Earth Dance

by Averill-of-Loup

A dark retelling of Twelve Dancing Princesses. The world is a story, let the earth tell it...

The earth is a dance. A story that circles on and on; the snake with its tail in its mouth. The dance never stops as the story weaves on and on in the same pattern. Fairy tale strands woven in history decide the steps, the steps of spangled silk slippers on a polished ballroom floor, the steps of worn leather sandals over gnarled roots and wet leaves, and the steps of heavy boots on a cold stone tomb. The steps lead a dance, the dance tells the story and is woven back into the circle of life.

This is a tale of sisters who chanced upon a dance as ancient as the ruins that surround it. The dance began as a treat, a gift for a maiden too impatient to wait.

Dark rain blurred the lands beyond the forest; Elise heard it pounding on the black soil. Her own shoes were covered in earth, mud caked the thread sewn in the leather straps. She shivered at the thought of one of her sisters' waking up and finding her empty bed, if it was poor tender Alice who slept so lightly and discovered Elise's absence… Elise could see a river of salt flowing from her wide blue eyes.

It wouldn't be Elise's birthday for another week but she could not wait to go to the ruins, despite the surprise her sisters had wanted it to be. So Elise had woken and dressed beneath her sheets, slipped on her cloak and tiptoed through the passages of the castle. It had not been easy and she'd had a hard time being silent but not even Alice stirred when she stepped into the shadows behind the wall.

Now she carried on, barely able to contain both her excitement and her fear. Her dress was splattered and her lantern flickered weakly but ahead she could see the silver trees that bordered the ruins. As she approached, a chill gripped her. Something wasn't right, her footsteps faltered and she paused in the darkness. The ruins were different now; a ghostly light came from them, brightening her path and the trees. It wasn't the light that frightened her so; it was the music. It was high and haunting and made pitch-black flowers bloom behind her eyelids. The closer Elise came to the light the more aware she became of shadows dancing to the music. They were shaped like men but longer than ordinary shadows and thinner, and the air of nightmares clung to them.

Elise was hesitant. For the first time she considered she was wrong. This was meant to be a birthday present; that she and her sisters travel to the ruins together. As she built up this excuse she knew it was not her reason for stopping. The shadows were too dark and Elise did not want to meet whatever creatures cast them.

Here is where the dance pushed her onward, as many before her had done. Here is where the steps of sandals on the earth change to slipped in a ballroom. The music was like a siren call. There was no beat but it pulsed in her veins, heating her blood, creeping fire up her wrists and throat. Entranced, her heart beating in her ears, breath escaping in shallow gasps, Elise continued onward until she was close enough that the golden light burned in her amber eyes. The trees that had been silver were now vibrant and gold, casting wavering and dappled shadows over the weather beaten stones of the ruins.

With a courage Elise felt did not belong to her she placed her hands around the crumbling wall. Not breathing, every muscle tensed, her feet planted and legs stiff so as not to rustle silk on the earthen ground, she peered around the wall. The snake bit its tail.

Weslie was orphaned young, as a boy on the cusp of being a young man. His father was still at court, a man of not much importance, lucky enough to be kept at court after the king's wife had passed away and the king had sent many of the servants away. He was the head gardener and after even more servants were dismissed, he was the only gardener. The queen had loved the gardens; it was common knowledge. The king had never been interested in the gardens except as a kindness to his wife. Now he had only kept on the gardener because of his advancing age.

His father's death was not influential to the king in any way and he had only kept on Weslie because he was barely aware of the boy's existence and more often than not forgot there was a gardener's son lurking about, taking over his father's work to the best of his meager abilities. The gardens were large, there had not been enough servants tending to it for years. For one person alone it was too much work. Parts of the garden were overrun or rundown. Flyblown bushes lined the walls and gates. The only truly thriving places were the gardens just outside the princesses' bedroom.

The princesses had not been friends of Weslie's, they knew their place and he knew his but they had spared a kind word for him and he had for them. Since he took over for his father he took care than they had fresh bouquets in their bedrooms and took turns with what flowers he presented, knowing each princess had a favourite. A week of honeysuckle's for Brynn, another of irises for Gwynn and a week of white roses for Alice. Elise's flowers were his favourite to gather, a bundle of apple blossom branches that, in a crystal vase before the window, seemed to emit their own golden white light.

