"Heaven´s Ball" by Charles Mills Trowbridge

  Alone in the ballroom she stands. Red satin flows down her curving to the floor where it crashes like a waterfall meeting a sea of marble. Dark curls frame her porcelain face falling heavy about her shoulders.
  "Your Beautiful"
  A voice
  She turns, turns to find a man cut from the night. He is born to fill her silence as his words die.
  He bows, offering his hand. She accepts with a smile.
  Embrace Step Two Three Step
  They both know the dance to start the music of an unseen orchestra.
  Ethereal players produce a grime cacophony of sound as the couple glide across the floor as if suspended in aether.
  He comes to a halt even as the sound persists leaning in to steal a kiss lips soft as silk. Her eyes open to see his essence explode into ten thousand rose petals as he slowly blows into gusts of their motion. Grasping at the storm of red she falls to her knees desperately trying to restore his shape.
  Pain cuts past her skin with the shard of first morning in her grasp. Blood flows down her arm as the music reaches a fervent crescendo.
  As the first drop of blood hits the floor the music breaks into the cool howling of the night wind and the doll looks to her broken captor and in the ballroom she is alone.