"Dance of the Fae" by Victoria Bellamy

The rhythm was deafening. An unrelenting wall of sound. Unstoppable. The fae spun around each other, weaving intricate patterns on the wooden floor. Rich colours encircled them, crimson, scarlet, bronze and umber. A feast for the eyes. Henna adorned feet repelled against the oak floor, creating complex rhythms that only the most competent dancers could achieve. Many hands clapped intense rhythms with what the musicians could only hope to compete, every person clapping a different rhythm, every sound unique. The swirls became faster. Sharper. The clapping intensified to an ear-splitting thunder. Layers of sound melded together. Everyone, the musicians, dancers, audience caught in the magic of the dance. It felt like it would never end. The dance, the music, even life. It would never stop. There was nothing else, just them and the dance. Then in one last terrible leap the music ceased and the dancers stopped. It was as if your very soul had been ripped from you and for a moment you had nothing. All was still and there was just the silence. Nothing more.