Elise had been almost a friend to him. She had more laughs to spare than her sisters and occasionally he caught her, barefoot among the gardens, playing with his shears. It was when he was far past the cusp of young man that he realized he loved her. Despite their stations he harbored the secret hope that she may, one day, love him back. Elise had no idea herself. Weslie was a kind boy but love never occupied space in her mind. She was far more interested in his art than in him. It was this art that spurred his boldness in the Autumn.

His art took many forms in the gardens. More often than not a kitchen servant would come to the gardens, seeking rosemary or chive and find his sketches amid the sage. The pictures were not hidden; Weslie did not try. He knew his art attracted Elise and it was this knowledge that inspired his mural.

Weslie ignored the garden and took to his brushes and the spare tiles in the palace storage. The mosaic was built on the wall opposite the princesses' room. Day and night the mosaic was worked on, jewels and turquoise and water coloured glass in swirls like stars, surrounded by blossoms of pearls and shells of soft blush pink and ice blue. In the centre of the blue green cosmos against the ivory stone was a grand painting of vines and emerald leaves and fiery orange blooms over a midnight ocean clustered with sapphire coral in its depths. Sitting upon the vines were two iridescent peacocks with golden plumes over their heads and golden feather tips. Their narrowed eyes were the most striking feature of the mosaic and when it was finished the peacock stared out of odd glass beads filled with shimmering swirls.

It was a masterpiece, he was proud of it. The cost had been great, all his pay saved since taking his fathers place, and two weeks of gardening lost. Many flowers had died and the princesses' had not had their flowers since he began. He regretted not giving Bronwyn her hollyhocks or Rowena her brown-eyed susans.

"Elise will be the first to see it," he told himself and waited anxiously to see her for he hadn't these past two weeks. Or the rest of her sisters.

The parade of rustling silks on cobblestones and quietly clicking gems on slippers preceded their arrival through the gardens. Weslie stood beside his mosaic, smiling modestly. Their reaction was not one he expected.

Before seeing them he felt their difference. It was mid summer but the gardens cooled. No wind blew but the chill invaded his skin, pricking it like needles. They moved in a pack, wolves smoothly covering land and spreading out in their territory. They had never spent much time outside but they had never been this pale. White as ash with hollow sunken cheeks and impassive expressions. They moved gracefully and synchronized, everything from their footsteps to the curling of their fingers.

Elise's hair still shone bright mahogany, a cloud of curls radiating from her head but her cheeks had lost their glow and her eyes were dismal silver like snow swirling in a storm.

Only the youngest, Alice was the same, long curling blonde hair, a fair complexion with rosy cheeks, but her blue eyes were rimmed with red, as though she was crying. Weslie could not guess why she was crying, he was busy with his own sorrow, for as the princesses passed his mosaic they barely spared a glance at him or his art and his heart crumbled, his hopes cracked. As he broke he looked at Alice who seemed to share sadness as well and stayed behind her sisters. Their eyes locked and he called out to her with his heart but she could not help him. She nodded and walked on.

Alice had woken from the strangest dream. She had been hiding, watching a chase. Her sisters were in front and a beast behind them. It was a monstrous dog, black as crows, with three thick heads and spectral eyes. Her sisters ran by and she counted each one, up to eleven, some shrieking with terror and some as though they were being chased by a pack of suitors. The further they ran the more screamed with glee instead of terror. Finally they were barely running, jogging and waiting for the dog. The dog stopped and did not keep its attention on the princesses. It turned its head slowly to Alice. In the silence she heard her own breathing and became painfully aware of her thin neck, open prey for the hound. His eyes burned and the stench of his hunger filled the air, making Alice grow heady as he approached her, her sisters standing away, jealous of the dog's attention for Alice. They called to him as he approached, beginning with steady steps and breaking into a gallop toward Alice. His black eyes filled her world, his claws were almost upon her skin.

She woke to a light dappled with falling shadows falling across her bed. All around her, her sisters slept quietly. A snow fell outside, cold and grey and a draft made Alice shiver.

It wasn't the cold that had woken her though. Elise was closing the door behind her and heading to her bed. Alice knew something was changed; the earth had shifted on its axis, the scales thrown off balance. Elise was changed. Her skin was pale and she moved in a stiff and strangely regal way, as opposed to her usual casual walk. Her dress was torn but perfectly clean, the jewels polished like cold glass and she her most beautiful pair of spangled silk slippers.

