11.24.99

The two were dancing, or so it appeared. Really, it was she, fuming and wildly seductive, moving to move him. She taunted and threatened embrace with her chiffon, but he was staunch, tilting his yellow blade on a breath to prick her and make her curl back onto herself. Then a moment of steadying -- perhaps she was contemplating the reason for the stab or awaiting the next gust of passion. Whatever it was, she gathered herself once again and unrolled around him, tempting fate. Her time was short, you see - and she knew it; though he appeared brighter, he conserved his fuel in a narrow persona dedicated to upstanding appearances. He could not be tempted from his safe perch, such that when her stream straightened and faded, her life burned out and grey, he flickered not even so, but fed instead on the perfume of her soul.

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