This is not the best of my work, it being written later at night than it should have been, but the last few lines hint at whatI was trying to get at.

Her feet fresh upon the ground wipe away the ashes with the night's offering of dew, a spattering of tears from the wellsprings of the earth.

Casting off their shadow, her eyes glint and lips part, panting slightly as she turns, gasping in the purity of untainted air.

Her feet mark out a circle, awed and clumsy in their newfound freedom.

And in turning, she leaves behind the battered shell of fifteen years, and with starlight crowning her unkempt hair begins to dance, hesitantly, shamefully at first for fear of someone watching.

Someone always watching.

But slowly her heart begins to pound to a rhythm she knows well for all that she hasonlyheard it once, and something seizes her and makes it theirs utterly and absolutely.

She does not mind, letting herself go in a whirl of pale starlit limbs and upturned face.

Tilting her raw cheeks to the incomprehensible maze of lavish light and velvet tapestry, she sighs, and the soft breeze is kinder on her red stained cheeks than her tears.

The sigh catches in her throat, and a smile takes her lips by stealth, until a feral glow is in her eyes and her feet barely touch the ground.

Stars spin overhead, a steady stream of motion in an arc of flawed perfection.

She dances.

And when morning finds her flung back into hell, her feet remember the dew, and her eyes caress the memory of night.