Could death be salvation?
Raven eyes watch from aching shadows, as maroon gowned love dances across blurring lines into sin-soaked obsession. An infested melody of possession and— a shackling guilt serving only to bind unfortunate souls in a devilish waltz, a knife and a mask glimmer under candle light. Feverish skin sweats cold, still you must move. Force aching limbs to glide seamlessly from twirl to box step, a single twitch out of a place would be a fate worse than life. Could death be salvation? For the hopeless— even the end can be more merciful than the pains of a dull and hopeless life, yet— still you fight, even as sharp pain grinds against calloused feet and scarred arms. His grip, rough and ruthless, shows no weakness, stumble no more. Dance elegant as doves and fight fierce as eagles. Or else, you'll lose. And of course losing has a tithe. A payment of memories, not yours of course - but his. If you lose, lover becomes stranger once more. For eternity.