Shattered Iridescence.

Prompt - Dance.

- a successive group of rhythmical steps or bodily motions, or both, usually executed to music.

Tap. Step. Tap. Step.

They had done this once before; when she was still clumsy and unsure and looked to him to lead and support. Now she stood - posture perfect - in his arms holding him with the lightest touch, almost non-existent, on his shoulders and in his palm. She felt like a glass figurine; cool, smooth and dead. The funny thing about that comparison was that she was anything but breakable now.

Yuuki wouldn't shatter and crack into a million shimmering pieces if he were to drop her in one of the complex lifts.

Maybe he wished she would.

Because it was harder than he had ever realised to be the Saint.

Spin. Spin. Waltz. Waltz. Spin. Step. Tap.

But then she smiled and if he ignored the pointed teeth he could see what she used to be. Her eyes weren't as red as they had been when she entered the massive, marble hall at the start of the evening, and for that he was glad.

She had cheated on her "diet". He knew, he saw her lure that man - of filthy flesh and blunt teeth - down the alleyway in the city.

(Yuuki still kept him close - even to this day.)

Pause. Turn. Release hands. Clap.

To him, she had always been beautiful. Now she was considered stunning by all, he found himself wishing a little for the soft, warm human she had been. Flaws, faults and all. It wasn't that he found her more beautiful then ( it was almost blasphemy to look at her now and not be struck speechless), it was just that he didn't have to share her before.

He didn't have to worry about the endless parade of faceless suitors that might snatch her away. There was only ever one very real threat - and he had failed so long ago.

Take hands.

She sighed and fluttered her long eyelashes; a vision in silk and satin.

"Run with me tonight."

This kind of thing, of mirrors and perfume and smoke, was never her favourite. Despite everything that had happened she still didn't like limelight.

Dip.

A fountain of white lace - pale as her skin - covered up to her neck where it was held in place by a black cameo brooch. Later, he would slide back the silver clasp and pick open the black silk ribbons that held everything together and she would stand there, in front of him, pale as freshly fallen snow.

Just without any notion of innocence and purity in sight.

Lift.

Maybe tonight she would choose to drink from him - something she had never done.

(Had said she would never do.)

That was the epitome of love in this twisted hall of mirrors and smoke; the sharing of life itself.

She had her reasons - garbled and composed of endless variations of her not wanting to taint him. (At one point he was the Beast.)

Tap. Step. Tap. Step. Step. Step.

The ring meant nothing here. The one which adorned her left hand ring finger meant nothing. The web of diamonds and silver was little more than a shimmering trinket.

There is no concept of "to have and to hold" here.

Spin. Spin. Spin.

Til Death Do Us Part is null and void.

Waltz.

This is the promised prompt of dance for Sweety8587. Next I have the prompt of lost/darkness for Zeki!!!!.

Thanks for reading!

Silver xxx.