Dancing with Darkness

She doesn't know how to dance. There's been no professional training. Still, in the wide open living room, she twirls, twists, and simply moves. When she's done, she bows to the audience that she can't see, but feels like is there. Whether it be monster or angel, she really doesn't know or care. It doesn't clap or even move. So she raises out of her bow, smiles proudly, and continues into the next step that she sees in her mind. All the while, she knows that she's not as beautiful as she sees in her mind, but the movement, flow, tensing and untensing of muscles, makes her feel gorgeous.

Although she can't see it, they sit, one across the room from the other. One stares at her as though he's seen it all before, yet finds the child's attempts amusing. The other grins at the fun that she's having and almost wants to rise from his seat and join in.

Finally, sweaty and tired, she slips into her room, changes out of the sweaty clothes and into something comfortable, and just goes to bed. When he's sure that she's sleeping, the one who enjoyed her fun curls up next to her, still smiling, happy that she allowed herself a moment of healthy release.

Note: I read one of my other posts on here (this onee) which gave me a small, itty bitty plot bunny who grew into this. I had fun writing this, honestly.