As Elise pulled back her covers she turned her head to where Alice was lying silently, holding her breath. Her eyes stared into Alice's and Alice felt the wind knocked out of her. Elise's eyes, the amber of her father's, were gone. In their place were two eyes with irises of misty silver. The eyes looked through Alice, not stopping to meet them; they stared beyond her as though Alice were the ghost, not Elise.

Elise then lay down in bed and shut her eyes. Her chest did not rise and fall with steady breathing, but Alice knew she was not dead.

Filled with ice, skin prickling, Alice turned over and pulled the blankets up over herself. Tears ran down her cheeks, soaking her pillow and falling in her lips so she tasted their salt. A stranger was sleeping in their room, in her sister's bed. The stranger did not see her.

The sister's all left at night, for Elise's birthday. All except for Alice, who lied and lay in bed, soaking her forehead with hot cloths to appear feverish. She did not like to lie, it filled her throat with a bitter black feeling, but she would not follow where Elise had been. She begged her sisters to stay but at midnight they departed, slipping through the door, creeping around the gardens and out into the forest where Elise led them to the ruins.

Now there was not a night when the sisters did not go dancing. Alice stayed behind each night, lying awake and waiting for the strangers to reappear, silent and pale; they climbed into bed and slept breathlessly. It took hours to fall asleep, listening to her only her breath when until weeks ago eleven others had breathed with her.

Alice watched them during the day. They were impassive, chilly. Where they had once delighted in music, not even the liveliest waltzes or sweetest sonatas compared to the music of the forest. Dance was a boring chore to Jennica and Grace, once wonderful dancers. The sisters instead seemed to waste away during the day, prowling the castle and grounds until night came. The servants who had always respected and, in some cases, loved the girls now avoided them; disliking their corpse-like appearances.

What frightened Alice the most was their father's reaction, or rather, his lack there of. It was as if he did not notice the girl's change of behavior at all and when they approached him in a group, it was Alice her looked at, puzzled, as though she perplexed him. The girls wore away their slippers and without a sound their father bought them new ones.

Gossip began in the town too. Nobody from the royal family traveled much outside the palace but there was talk from the servants. Scandal spread. The girls were isolated, getting older and none were married. Some spoke of secret husbands the girls kept from their fathers. Others spoke more of the girls dance slippers which the servants brought into town to sell for their precious stones. How did they wear so many out?

Weslie was not ignorant to these rumours and her admitted, he did wonder what was wrong with the girls. Especially Elise. It is strange, Weslie thought. For Elise, though never kind was not cruel until her sisters came about. As though she had more power over her strange transformation than them. Occasionally on her was past the garden she would stop and glance at him, her silver eyes darting back and forth between his face and the flowers in bloom. When their eyes did meet her face looked changed. Some of the ice in her melted, but none of her colour came back and she did not look on with welcome or friendliness. She would not smile. Then her sisters, marching down the steps in a parade of bustling skirts, jeweled bodices and shining hair and her she was guarded once more. Before her sisters passed, Elise walked swiftly away from Weslie.

Each time she turned form him his insides coiled, twisted with concern. Concern for her and concern that all that had happened was that she no longer cared for him at all. If she ever had.

The earth shifted again, the music of the dance became livelier and the snake's scales flashed as it chased its tail.

The time had come for the sisters to be married. Many of them were of marriageable age, the eldest well past and almost considered a spinster by townsfolk.

Alice was summoned, from the library, which her sister's never entered and was still warm and familiar, to her father's presence chamber. She arrived, beguiled and scared. Lately his presence unnerved her, the way he treated her sisters as though they were the same, and Alice as though she needed to change.

As she entered, her hair brushed and dress shaken out by the maids that had rushed to prepare her, he smiled and motioned for her to take a seat before him. She joined her sisters who sat in a line. Chancellors surrounded him, some looking very satisfied, and others glum or glowering.

"Your majesty," she greeted him formally, curtseying before she took her seat.

"Daughter. I must apologize. I have been remiss in my duties as your father, and as a king," his jewel covered fingers moved spider-like on the arms of his chair.

