Tonight - just for tonight - the ballroom is the only thing that exists in his world.

He threads his way through the maze of dancing couples, straining to spot her. They seldom have the chance to meet like this, so he must find her quickly. Every moment here is a treasure not to be wasted.

Outlandish costumes whirl and sway all around as he searches. An incongruously bulky creature suddenly pirouettes in front of him, its long snout whipping. Nearby, a small child dressed as an alligator grins jaggedly up at its parents as they dance.

"Are you looking for your partner?" someone breathes in his ear. He half-twists, catching a glimpse of an incredibly lifelike cat's mask as a couple brushes past. One furred leg stretches out gracefully, pointing arrowed claws back through the crowd; a slitted eye winks brightly.

He nods in thanks - once, he would not have done that - and as he steps forward the other dancers make way, parting like clouds in a soft summer breeze.

And there she stands, shining like the moon in a darkened sky. They face each other with silent grace, the princess in radiant white and her knight in devoted black.

"Shall we dance?" he asks, bowing as he offers his hand, and she takes it with a blush and a curtsey, as always. The musicians pause unseen, as if studying the moment, then strike up a stately waltz.

Nothing more is said for a time as they dance and their surroundings slip away, forgotten in their silent conversation. I missed you, his hands whisper as he holds her gently; we're together in this moment and that's all that matters, her back sings as she arches it against his fingers.

"Why don't you dance anymore?" she asks softly, the next time their heads come together. "You're so good, it's a shame."

"There's only one partner I want," he whispers back, "and she can't dance with me now."

"That's not fair," she counters.

"No." His voice is calm, but for a half-second the line of his arms is flawed with bitterness as he circles her waist. "It isn't." As he leads her, the next measure of their dance is shaded with regrets, haunted by might-have-beens.

I'm sorry.

I would sacrifice anything, everything, if it would help you.

She catches the familiar line of thought, and a slight shiver passes through her.

"You should stop this," she says, looking up at him anxiously. "They really might cut off your hands, if they found out."

"They won't."

"We could talk to them." She blushes faintly. "Um... you could, I mean."

"You know they wouldn't allow it."

"But..."

"They'll never know." A pause. "Do you really want me to stop?"

She pivots smoothly to face him, stretching her arms downward in a gesture of refusal. Then she offers him her hand, and they resume the flow of their dance. He still leads, but it's changed, somehow; she adds a movement here, quickens one there, deftly weaving an air of hope into their storytelling. It will be all right, she tells him.

They've danced this pattern so many times before, the same and yet different each time, and it still amazes him - that she, who gave all her hopes away to others, should still have some left to share with him.

That was how she changed him.

It's why he loves her.

The music swells and softens, fading away gently with a promise of times to come. They finish their dance as the last note dies, ending with him cradling her as they kneel together.

"You'll be at the lake tomorrow?" she asks quietly in his arms.

"I'll see you there," he promises. They rise and part hands reluctantly - a simple parting, no flourishes, no pumpkins, no glass slippers.

Then he bows, she curtseys and they exit to opposite sides with light, quick steps.

The curtain falls in darkness and the grinding of gears, and the story resumes.