the Dance watched the mass of unwilling dancers with an appraising eye. As one flagged, he moved in and touched their shoulder. A moment of agonising pain and then, magically revitalised, they would dance renewed. But each time, the renewal faded more quickly. Mirabelle had witnessed the end of the cycle – a girl spasming, helpless on the floor, froth pouring from her mouth. The Lord, uncaring, stepping over to snap her neck.

This would be Mirabelle’s fate – already she had danced… two weeks? Three? How was she to keep time in this nightmare? As she whirled, she longed for death, an end to this travesty of joyful dance. She no longer cared, just wanted this to end.

Garett, concealed on the balcony above, watched the dance, horror reflected in his eyes. He’d long suspected that the Lord of the Dance was of the Elder Folk. He’d known The Lord was cruel, but this?

It was too late for his beloved. He’d watched the Lord snap his darling Jenna’s neck when he had no more use for her.

She would be the last, he determined. Holding the Medallion of Akros in one hand and raising the other above his head, he drew a deep breath, ran over the spell one last time, and began to chant.