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Dance
H E D A N C E S
Every night, every day, through the dawn, through the dusk. Wastes his time in vain in that dark, dark citadel. His feet thump (like a human heart, like a human heart) on that glassy obsidian surface, pillars of salt surround his feverish body and mock him in tune to his footfalls.
H E D A N C E S
His feet hurt and pain him with each and every step. Several months ago they hurt and burned. Several days ago they cut and oozed. Pain erupted through his body in an expression of searing flames. He ignored it and ignored it and ignored it and screamed and ignored it.
H E D A N C E S
At first his mind pleaded him to stop. Pleaded, begged, hoped, prayed.
His mind was soon eaten away though, by wormless thoughts of revenge and atonement. Revenge against the king for his humiliation. Atonement for his rightful place on that throne.
H E D A N C E S
The poor fool does not know that his nonexistent Gods have turned their backs on him. All but one.
The 'god' grins at the dancer through malicious teeth of drenched blood. How many have been enraptured by his own swan song? How many have been enthralled by the sheer insanity of it?
The dancer's mind has already been swallowed by that despicable worm of revenge.
It's only until the dancer has suffered the most does the 'god' sing his demonic song. Through words of rotting flesh does he reveal that the dancer had been dancing all wrong.
H E D A N C E S
In that sub-terrain pit of the dead. Generations and generations of ancestors have been lain so graciously there to rot.
The steps are more feverish and the tempo more maddening.
He crushes femurs and ribcages and elongated skulls, hoping to please his new 'god' with his desecrations. His steps quicken, spitting on the names of his ancestors, embellishing on his preconceived notion that he is dancing well, while they are all burning in hell.
He laughs at his own joke, bounding off the walls of that damned, damned cavern.
H E D A N C E S
His steps thump (like a human heart, like a human heart) on the Sapphic blood of the princess's maid.
Damn girl had gotten in the way of his true target. Regardless, he laughed causing the whole twilight castle to vibrate in shudders, his 'god' had his sacrifice.
He laughed and danced over the corpse, prized cleavers dripping with brilliant jewels of sapphire.
H E S T O P S
The corpse reminds him so so much of his dear dear princess. He wants to toucha toucha touch her.
He is unable to, though. Torches are being lit in wake of screams and laughter.
He loses himself easily, forgetting to enshroud his footprints of sapphire.
H E D A N C E S
In hell, his footsteps are in tempo to the whips and lashes of his ancestors shame.
He dances through the tattered remnants of dusk and dawn. In sunrise he dances on a lake of fire. In nightfall, he dances in an icy cavern.
He dances, in hope that his 'god' will revive him. In vain hope that he will get his revenge and atonement.
The poor fool doesn't realize he is not dancing alone.
End
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