[P] Dance Lessons

[Mesnyi]

Mesnyi

   There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,

   There is a rapture on the lonely shore,

   There is society where none intrudes,

   By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:

I

t was not that she did not know what it felt like to be in love. She remembered strongly that desperate urge to cling to the side of her beloved, to sing in hymns that burst worlds like eggs, to show him and then the string of universes they traveled that she did, indeed, love him, very much, and no one could have a moment to doubt it. 

But that was then.

Now, she could fake it. She could fake it for those wishing desperately that it was true, and she could fake it for those that didn’t quite believe, so that they did. Unicorns were made for making miracles, were they not? Even if such miracles were only illusions, sometimes seeing was enough to make one believe, and that was all a true artist needed. What she saw in Eik, she knew, was all truth. 

He was not very good, but this was not a noteworthy thing; most people who did not know how to dance were not good at dancing. He apologized here and there, but Mesnyi hardly acknowledged it; they were not here to dwell on the mistakes of the ignorant. They were here to teach, and to learn, respectively (Mesnyi had come hoping to learn a bit about Eik, too, but that had gone nowhere). 

”It’s a sad ending?” 

They grew close to the heart of the song now, and Mesnyi only smiled as the violin rose up in a hollow, wailing note. ”To some,” she began, ”but not all.” She dropped her head low as the note concluded. ”She seems to die, to curl in on herself. Step left now, and now, and right now, and now. He cannot tell she is alive.” For a long moment there is silence in the clearing. ”We stay still, then. And…” The violin tore away at its strings in chattering sixteenths. Mesnyi raised her head slowly. ”She is new again. For you see…she is, or is like - it depends on who you ask - a butterfly. And when she goes away from him to grow, to become a woman, or a stronger being, to become herself, she is more beautiful than he can imagine.” She stretches out a leg, ”And stretch yours, here, so our ankles touch.” She sighs through her nostrils, tranquil, eyes closing a moment, to open and stare into him. ”You take this time to look your partner in the eye and see them for what they are…and when the moment is over, you look left, at the adjacent person’s partner, who looks right, and then switch. You all must see each other, and consider - do you understand?” There was something to the teaching of the story that made learning the dance easier, more powerful. The violin hit a sharp downward note. ”Not everyone does,” she sighs, taking a wide step forward, neck arched, ”So curl your neck, like so, two swans meeting, if it is correct,” and then, she whispered, as the violin sang its final note, falling into silence, ”In the end, they are the only ones who understand each other.”

Eik | Childe Harold's Pilgrimage | "speaks" | notes: ☽☼☾

rallidae