She Dances Alone

She was an angel of the purest kind, but even angels bleed.

Her dress was the whitest satin one could ever imagine; it was so white it radiated every color in the spectrum, almost like a sun in its own right. The cloth flowed over its owner’s body and fit like a perfectly tailored glove, every curve settling in the right spot, every seam blending faultlessly with the pasty colored fabric. The dress’s proprietor, a young woman named Neriah, was a beautifully swarthy European girl who had a sun kissed glow to her noble Spanish skin.

She knew nothing of the pain she was destined for.

She swept through the palace that had become her home, a single crimson rose held loosely in her right hand, her thoughts constantly drifting to her lover.

Her dearest Miguel.

She hadn’t seen him in months; he’d sailed early in the year, a proud officer in His Majesty’s glorious Armada. She’d begged him to stay for reasons unknown, pleaded with him not to go on Spain’s errand to England, but he had reasoned with her. There was no earthly reason he shouldn’t go. He’d been on countless missions before and had always come home to her. He’d asked her to simply her rationale and give him just one plausible reason. One reason and he would stay.

But she hadn’t had one.

So she watched him sail that day that seemed so long ago, praying to God he would come home safely. Every day since Miguel had left, Neriah had gone to the palace’s chapel and begged God to protect him. She longed for nothing more than to see her love again and to dance with him.

What dancers they had been.

Lately, she’d spent her days roaming the palace in her best dress, her raven curls pinned up by a blooming flower, and a rose from the palace gardens clasped in her hand. It had become a ritual. She would dream of Miguel’s return, of the strong features in his face, and of the ball that her father would undoubtedly throw in glory of his Armada’s success.

And they would dance. She and Miguel would dance.

Surely the Armada would succeed. Spain was an undefeated power, their armies magnificent and their navy superb. There was no reason for her to be worried, none at all. Spain would succeed and Miguel would come home.

And when he was home, oh, they would dance forever.