Alice kept her eyes lowered, holding back her suspicious expression. "What do you mean?" she asked cautiously.

"You must marry."

Alice choked.

"Not just you," he continued. "However, suitors are hard to come by." He paused and eyed his daughters. "Though not for all." He cleared his throat and continued, smiling. "A husband must be wise, must know his wife, as I knew your mother. Your hand will be the reward for his knowledge, whichever hand he chooses. So long as that hand is empty. Understood?"

The rumour was spread within the day. It began with the servants and their family and friends, then those who prided themselves on knowing everything boasted to even their enemies and before the sun had set it was common knowledge in the town that the king was rewarding a daughter's hand to whoever could solve the mystery of the sisters' dance slippers.

Here is where the dance gets dizzying. All those without partners create their own circle and wind around the others, creating a web. Those who fall within the web get caught in the new and difficult steps then whisked away to the outside.

Village men laughed of the offer. Young idealistic boys lit their lamps at night and polished their boots and washed their hair in baths at dawn, for fear of ridicule but hope that they might win a princess's hand. Passerby's from other towns laughed at the king, desperate enough to marry his daughters off to commoners.

Weslie was among those who knew of the offer. In a single night his plan formed perfectly. Elise's hand would be his and they would break the barrier that had grown between them. The obstacle, the mystery of the slippers, was like a prick on his finger, the constant reappearing flaw, ensuring his failure. He was as close to the girls as any of their servants, save the maids, and had no idea how they wore out their slippers.

This was the boldness that had been spurred. The implementer, his helper came in a form he did not expect. It was a woman, a shadow that stalked him through the night, appearing just before dawn, when his eyes opened, still sleepy and half-conscious, reality a step away.

She moved like the princesses, gliding over even the most uneven ground. Her dress was dazzling, a myriad of precious stones, embroidery metals and fine brocades, if a little old fashioned. Her hair stood out from her face, shining spun gold, and her eyes were large and blue and ringed with dark lashes that spread away from her nose, creating the illusion of a cat. Her high cheekbones were not the only reason her face looked so gaunt. The skin was stretched over each feature, like elastic. Still, the woman was beautiful and, if not for the paleness and hard features, she resembled the late Queen.

She came to Weslie as he slept outside, the night too hot for anywhere else, and his brain too muddled to be clearly wondering why she stood there or how she made it past the castle's wall. In the dim glow of the sun rising in the forest her gown shone rosy gold, tendrils of light drifted off of her and faded in the air and everything on her that could twinkle flashed in his eyes. She glided to him.

"Weslie, why do you lie here on this empty ground when the ground you seek is being danced upon?"

Weslie stared dumbly at her, suppressing a yawn.

"Elise is in need of a husband. Will you be that man?" the woman asked.

At the mention of Elise's name Weslie came to slightly. "I, the slippers, I don't-"

"That does not matter. Follow her, and her sisters. You will see why."

Weslie was now almost fully awake, propped up on his elbows. "They'll see me. I'm more likely to be quartered than married if that happens," he added bitterly. He had been contemplating this problem for hours; it wasn't as simple as the woman said.

She smiled, an almost conceited smile that seemed to Weslie to say that she knew something her did not. "Hardly a problem," she said and produced a long piece of black fabric that she opened to show a cloak, rippling like liquid shadows, the purest thing of darkness Weslie had ever seen. Under the moonlight he would look like any other shadow cast by a wall or tree. If he could move silently, he would be unseen and unheard and could follow perfectly the princesses.

There was a moment's hesitation in which Weslie wondered if it was right to trick Elise and then expose her secret to her father. If she married him though, she would forgive him. Weslie reached out and took the cloak, which was very heavy and made of smoky cloth, soft like velvet.

The woman smiled. "Join us. There are not many that do. And if you choose, one day, you may return and take my husband's place." She began walking away and in seconds was lost among the hedges and flyblown rose bushes. Weslie was too preoccupied with the cloak, with the sudden making of himself presentable to realize what the woman had said.

Weslie approached the king's presence chamber that day. He had patted his hair down with the water from the fountain and was carrying the cloak in a satchel at his waist. He informed a chancellor and waited impatiently to be let in. Inside the king was sitting before two of his advisors, thin men Weslie had never trusted. Alice sat in a chair near the window, working silently on a letter, pausing frequently to stare into space. It seemed like ages before the king ended his discussion with the advisors and turned his face to Weslie's expectantly.

