• The room spins.
    The children laugh.
    The pixie dust flies. The women smile.
    The wind blows through the open window.
    The aroma of lilies fills the room.
    You spin your partner gently.
    Swaying in the silent music.

    They fly.

    Their wings unfold revealing painted designs.
    They depict happiness.They're the manifestation of pleasure.
    Their eyes glow in the light of the candles.
    The branches of a willow reach for your hand.

    The doors open. It's her.

    Her dress is brighter than the sun.
    It is more beautiful than a frosted sea in mid December.
    More gorgeous than the cherry blossoms swaying in the wind handing out their flowers to innocent bystanders.
    Her eyes sparkle.
    She puts her hands in a circle above her head.
    As she twirls, petals fly out and land on the jade floor tiles.

    She unfolds her wings. They are like no others.
    They are cobwebs.
    They flutter as she floats above the ground gracefully.
    She is looking at you.
    She reaches her hand out towards you.
    Water flows from it.
    The water is flowing in a circle around you.
    Then she laughs throwing her head back and clenches her fist.
    The water spreads.
    There is water twirling around every faerie in the room.
    She claps silently as the water freezes it explodes, wetting everyone.
    They all laugh.

    She sings.
    Flowers sprout from the ground under you.
    You pick one and put it in your partners hair.
    She squeals with delight and starts to twirl again.
    Everyone follows her.
    The room explodes with motion and smiles.
    There are bursts of color everywhere.

    Ghostly figures come out from the walls and start to dance.
    They smile with you.
    She sits in her thrown and watches the celebrating creatures.
    She is content.
    Now she may wilt in peace.

    The flowers wilt, all but your partner's.
    They stop dancing and face HER.
    She is a wilting rose now.
    Music flows from her stem.

    It is not solemn. It is happy.
    "This is a celebration." her clear voice calls from up above, "This is the dance."

    The alarm rings.
    Waking you from your dance.


    Author's Note: Yes, YOU are a guy in this poem. Sorry, it just didn't fit with YOU being a girl.

    FIN!