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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1026522
Rated: E · Sample · Other · #1026522
A girl, a man, and a dance.

There once was a girl I knew. Pretty as the shining luxurious moon and the bright smiling sun conjoined. I did love her. I met her when the rain did fall. Tiny droplets dancing atop the roof of my home.
I was lonely, the warm roasting fire attempting and failing to cheer me up as I dealt out cards and played alone. My home was empty. There was no one around. My door did knock it did, loud echoes rang throughout my home. I ran towards it in the climax of excitement, to find her.
She stood on my wooden doorsteps, her long dark brown hair with snow-white streaks drooping sadly in front of her face. She was too young for white hair, so she must have been born with the gift. Her skin was pale and bright, her eyes a chocolate brown making me fill with lust and hunger as I glanced upon them. She was a sickly sight. There, in her shades of blue gypsy clothes. Her blouse, a wonderfully pastel blue, wonderful, like the sky on a warm day, the clouds dancing with her. Her skirt was a dark blue, like the forewarning ocean before a thunderous storm rolls through.
Her wrap around shawl, loosely tied upon her hip, a wonderful blue. I stared forever at it, eternity could pass by and I shall still stare at it. On her fairy like ears were large round silver earrings, matching her silver bangles hanging elegantly on her thin frail wrists. Her anklets and necklace were also silver, and caught every raindrop that fell upon it with such grace that I wished it would rain forever more. She smiled weakly. She asked me if she could dance for money. I let her inside without any thought or consideration.
Her pale and small feet were bare, as pale as the moon her skin seemed. Even more in the light. Drops of cold water fell off of her thin and curved body onto my red floor. They seemed like contrasting elements. She steered clear of the fire, making her way over to the pebble stone kitchen I had in my basement. It had never been used before. Wasting no time, as I sat down, she waited patiently and sombrely for me to be settled. When I was and had signalled for her to begin. She started to dance.
Her body twirled and spun. Her skin always moments behind her as she enchantingly moved her body to the rhythm of the falling rain. The dance and her were one; they shared the same soul, the same body, and the same heart. I wanted her to stop, but I wanted more. I needed more. She began to dance in a sorrowful tone, with the soft rain, but then quickly, as the rain began to fall harder and harder and harder, the thunder crashing and the lightning striking fear into my black and icy heart, she danced faster and faster, more powerfully and meaningfully than I had ever saw anyone dance before. She was an essence, one that must be protected.
I loved her. I loved her dance. My bottom on the edge of my wooden chair, my sweaty hands grasping the edges for support and to keep me on the chair. I was entranced by this Temptress’s dance. The silver bells on her anklets and wrap tinkled clearly with the crisp harebell sound of her bracelets and the little earrings. Just as my pleasure had reached its height, the rain softened, as did she.
No, I wanted more. Needed more. I would die a thousand gruesome and horrible deaths if she did not continue. Slowly, the rain had died down, and the mysterious gypsy girl had dried. I placed several golden coins into her oh so wintry hand, but she shook her head and walked towards my doorstep once more, ready to walk among the dry.
When I asked her, her name, she smiled impishly and said in a soft siren like sing song voice she said “ Rayne,”
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1026522