Her feet step over the stone, bare and at one with the floor, moving however she pleases and never being restricted by the room built around her. Her arms move as if she were a flower spinning in the breeze, with such fluidity and grace, almost hypnotic. Her dress flows around her like the wind waltzing with leaves. Never mind how tattered it is, it’s made indescribably beautiful by her movements. Her hair moves as the perfect companion, its silky waves catching the candlelight and giving a gorgeous shimmer to her form. There is no one in the world but her, moving across the floor with as much delight and ecstasy as the human body can allow. And yet she is most serene. A painting of beauty, composure and joy, made by the brushstrokes of a goddess who wanted to create an impression of herself as a gift. A scene so valuable that you might not even look down. You might not see what that strange sound her sliding feet are making is being born from. You might not see that she’s dancing in a pool of red. You might not see that her dancing partner is a long knife.