"Your highness, I request a chance to win Elise's hand."

Alice's head shot up, her eyes widened in shock and fear, her mouth parted slightly and frame rigid.

The king's mouth curled into what Weslie hoped was a smile. In a tone from which he was clearly not attempting to conceal his amusement he responded "You believe you know why I am constantly providing more slippers for my girls? Who are you?"

Weslie was flustered. This was not how he imagined this situation going. "I am the son of the late head gardener, William. I've been close to your daughters as a loyal servant. I will give you the reason soon, name a day, sire."

The king's grin widened and he seemed to Weslie like a cat smiling at its prey. "I was unaware the head gardener had a son. I suppose the gardens have been in better shape than I have seen them. Loyal? We shall see. You have three days, and access to every room, day and night," here his smile widened. "Including my daughter's room. "

Alice blanched, then her cheeks reddened. She stood up swiftly and walked out of the room, head low, her letter left on the table, nothing written beyond the name.

Weslie was led to his apartments, which were, to his great surprise, the late Queen's apartments. The drapes and carpets had not been changed, nor the bedding it seemed, though it had been washed. The bed was in a room to the right, the toilette and dressing room beyond that. A study was to the left of the main room and held many ancient papers and a bottle of ink made of crystal and chased with gold. The main room had two day beds and a couch, each with a different fabric that felt different on his skin, but heavenly all the same. Embroidered cushions, though dusty, shone in the dim lamplight, lighting up the room, save for the emptiness around the unlit fireplace.

It was the grandest place Weslie had been in, save for the king's presence chamber and the main hall. He thought it strange that some of the queen's belongings had been taken away whilst others remained. A maid fluffed the pillows of the bed and indicated the bell for assistance, making it very clear she hoped he wouldn't need any, being only a guest and a servant like herself.

Weslie wandered the apartments, waiting for nightfall, impatiently twitching his fingers over the fabric of the black cloak. He paced before the fireplace which he had lit, wanting to keep the room bright and hoping the roaring fire would keep others believing he was awake while he followed the girls. A painting of the late Queen hung above the fireplace, an exact match of her before she had fallen ill, as Weslie had known her when he was young. Something about the picture bothered him, the nagging feeling he was looking at it without really seeing.

The sun finally set and Weslie watched the Queen's clock tick closer to midnight. The King had long gone to bed but the servants were up still, trotting about the corridors with laundry and late night cleaning. Weslie stood outside his door, the black cloak inside, waiting for the maid to leave the princesses' room. When the maid emerged Weslie went inside, tucked the cloak within his shirt, Weslie made his way to the bedroom. His heart pounded as he knocked on the door. There was no answer. They hadn't left already, had they? But when he opened the door and peered inside the sisters sat on their beds expectantly, each one turning their head when he entered.

Weslie nodded his heads to all, pausing when he came to Elise, staring into her strange silver eyes with burning affection, but nothing stared back. Only Alice showed any real emotion, a longing and pity, and fear? Confused, but shaking off the youngest girl's expression, Weslie took a seat at one end of the room, in a comfortable chair in the shadows.

The princesses lay back in their beds, their heads hitting the pillows and falling to the sides, their bodies unmoving and perfectly straight beneath the sheets. Only Alice rolled over, pulling the sheets fully over her head, her shoulders shaking in what must be sobbing. Weslie did not notice. He waited until their breathing had become shallow and even, then he pulled out the cloak and draped it over himself, disappearing into the shadows, becoming part of their liquid blackness.

The princesses woke up just past midnights. Weslie had almost fallen asleep as well, but the creaking of ancient bedsprings brought him from his half-conscious state. All but Alice began adorning themselves in beautiful gowns, their most expensive ones, Weslie guessed, seeing the number of seed pearls and precious stones. They curled their hair and put on their dancing slippers. Elise wore a gown of velvet, the deep colour of wine, and her slippers sewn with pink rosettes. Alice was sitting up in bed, in the moonlight she looked even paler, her hair shone silvery gold and her ices were icy and ringed with red. She watched her sisters wearily, as though she had been for ages. Her eyes skimmed over each one and she seemed about to lie down again when her eyes skimmed over Weslie. Each sister before her hadn't noticed him at all, he was perfectly hidden in the shadows, but Alice's eyes widened, then narrowed, as if she had to squint to see him, and did not trust what she saw.

