Shining Brightly
The waltz is a simple dance really.
Triple time. Closed position. The best one can do is to not bump into those around you. Which, as I take Edith for a ride for the benefit of these gawkers, isn't something that's going to happen.
One two three one two three.
I hold her waist in one hand, and a candle in the other. Parlour tricks for those easily amused, and this maiden is no exception. Already I have taken her away from her dwelling. Even as her father spurns me, I can see the wheels of fate turning.
One two three one two three.
Faster and faster we dance. Even as the days groan on, as surely as time consumes my home. One more, I tell myself. We shall only need one more.
She looks at me. For the first time, actually looks at me. I have seen many gazes in this world. You can read a person by looking into their eyes. Father, in his anger. Mother, in her cruelty. Her last moments, as her eyes went dark. Lucille's dark, beautiful eyes, as-
One two three one two three.
Edith's eyes. They're so different. From Lucille's. From all of their eyes, actually. And-
One two three one two three.
And I turn away, glancing at the candle. Still secure in my hand. Even as my right trembles. And my left tightens its grasp.
What the hell am I doing?
I feel Lucille within my mind. Replace "I" with "you" and the question is the same, coming from her. I'm putting on a show. For the simpletons around me, for the strum…woman, I am dancing with. The show must be good enough to fool everyone. But not so good as to fool myself.
One two three one two three.
Triple time has become syncopated. My heart is marked by accelerando. Coda nears, yet I wish the music not to end. Melody is no longer homophonic, but polyphonic. We are both with the music. It is our music. Our song. I no longer conduct, but am conducted in turn by the moment.
One two three one two three.
The candle burns without. Something burns within. Something I have not felt in a long time. Something never felt with the others.
One two three one two three.
And the waltz ends, and just as well. The candle burns bright, and wax drips down its wick. Nearing sweaty skin.
She bows, and more come to the dance floor. To mimic my tune. The act, that has fooled myself.
Never risk your heart to a fool, lest you become one.
Who is the fool, I ask? The fool who goes along with the charade, even as Aberdale sinks deeper and deeper, becoming closer to Hell with each that perish within its walls? Or the fool who even now, looks to dance with another, lest she reveal her intentions too soon?
One two three one two three.
Something is burning.
One two three one two three.
Burning bright.