Princess
by Neith Hale

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Her skin was the pale moon against the night. Dressed in crimson silk, she bowed effortlessly, emitting grace as she did so. Dark auburn curls fell from her shoulders as cherry lips twitched upward. Seconds dropped like clear crystals of rain as she lifted her arm in a perfect curtsy: a stationary waltz laced with a mysterious air that never failed to allure the next passing stranger. She rose, chin up and eyes gazing straight at the silver arms that embraced the emptiness of air. A blank atmosphere unsuccessfully covered the rich velvet draperies that caged her inside the ethereal palace. Gold candles remained suspended above the grand chandelier, the royal cynosure that sat on its throne.

She extended her right hand, waiting for the ghostly hand to take it. She stepped forward with the silence possessed by a nocturnal feline until her footsteps painted a continual pattern on the marble floor. Step, close, step. Violins joined the breeze that performed a solo ballet around the dancing figure.

It took a second for the orchestra to stop. The wind blew the orange flames dancing on the walls and the premature coming of night took over the courtroom. Her steps slowed down until twirls and swirls were merely lines and steps until the sound of weeping echoed throughout the room.

The moon watched over the lonely figure, a goddess indifferent to the sorrows of a human.