Art by dominiknene_art
Dance is liberation and instinct, a movement of the body that often borders on sensuality, all that Dionysos dominates without even having to think about it very much. Apollo holds his hands, but it is he who dictates the rhythm, his eyes that habitually close and he must force open, for he must witness the scene.
Apollo is not spectacular, nor is he exceptional. He doesn’t move as gracefully as a swan and trips over his own feet more than the god of Madness deems healthy, but it’s still a sight, an event that deserves his full attention.
He realizes with the start of a chuckle that Apollo is distracted by the music, that his fingers sometimes tap in rhythm on the back of his hand, his head seeming to follow the source of that melody. It’s entertaining, but there’s more.
His Influence seems to loosen its grip on his head, moving away from his eyes, sliding down his back and coming to rest around his heart again. His eyes lose their manic light, his hands their trembling.
It’s a loss that Dionysos doesn’t like, that makes him lose control and clench his jaw, quickening his pace, trying to cling to his own essence again.
It's a moment, the simple overlapping of one Nature and another, a rational point that reminds him that that God does not belong to him, that too much Madness would put an end to everything that makes him Apollo. It surprises him to think so, but it is the simplicity of Joy that takes over, that makes his steps less complex, that follows Apollo's less skilled ones.
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