Some would call it a dance. And perhaps that is what it looked like. But it was no ordinary dance.
She and he both knew the realms in which they spun.
And it didn't matter. Didn't matter if the last vestiges of perspective came undone. In a moment, it would twirl inside out all over again and leave the two starting afresh on some new step. The fire a contagion in their souls. The bond a viscous sap spreading through their ligaments and filling one another's hearts. Flesh and light. Breath and bone. Welling springs of hope and abysmal chasms of neverending mystery.
Masks lined the stifling air pressing in on perspiration-kissed throats. Laughter rang out in a muffled chorus. Fabrics and skirts and faces flew by in a blur.
None of this was the dance.
The dance was hidden.
Internal.
The ballroom served merely as one occasion among an infinite set. In truth, each instant spread out its marble flooring and opened up the great halls of eternity for their strange and silent choreography.
The inexpressible communion of innermost being.
She knew she'd never come up with an excuse for it. Explanation out of the question now. She'd take this vision with her to the grave. He held her wordlessly in the heat of resolution, sensing the dawning transformation within her depths.