The Last Waltz

Never let anyone lead you astray.- Michelle Liew

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Dance steps still echoed through the halls of Encore Dance Studio, flowing with the eerie rhythm of the chandeliers.

Only shadows moved beneath them, synced to the charming, yet poignant chorus of the Blue Danube. It flowed through the vacant halls, a tune drenched in memory, donned like a ghost's lullaby.

From a forgotten music box in the corner, the tune whispered, a shattered musical promise, fragile as glass. It whispered, not a melody, but a beckoning.

Young Johann discovered it carefully buried beneath a loose floorboard. He wound it---he believed it offered comfort.

Curiosity won- it spawned Johann's tune, its notes a web of silk threads winding around him in a cocoon.

A dark shadow danced with the blissfully unaware Johann, shifting and stretching, ever-changing.

And she appeared--pale, gaunt, hollow eyes filled with yearning. She extended a frail hand.

Thinking it would lead him to a land of wonder, he took it.

Her grip was ice, hard, fastidious.

It wouldn't let go.

So he danced with her--and danced, passing between light and dark, slowly fading as he moved.

As they danced, she told him his name.

She bore his surname.

She had been a top dancer at Encore--bright, graceful, envied.

But she had vanished beneath the floorboards---they say he had pushed.

The three shared the same surname.

The two flowed with the melody, without stopping---until Johann no longer existed.

Just his movements. Only his memories.

He had taken her hand without question. He trusted it--they shared the same surname.

Now a mere shadow, he lurked beneath the floorboards. All because he followed, without asking where.

The music box still waits under the floorboard, waiting to be opened.

Not every hand leads the right way.

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