One, two, three. Hair flashed like the pale sun. One, two, three. Brilliant sapphire eyes shone. One, two, three. Cherry lips curved upwards. Shimmering crystals dance on silken foxgloves. One, two, three.

The opulence of Lehár’s Gold and Silver waltz fades out as the lights dimmed. Sweet emotion pulled from the strings of violins, bringing in the Wiener Blut. She had always been impressed by Strauss’s work, more to her taste than the delicate charms of Lehár. Well practiced steps kept the tempo, dazzling the guests that lined the ballroom edges.

Deep navy velvet curtains draped, languidly framing enormous sheets of glass. Behind the reflective panes a sky full of stars; pinpricks of the past suspended in eternity. Under foot the boards shifted, wavered and leapt with each sweeping turn. Every pair of eyes, living or painted, were trained on her lithe form. They had watched her grow, transforming from a defiant child into a forgiving adolescent. The balls she hosted under the magnificent weeping chandeliers were not of societal politeness. One, two, three. She was buying their silence for her traitorous mind.

All unaware of her deceitful plot. One, two, three. Hear the whispering rustle of expensive taffeta, chiffon, organza and lace. One, two, three. Conspiracies seep into the melodic air. One, two, three. Intricate patterns camouflaged in the men's suits catch in the warmth. One, two, three. Everything will be revealed eventually.

Stepping gracefully from the floor, she snags a flute of champagne from a passing server. Holding up the fragile glass, observing the precious bubbles that ascend from the depths; a colour all to itself. Taking a sip, she allows her gaze to wander out across the swaying mass, each body unique yet so mind-numbingly dull. Eloquently crisp words, precisely measured into a conversation deemed fit for such occasion. Mindless gossip only befall those with a loose tongue.

One, two, three. Patting wayward strands back into place, she excuses herself. One, two, three. Gloved hands sealed off the ballroom once more. One, two, three. Music fades and voices die. One, two, three. There is work to be done.

Dainty feet encased in bespoke slippers move soundless over the plush carpet. Paying no heed to the disapproving stares of ancestors long gone. Hurrying down the panoramic staircase, her milky hand brushes over the rich mahogany banister unleashing a torrent of noise. Yanking back her extremity, she sucks in a lungful of air. Hauling herself back from the strong grip that threatened to drag her away.

One, two, three. A curse? One, two, three. A gift? One, two, three. A weapon?

Fleeing through an open sash window, she lets the tender caress soothe her burning skin. Leaning against the brick exterior she wills her mind to calm. Focus on the music, the beat. One, two, three. One, two, three.

Staring up at the clear artwork of the night she wonders what might happen if anyone were to find out her dark secret. Perhaps they would mercifully have her killed. To them a cruel way to go, to her a welcome relief.

One, two, three. Her feet begin to move. One and two and three. Faster still. One, two, three, four. One and two and three. One and two. One and two. Until she is running over diamond studded emerald planes. Minute beads frolic about her ankles, bumping playfully against the heated skin. One, two. One, two. Under the shadowy archway, she melts into the memories.

Weaving through the walled garden, she pulls at the hair pins that hold her hair precariously in a swirling bun. Relieved of their duty the slim metal clips release the shimmering waterfall, letting the waves froth and tumble over her shoulders. She felt the tickling strands brush against her pale cold shoulder, a natural blanket against the rising chill. Carelessly, she allows the clawed hands of a rose catch and tear her dress; a memento of the adored girl.

In a time blinded by suspicion of the supernatural, she felt like a fraud. Weighed down by a burden that she could not share. Wistful fantasies cavort through her imagination. Wondering what it would feel like to be able to speak what ever she felt; just as the weather screamed, smiled and ignored.

For many years, she had known that she would fail life’s test young. Flashes of the future plagued her, explosions of the past shook her and shivers of the present left her fearful. She wasn’t scared anymore. Not now that the pieces of the puzzle had come together.

One, two, three. Her flight slowed. One, two, three. Ragged inhale of oxygen. One, two, three. Breath trembling on the breeze. One, two, three. She finds the hidden rope. One, two, three. Nimble fingers secure the knot. One, two, three. On frozen feet she climbs upon her favourite bench; the one painted in white with looping honeysuckle all around. One, two, three.

Ocean eyes, pools of turbulent emotion, let their gaze sorrowfully drink in the enchanted garden. Tonight the moon lay her gentle fingers on every surface, painting silver linings. Glorious flowers nod quietly, trees murmur lowly.

She had danced her last dance, a final triumphant waltz. Every rise has its fall; every fall has its rise. Perhaps someday she will come again. To waltz means to roll or revolve, she knows that and it’s where she found the strength to go on for twenty years.

Two decades of memories. Short and bittersweet. Her head slips into the hold of the noose. One step forward. One slide to the left. One step diagonally backwards. One, two, three. The perfect balancé, chased by a chassé that never lands.

One, two, three. Frantic arms try and stop the crushing suffocation. One, two… Three. Her vision starts to blur with crystal tears. One… Two… Three. Darkness walks up shyly, offering its hand and slight bow. One… Two. She curtsies in acceptance of the offer, the chance to dance once more. One. Feet pointed in a graceful curve, frozen forevermore as she hangs. A final breath and the most adored girl succumbs to haunting music of the night.