The sisters were all done and paraded to a door in the wall facing the gardens and the mosaic Weslie had spent days on. The door hadn't been there before and after watching it Weslie knew why. It was carving itself into the stone of the wall, beginning as thin grey sketches that solidified and raised into deep sleek brown wood, swirling with patterns of woodland beasts, creatures of the night at first, then darker things. Skulls grew into the door, bodies with faces twisted in pain, girls that danced and pools or redder wood that grew into blossoms. When the door was solid a cold draft blew in from outside. As the eldest sister pulled the bronze handle Alice cried out, "Sisters, wait!" Eleven pairs of winter grey eyes turned to Alice, cold and silent.

"Wait for me, I'll come," the words seemed choked out of her. The eleven sisters smiled as one and Alice, trembling and almost in tears, forced herself out of bed. She crossed to her wardrobe and changed quickly into a long blue silk gown studded with sapphires on the bodice. She tied her hair up simply and went to join her sisters. Arianwynn embraced her, then stepped back and stroked her hair.

"Of course, dear sister. We knew you would love to." Each sister gave Alice a smile, a smile that stopped at the mouth and seemed to conceal malice, mocking or some sadistic glee. The line of pearly teethed smiles was horrible and Weslie was glad when Alice joined the end of the line and each sister turned their head forward. As they crossed the threshold Alice tilted her head to the side, gazing out of her peripherals. Weslie followed them, swiftly crossing the tiled floor before the door slapped shut. He misjudged the height of their floor; it was at least two feet above the ground, and stumbled forward. He managed to stop himself with one foot, balancing all his weight on it, but he landed on Alice's gown, tugging on the fabric as she stepped closer.

Alice stopped and spun around, eyes searching the space where Weslie stood but seemingly finding nothing there. As she walked backward slowly she bumped into Elise. Elise spun around, followed by two more of their sisters.

"What?" Elise hissed, her voice low and menacing.

"Something stepped on my gown," Alice murmured. "I felt it."

"One day you'll learn not to be so weak. Hurry up." Elise began to follow the group and after a few moments, so did Alice.

Alice's dance had begun with lively steps in a circle, then those steps had been hesitantly thrust out of the circle. Now she was tripping over her own feet. She had been touched by the snake's acid, felt it's venom, but it had not been herself that was bitten. Instead she was blinded; she wandered in a fog, unable to see her fellow dancers. Poor Alice, her feet had only ever touched the palace floors, now they tread cautiously over roots and padded on a polished ballroom. She had to force herself not to step back.

The sisters wove around the gardens, taking routes that Weslie hadn't cut back in months. At each turn Alice glanced behind her, looking directly into Weslie's face, without seeing him. Finally they reached the edge of the gardens where the stone wall crumbled only slightly. There was a crack in the rock where the princesses slipped their feet through. The crack looked tiny but Weslie realized it must be wider, or was being pushed by their bodies as they squeezed through, a part of the wall that had been broken and moved several times. Alice shifted through as smoothly as her sisters, she had been through the crack before, Weslie thought. Then why was she so uneasy?

Beyond the wall were two paths, the worn road to the village and a trail that led into the woods and was lost before the traveler was far in enough not to see the palace. The forest was black and silver in the night, the trees black shapes, shadows that rustled like Weslie, their leaves edged with silver in the moonlight. Weslie waited for the princesses to move forward, then he reached up to a tree and plucked off a bough. As he brought it down he realized the silver leaves were not an illusion of the light, they had a real metallic sheen about them and were as cool and smooth as real silver. Dazzled, he wrapped it in his cloak, close to his chest, and then hurried to catch up.

Weslie could not see the sisters. He had only been separated from them for a minute. Desperately he ran, stumbling over snake-like roots. The path twisted sharply, winding around trunks so thick they formed a wall in his vision. Weslie turned and almost collided with Alice. She walked at the end of the procession of princesses and he once more trod on her gown. Alice spun around though this time she did not hold up her sisters or mention it.

