Despite the heavy music and open windows, she danced free and lightly as if no one was watching the spectacle. And in her opinion, no one was: at least, no one of importance.

She felt like she was alone in the world, alone in this glorious moment, with the wind in her hair as she spun around, the hard rock and metal filling, simmering, boiling the oxygen from the vortex of space that was the living room.

But it wasn’t just a living room. It was her castle, her kingdom, her place to rule, and nothing else in the world seemed to matter.

He walked down the hallway with every intent to turn down the music that was drowning out his video games. Irritation, like an itch at the base of the skull that can’t be scratched, ran through him. The music, though not necessarily out of his tastes, was not mood-appropriate, and every fiber of him was intent on removing the bug and having his peace.

That was, until he saw her dancing.

In her element, she appeared (to him) the most beautiful, elegant thing he’d ever seen: not that he’d ever admit it to her, but it was obvious. Despite her reckless swinging around, her aura of intense content prevailed and calmed the bugged nerves in his system.

She sensed his presence, and stopped, but the feeling remained. A tranquility cocooned the two as they stood there, music basting, staring at each other. She smiled peacefully and reached a hand toward him, inviting him to join her.

In a flash, his mind raced back a few years: three, to be exact.

Three years before, she had invited him to dance with her. The music had been different, slower, and the girl herself more innocent in every possible way.

Her hair shorter and less colorful, her clothes brighter. She seemed altogether a different person, be she the same. And her dance was strange compared to the one she had been showing presently.

Then, in his naïve way, he had, be it ever so awkwardly, taken her hand in an intent to show her the right way to dance.

However, in her flow, she had outdanced him, bested him, made him regret the entire experience. Therefore, in his disgust, after only a few moments of dance, he had turned away, tired of the dance that he himself, the man in him, could not lead.

Now, three years later, she had continued the dance, evolved it without him. But even so, he knew no matter how he wished, he could never lead a spirit such as hers.

A hesitation. Should he now, with so much time separating them, shatter old worlds and create new ones to the beat of a different tune, a different dance, but the same situation between them? Uncertainty pounded through his vein, pumping with his blood, insisting the heart beat faster, faster. Staring at her hand, at the destruction and creation he felt she was handing him, his indecision ate away at him.

The song ended at yet another began with the same beat. Her feet began to tap, her eyebrow raised. He felt the beat begin to well within him, calling him, just as her hand did, to dance.

As the beat moved on, the song began to wane, and she felt the breeze surround her.

Once more, she whirled, dancing to her own beat, alone.