The fire danced around, sending shards of light and heat towards the surrounding stone walls. The beat began to flare up within him.

For what is left in the eyes of man…

A dream. A trance. Sheathed in moonlight, the figures, they danced, whirling howls of pain and want, arms forced away from the warmth of flesh towards the elemental heat of flame. Only… was it…

When it whittles away to dust and sand…

The noise was deep, resting in the belly of his gut, poor mockery of the original resounding in his heart, but the smell was so dark… and cut so deep… it was more than want… this was need…

And he felt.

And the dreams ran backwards.

He was dust.

Screaming dust.

The figures continued to dance as he burned.