A Dance with the Devil
He stood nervously, fidgeting, moving from foot to foot with the red wax sealed invitation in his hand. As he stepped from the foyer into the hallway adjoining the ballroom and glanced at himself in the silvered gilding of the hall’s wainscot, it was effectively a mirror.
He was more richly dressed than ever before, in a starched white club collared shirt with a gray and silver patterned silk puff tie. Over this was a stitched brocade vest with a worsted ¾ length jet black coat worn unbuttoned. The outfit cost more than his whole family earned in a year.
Ethereal music, an electro synth waltz, pulled him from his revere and he made his way into the ballroom. He looked around and couldn’t see the source of the music, but realized someone stood at the front of the bandstand.
The woman hadn’t been there just a moment before. She was standing sideways in silhouette, and turned towards him. Her dress was a sheath style, had a deep decolletage that plunged to her navel and a high starched and spiked Elizabethan collar. The material was a decadent gold threaded, beaded black silk, with puffed sleeves, high leg slits, and a cape that flowed like wings as she moved down off the bandstand. Her makeup, smokey eyes, black shiny lips and nails, contrasted with her pale skin and chiseled features.
His heart skipped a beat. She was beautiful and terrible, Tolkien’s Galadriel, when tempted by the ‘One Ring’ came to his mind, “All shall love me and despair!” He lifted the invitation towards her.
“I’ll take that.” She made a gesture flicking her right wrist, and the envelope flashed in flame and disappeared.
He inched back from her, looking at his hand. The only thing left of the invitation was smoke and a bit of ash. He stared up at the woman.
She licked her lips as if savoring a tasty morsel. “You can call me Lili.”
He trembled as she stepped next to him. “What do you want from me?”
“To dance.”
