[ dance ] sender whisks receiver onto to ‘ dance floor ’ ( can be actual or pretend )
It had seemed at the monastery's town, a small festival had sprouted up. At first, she knew not why she even attended. Large groups of people still made her nervous. Yet, seeing everyone so joyous brought a small smile to her face. Rinea found herself winding through vendors and activities before her eyes fell upon something that made her eyes light up.
A ring of dancers.
Something stirred within her, and while her normal dance partner was nowhere to be found, it wouldn't hurt to find a temporary partner, would it? Pushing gently but firmly through the crowd, she grabbed the closest hand to dance with her.
𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒
Plain, rosy-cheeked faces creased with smiles not worries, laughter free to spill without rebuke, and clumsy movements lacking deadly punishment for their mistakes. All told, an entirely sunshine affair. Rafal amid the ring of the crowd watched as a couple stumbled their way through the steps of a song and its accompaniment of claps and cheers. Tripping drunkenly toward the dirt before righting himself, the male earned himself little more than a giggle from his partner. Another reflection of the same moment would invite that same partner to pounce, fangs to land where the ground never did, strength to engulf all weakness in a bid to be the only one. A quick death for the lesser Child, the apposite elimination of one's competitor.
As a remnant of long dead Gradlon and all such ideals, the pale dragon watched his surroundings in quiet appreciation. A bystander, an observer, but not a participant. In a land far seated from this one, the idyllic picture before him might be regarded as the very fabric of dreams and intangibility. Dreams, because this were a gift never meant for their hands. His hands. Or so might have been argued were it not for the flash of pastel blue, another's soft white fingers wrapped around his blackened and sinful.
The sudden induction of himself into the fray ignited a frenzy - squawking words, flailing limbs, and all. "What are you—" Pale to pink, Rafal's face reddened. A comely young woman in fine clothes reserved him, but more importantly, a total stranger and a dance he deemed equally unacquainted.
They spun around and around in a trail of her skirts, a helpless wheeling of the world and of thoughts that couldn't decide precisely where to land. Her eager smile, their unpredictable and demanding (to him) motions, the sore lack of a name amidst it all. As he attempted to express an exit, a step backward—a simultaneous bump from another pair at their hind—pushed him forward anew. Right back into position.
Woe to the world-eating serpent driven out of his murderous element.
