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Dance

  Sweet perfume ran across the currents of the ball, masquerades of hidden identities, swans swaying and robbins chirping, all drawn within the acts of lustful inquiries. There swam a red swan, red tipped black feathers brushing across the floor with her short black hair dangling, people danced slowly, swaying in each other's steps, step after step getting consumed, with her smile high, a waiting thought. A robin approached her, jet black consumed him, feathers dangling aimlessly, with bristled hair and thin lips, curving on his thoughts. He bowed before the swan.

  She gave him a rose, with him accepting with grace, as he rose looking at her closely, looking at the rose as well, commenting "It's funny isn't it? A rose so delicate, like you Mada'ame, yet, the thorns are the deadly part to its beauty." He went up to her and held her hands, she smiled, the Robin chirped, with a step, a shaking of feathers, a ritual dance. Only their identities remain hidden under the mask, as it is tradition. Yet what isn't concealed, is the dance that's made, step after step, the swaying of water, and the mirth smiles that fill with a regal ecstasy.

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  "Well.." she replied, stepping in a fluid rhythm, "If you treat the rose with care, its spines are its beauty."

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