She danced a lonesome dance while I watched. Standing on point, she twirled. She lifted a thin leg behind her. Every leap was graceful, and she touched the ground as softly as a snowflake. Her chestnut hair bounced with the movement. The white light made her pale skin shine.
Every day was like this. She never tired of dancing. Long had she given up the dream of escaping, and now she only danced. Some days, I fancied I saw tears shimmering on her cheeks, but her face was always smooth and impassive. Everything about her exuded strength.
My heart ached as I walked the rafters, watching her dance. She was so alone.
Sometimes, I fantasized about dropping down from my perch. I would tell her I was a prisoner here, too. I would introduce myself and finally learn her name. She would let me watch her dance up close. Perhaps she would even teach me to be her partner. Someday, she would fall as deeply in love with me as I was with her.
Here, the fantasy fell apart.
If I came down, she would scream. They always screamed. She would try to escape again. She would beg me not to hurt her or to eat her. She would hate me.
I could leave any time I wanted. I could let her go. But I was more of a prisoner than she.
Today’s Novel Idea Prompted by: The above picture, courtesy of Just Prompts.