The dance hall was empty, its vast, polished floor reflecting the soft, golden light of a hundred candles like a dark, still lake. Music, played by a small ensemble of musicians tucked away in a shadowed alcove, filled the cavernous space with a haunting, lyrical melody. In the center of the floor, a single figure moved, a swirl of vibrant, jewel-toned silk.
Senna danced. Her body was a fluid instrument, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next. She turned and twirled, her long, silken dress billowing around her like the petals of an exotic flower. Her arms, adorned with delicate gold bracelets, carved graceful arcs in the air, her expressive hands telling a story of longing and devotion. It was a dance of pure, seductive grace, a private performance for an audience of one.
