Just Dance

Freya stood precariously over Arlen's sleeping form, her hand hovering inches away from his face. The black circles under his closed eyes were more opaque than usual, and his cheek bones looked frighteningly pronounced. She desperately wanted to reach out and run her fingers along those bones, lean down and kiss his eyelids, squeeze that cold, dry hand… But she couldn't—not now. Her frenzied, heated touch would startle him awake. Smiling warmly—but not too warmly—she stood over him, watching his concave chest rise and fall like waves.

Her expression shattered, as if smashed by an invisible force, when Arlen coughed again. His outburst revealed her true countenance.  

Shivering slightly, she wrapped her arms around herself and walked over to the closet. She'd decorated it with many stickers, handfuls of rainbow glitter, and various illustrations—some of which depicted Arlen sulking in a corner. The closet smelled like flowers, naturally taking on the scent of her clothing. Sniffing the air delightedly, Freya pulled the closet doors open and glanced at the various dresses. After much careful deliberation, she pulled out a decorous black dress. Its top was a loose corset, held together by soft matching ribbon, and the skirt was wide and immodestly short—just the way she liked it. Lace traced the edges of the heart-shaped top and the pleats of the skirt.

Paying no regard to Arlen's presence, Freya stripped where she stood. She let her tank top and mini-skirt fall to the ground before slipping on the dress and its accompanying lace collar. Scurrying over to the dresser, Freya grabbed her makeup and worked diligently. When she was done, her face was bright and sparkly and colorful, all pinks and purples and reds—the perfect mask. She appraised herself in the mirror briefly, running her fingers through her milky brown hair. Satisfied with her appearance, Freya pranced over to the door and waved goodbye to the sleeping Arlen. The mattress beneath him shuffled loudly as he tossed himself to the side. Freya watched him intently, her eyes sharp and focused, even as her hand held the doorknob. Something about his face compelled her to remain—but she resisted and slipped on her shoes.


The Rath was just as Freya had left it—somehow both bright and dark at the same time. Faeries of various courts mingled meaninglessly with one another, their faces both horrific and beautiful. They sported fangs, horns and tattoos, quite resembling something out of a monster movie. Black heels hit the floor, their click blending in with the booming music above her, indicating Freya's entrance. She glanced around her, letting the warm air seep into her sun-kissed skin graciously. A brief thought enraptured her—perhaps Arlen felt a chill course through him when he entered the Rath, and perhaps this place really was magical, beyond faerie magic and trickery, something true, giving anyone who entered their own brand of pleasure.

Before she let herself collapse into a dancing heap, Freya streamlined to the bar and planted herself down on an empty stool. Almost immediately, a bartender approached her, his pearly fangs gleaming sinisterly in the dark. His jaw-line was quickly inspected, and Freya found it satisfactory enough, albeit a bit too soft. Freya smiled innocuously at him.

"And what can I get you, hot stuff?" the man breathed, leaning in close. Freya choked back a giggle, not daring to lean in as well. She wondered if she'd maintain her distance after he obliged her request.

"Oh, c'mon, cutie, my skin didn't tip you off?" Freya teased, a grin tugging the corners of her mouth mercilessly. "I'll have some summer wine, please and thank you!" The man—Dark Court, Freya guessed, given his dark hair and the various piercings that adorned his face—stifled a chuckle and turned back to the bar to get her drink. The smooth counter grew heated as Freya tapped her fingers against it impatiently. Each second dragged on painfully, and Freya couldn't hide her relief when the man turned around with her drink. She sipped the glass greedily as soon as it hit the counter, leaving the thoroughly amused bartender unable to hold back his chuckle. Countless glasses passed through Freya's hands before she felt suitably drunk enough to slink over to the dance floor. The bartender waved playfully at her as she left.  

The lights danced across the walls, illuminating selected stretches of the floor. Freya, swaying slightly, stumbled onto the main floor. Her mind cautiously breached the topic of Arlen, and the Summer faerie cringed a bit when she recollected his coughs.  

Such thoughts, however, were quickly dismissed as a catchy tune caught Freya's ears and held them steadfastly. A female voice—human, Freya ascertained, judging by the various beautiful and mortal imperfections—commanded Freya huskily: Just dance. Freya was not one to take commands seriously, but this one was too inviting to pass up.

She fell into the center of the floor and immediately immersed herself in the crowd. No longer could she discern where she ended and others began, nor did she want to find out. Everyone felt warm and soft and simple—no hidden depths lurked within the lively mass. They were all just dancing with the steady tide, smiles lighting their faces, without a hint of sadness. The sea of frivolity enveloped Freya entirely, leaving her breathless and gasping for air which the room had held captive. Freya found herself singing along to the song, her bangs plastered to her forehead from the sweat, her cheeks reddened with giddiness. Just dance, it's gonna be okay. Spin that record babe, gonna be okay, j-just dance… She sunk into the floor effortlessly, adjoining herself with the dance floor.

The song came to a halt, and Freya stilled abruptly. She became aware of the pushing and shoving, but did nothing to get out of the way. Their touches, however afflictive, kept her steady and grounded. In due course, she was shoved unceremoniously off the floor as a new song—Raise Your Glass—echoed overhead. But the magic was over—it was more ephemeral than Freya had hoped. No matter how much she strained her ears to hear, no words passed through them. The world was harrowingly silent.

And what do you do when the music stops? Freya wondered numbly as she retreated back to the bar.