The Victorians danced the night away. Every evening, their lavish suits and silk dresses would flood the ballroom as jewelry glittered and cups met. They paid a price for their enjoyment, though. Every night, another body would hit the floor, cold, and dead. But the dancers held no fear. Their time would come, too, so why be fearful? And on the last day, when only two dancers remained, they held each other close, swaying to the music of the moonlight. And when that last, doll-like face hit the ground, the man danced alone. He danced over the corpses, as his grandfather had done once before him. The blood on his clothing caught the moonlight, and if anyone had seen, they would have said he was an excellent dancer.

(just woke up for a bit.... My piano music was still playing, gave me inspiration for this..... Might be a story sometime, dunno.......)

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