The forest continued, getting darker and deeper. Weslie followed slowly, wondering where they would go, if they were going anywhere at all. When Weslie considered turning around, returning to a bed and trying the next night after a day of napping, he heard a sound. The faintest hints of music. As they got closer, Alice's shoulders shook. The music was louder and Weslie's mind was lost in the fae sound. In the distance a golden light grew. From a pinprick it began illuminating trees, gold light cascading across the earthen floor. Now the leaves of the trees were rimmed with gold and again Weslie reached for a bough.

The dance across the forest floor was almost over, the snake close to swallowing itself. Each dancer, old and new, now nearing the ballroom.

The princesses were getting excited; Alice could see their dark delight as they neared. Their pace quickened, they wore frozen smiles and wide eyes. Alice wanted to stay back, to run away, but she followed her sisters. She had never been this close to the ruins, had never wanted to. She didn't know what happened, but her sisters were strangers to her since the first night they'd spent there. Now she would know why. She only hoped the same did not happen to her.

Figures danced across the ballroom, many grand couples with pale skin and sunken eyes. Some men were without partners and the princesses went to them quickly. One was even waiting for Alice. Some men had two princesses and Weslie realized they must be short on partners. The ruins were decrepit stone walls on the outside, on the inside was a sparkling golden ballroom, a throne to one side, wreathed with flowers. This was the illusion Weslie saw.

The partners to the girls moved swiftly and as one of them brushed past Weslie, he felt the man's skin was ice cold. They were all dressed in black, with embellishes livery and coats. Next to the girl's colourful gowns they looked like death, like the dying…

Alice danced gracefully, but never once did her lips stretch into a smile like the one that adorned her sisters' faces.

A table was at one end of the hall; bright dishes littered it, venison and colourful fruits. Smoky glasses filled with deep red wine stood at one end of the table and every now and then a sister would lift a glass to her lips, sip, and whirl off into the dance again. The food remained untouched by everyone. Alice touched nothing.

Weslie watched the dancers, particularly the once with Elise. She spun on her toes, her chestnut hair blowing around her face like a cape, her skirts bouncing. Jealousy, like a red poker, seemed to choke him. Wine seemed a good idea. Weslie strode to the table, never taking his eyes off Elise, and reached for a goblet.

Alice was swifter, she arrived at the table a knocked a glass over, the wine pooling around Weslie's feet. "What awful stuff," she said to herself and Weslie realized she did not see him right beside her. "Why trade life for this?" She shook her head and waited by the wall, watching the dancers. Her eyes moved around the rest of the room, as though she were looked at something deeper in each surface.

Another partner presented himself to Alice, bowing. She turned away, wrinkling her nose as though he smelled foul. Weslie leaned close to the man and could smell something musty, like the velvet of his coat was a hundred years old. There was something else as well, a sickly sweet smell like rotting plants or the rotting flesh of game.

Alice backed into the wall, and beyond it. She went through it. Suddenly the room around Weslie dissolved, though the wine remained. But it was not on a polished carved table, instead the glasses stood on a rough stone. The walls of the ballroom were the walls of the ruins; the floor was rough weedy soil and crumbling rock and debris. The throne disappeared, replaced by a coffin. The coffin was of heavy stone, an effigy carved into it. Around it were other, plainer, tombs. As Weslie watched in horror, the lid of a coffin opened, was pushed aside, and a figure, another dancer, emerged. He smiled at the princesses, the same dead smile they held, and leapt into the dance. Alice, who had never been fooled, watched sadly as her sisters danced.

The dance is not over. As the earth continues, so does the dance. Now the steps circle to the beginning as the snake chases its tail once more.

Crossing through the forest again Weslie felt sick. He conjured the image of the princesses, dead and dancing with the dead and felt bile rise in his throat. He shuffled his feet over the forest floor, covered in his cloak of shadows and a fair distance from the sisters so he did not step on them. In his hand he clutched the two boughs he had broken off earlier, gripping them so tightly his knuckles turned white. His heart raced and he was torn between the horror of the princesses' nature and his love for Elise. He could tell the king and win he hand, but it was a dead hand, limp and lifeless. Loveless.

Alice had not been affected, but she had not enjoyed the dance, drunk the wine, or gone off into the woods with a strange man. Was it possible Elise could be brought back? Was she entranced; it must be sorcery. The longer he pondered it the more likely it seemed to Weslie that he had a chance of winning Elise over, bringing back her amber eyes and warm skin, if not out of love, then out of hope and desperation. She would see his love for her and melt in his arms; it was the only future he could imagine.

