The Last Dance

The costumes didn’t have to make sense. Ball guests filed into the silent hall bedecked in wings that belonged to no earthly creature, and masks that mimicked no face she had ever seen. Hers was much simpler. Gloves that reached up her arms, a mask that sparkled around her eyes, and a ball gown in a pale blue-gray, the shade of a stormcloud. 

The hall reminded them all of a tomb. Just as quiet, and made of spotless white marble. It remained spotless year after year, no matter the carnage. 

The guards with axes formed a circle, and the guests stood in rings around them. The prince stood in the center watching them. The crowd grew smaller every year; scared off or worse. She stayed. As terrifying as it was, she had to. She had to be his final partner. 

Haunting, melancholy music rang from somewhere in the room. The prince had chosen.

She craned her neck to watch as the prince and his victim twirled in the center. The chosen girl was wearing a gown and wings in a pink so pale it was nearly white. Her face was the same color, and terrified. Their palms touching through gloves, fingers entwined, they graced the circle of onlookers with their perfect symmetrical dance. No hours of practice could prepare her for staring into the prince’s cold angry eyes. 

A misstep. 

Maybe a trodden-on hem, or perhaps the wrong angle of the shoulders. It was a different mistake every time. The music stopped. The sound of an axe rang through the hall. She turned her head away. 

The blood always made it easier for the next person to slip. 

The axe would swing again and again, until the prince tired and the rest of the guests returned, shaking and pale to their homes. 

She could hardly see the prince as he scanned the crowd for another dance partner. Those cold, angry eyes bore into each of them as he searched for the perfect princess. Her eyes began to mirror his, fear brimming into tears at the thoughts of that swinging axe. 

The circle split. She glanced at his outstretched hand, beckoning her to join him. Terror flooded her. One slip, one mistake, and it would be the last thing she ever did. 

The melody swelled again as she took his hand, and they glided to the center of the marble floor.