Dancing in the Moonlight.

I stood, waiting.

She said she would be here soon, perhaps it was a sign of my anxiousness that I was here early. The glade in which I stood was dark, the last lingering of the twilight haze just leaving the air, the moon not yet risen. As night fell in truth, the comforting darkness enveloped the world, and the forest seemed alive with the promise of secrets whispered to those with the patience the hear.

This was where we had first met, a glade just off the beaten path in a city park. She had been at a friend's wedding, I searching for peace in the quiet of night. I looked out to the water, thinking of that evening we met. The full moon hadn't shown through the treetops, leaving the glade a pale dreamscape set in the dark of reality. Somewhere in the distance the sounds of the wedding party had echoed through the night, framing the moment I first saw her. I was in the glade when I noticed I was not alone, the moonlight making her seem a ghost as she stood silently beside the pagoda near the center of the clearing. The light wash of the waves and the sound of the wedding din twined together as I looked at her, lending the moment a surreality. She held a wine glass in one of her hands, forgotten at her side, and from my distance the red wine might as well have been ink. Had she not already noticed me, I might have turned away and left her to her contemplations, but it was to late for that. Her eyes shone in the light as she looked at me, and I could not turn from her gaze.

I came to her slowly, holding her eyes with mine. By the light of the moon I admired her beauty, her red gown accentuated the gentle curve of her body, her delicate face seemed to glow with pale light. As I took in her face I noticed the gleam of tears on her cheeks. Standing now just a few steps from her, we shared a glance; she smiled weakly, and giving a short laugh wiped her cheeks with her free hand. In that simple motion a deathknell sounded in my mind, the flashing of metal on her finger could not be mistaken. I looked to the water, the full moon above, then to her, and walked forward as I spoke in a whispered voice, "Its beautiful." She glanced in the direction of the party, then turned back to me, her eyes still moist from tears she had yet to shed. "Yes" she whispered with a sad smile, "it is."

We stood for a time, the moment stretching out. I was terrified of this glass moment, terrified for it. It seemed too fragile to touch. I was torn by my desire to take the extra step toward her and a fear that it would destroy the fragile balance the world hung on in this moment. At last I took the step, slow, uncertain, my eyes glued to hers as I searched for any sign that it was the one step to far. There was none. My hand touched hers, the cold of the metal sending a chill through me as my hand brushed it, but it only twined with the electric sensation of her soft hand, somehow making it more vivid.

The glass that had been in her other hand landed softly in the grass, red wine spilling like blood.

We danced.

"Its beautiful" her voice slid over me, familiar now. She had come like the darkness - quiet but welcome - as I gazed at the water. The moon had begun rising over the quiet waves and in the pale moonlight I turned to see the face of my lover. Her eyes did not hold tears tonight, but a smile known only to those with secrets for the dark to hear and hold.

In the pale light of the low full moon her red dress spilled on the grass like blood.

We danced.