Once they passed through the forest and the garden walls Weslie departed, using a kitchen servant's door he made his way to his bedroom. The fire had died down but he was warm enough in his cloak. As he crawled beneath the covers he let his mind wander to the future. He, a king, of the fine palace and the gardens he once pruned. Elise by his side, each sister at their table, alive once more. Dances, real dances. The fae music drifted in his consciousness but vanished as the black veil of night took him.

Weslie did not sleep well but he did not wake until midday. When he awoke he bathed and wrapped up the black cloak, trying to put the memories of the night before behind him. Amid his belongings were the two boughs he had collected the night before, one of silver, the other of gold. Weslie had to speak to Elise, coax her from her nightmarish trance, and share the news of their impending wedding. At such thoughts, his chest felt lighter.

Weslie wandered the corridors, boughs in hand. He passed an empty vase, light reflecting across the walls and remembered his job. Hastily he stole to the gardens and clipped the unruly apple blossom branches, wrapping them clumsily with the boughs in a piece of twine.

Weslie made his way to the princesses' room, brimming with child-like excitement. He knocked on the door and waited, for what seemed to be hours, for an answer. Alice opened the door. She looked uneasy and tired, purple ringed her eyes, her cheeks were hollow and she was pale, the white colour of sickness. Still she waited for him to speak.

"It may not be Elise's week but please, present her with this, from me, as an engagement present," and he held the flowers out to Alice.

Alice looked the bouquet over, smiling briefly. Her smiled faltered and she uttered a small gasp when she saw the boughs. She looked up at Weslie sharply, features etched with fear. She nodded absently. "Thank you." Alice turned slowly, shoulders sagging and let the door close behind her.

Weslie waited until nightfall to approach the king. Impatiently he paced his room, changing into the grandest clothes he could find, washing and powdering his hair and face. It was close to sunset when his door was knocked upon. Weslie tore the door open, expecting Elise.

Alice stood with her lips parted, as though she were to speak but did not know what to say. Finally the words burst forth. "Marry me!"

Weslie was shocked, his limbs paralyzed and the air sucked from him. Alice, precious and most delicate Alice was asking him to marry her. Her, a princess. Her, the one he had once loved to tease. Her, Elise's sister.

He stood, unsure of what to say, suddenly remembering his position and wondering what could be done to him were he to refuse her.

"You can't marry Elise, it must be me. It isn't safe. She can't love you," there were tears in her eyes as she spoke, as though the words were harder for her to hear than him.

Anger boiled in Weslie. "Who are you to decide, Elise may love me. She is far better than a naïve child." With that he shut the door, pacing and holding his hands over his ears to block out her sobbing and begging.

Weslie was summoned to the king's chamber shortly before midnight, fatigued and sleepy after waiting for hours. He took a step toward the throne, the dancers stepped to the side and the snake struck.

The king's face was stony. "What have you to say? Have you," he paused. "Unearthed the secret?"

Weslie nodded. The king waited, something behind his expression made Weslie unsure but the visions of the night before arose in his mind. "Your daughters left the palace and went through a hole in the garden wall. They crossed the forest and began dancing in a tomb. Their partners were corpses, dead…" as the words left his mouth he realized how strange they must sound and fear filled him, fear of not being believed, of losing Elise, fear that he was mad. But the king was smiling.

"You brought back branches from your journey. And the cloak. And now, as promised, my daughter's hand." The king stood as Elise entered the room and Weslie turned, numb with something he could not define, a fear and a happiness.

Alice stood, beyond the threshold to the corridor, gazing through the door, unable and unwilling to help. She was poisoned by venom, blinded but she saw more than the boy who stood in the king's presence chamber, staring into the eyes of the snake.

Elise approached Weslie and placed a cold hand on his shoulder. The king was coming forward fast and in his hand was sharp metal that Weslie had not seen before.

"The dance moves on, the venom spreads."

Elise watched the king and her new husband, the knife covered in blood that crumbled away like dust, Weslie's silver eyes. Alice prayed by the door but the steps of the dance were over, Weslie's strand was woven into the fairy tale.

15