“Dance with me,” she said. “Take my hand and dance with me as the smoke with the wind. Take my hand and dance with me like the flames of a smoldering fire joins in arresting elegance with the air, stealing the air from it as if for very life. For very life! A dance which is so wild with passion as it is with urgency, so that they never can stop pulling and pushing at each and the other, yet are bound together by their need of one another. And for one another. Dance with me and I shall kill you where you stand in the swiftest instance of your entire existence. You will see it coming barely in time to die, just wishing you never had developed a taste for dancing as you awaken in your new life, still barely realizing your death. You will not dance with me. There will be no dancing here. Think of it like the opera: sit down, keep quiet and try to keep up, and then quietly sneak out during the intermission,” she said.
“I guess that’s what I get for asking a foolish question.” That did not amuse her. Right, keep quiet she said.
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