Dancing Queen Marcus (Bonfire scene/Marcus POV) (Patreon)

The flames of the bonfire lick my skin. For some ungodly reason, you started to dance. That's part of the ritual, huh?

When you talked about rituals, I was preparing myself for being shoved into the fire. Human sacrifices and you Picts go hand in hand, or so I've heard.

However, it was just a dancing ritual. That's a relief, I suppose.

• Hati the bad dancer:

    Oh, dear. Apollo bless your little heart, at least you're trying.

    If by trying, I mean that you're waving your hand and legs about like you're being possessed by demons.

    I quickly shake my head with a little grin. That was mean. I apologize. Good thing you're not looking at me.

    Most likely because you know I'm watching, and judging, you.

• Hati the good dancer

    How are your movements that effortless?

    It's almost intoxicating to watch.

    I look away. I'm not sure why. For some reason, I feel uncomfortable.

You take my hand, yanking me to you. To dance? Are you serious?

I don't dance.

You challenge me with your gaze. You smile. You're happy.

It's contagious. I almost find myself smiling back at you.

Fine.

Floyd is drumming the beat. I steel my resolve and try to catch the rhythm, to bend it to my will.

It's not working. It slips through my grasp. I almost stomp my feet in irritation but manage to stop myself in time.

You look at me. However, your gaze is glassy. It's like you're in a trance. 

That's good. At leat for me.

Ugh. I'm here. I can't just retreat. I have never backed down on a challenge and I will not start doing so now.

I… I suppose I need to work with the beat. To let it guide me. 

Or something.

For fuck's sake.

I start swaying my body with my eyes closed. I will dance or I will die trying.

Confidence. That's the key. Remember to look confident.

• Hati the bad dancer

    So I won't end up looking like one certain individual twitching near me.

    Again, mean. I'm sorry.

    I open my eyes to see that you don't care about anyone anymore. You don't care how you look. You just dance.

    Seeing that makes me relax.

So I dance.

Smoke fills my lungs when the wind wills it.

I dance with you, almost touching you but not daring to.

I move away when you move near me. I'm not sure why.

Finally, you try to take my hand but your touch burns my skin. I yank my hand away, almost certain my skin is in blisters. You look at me with a questioning gaze, you didn't do it on purpose.

How could you? That wasn't natural.

Then, I feel it: A terrifying force lingering near you. It makes me halt my movements. Whatever it is, it doesn't want me to be here. I can almost hear it snarling at me.

It's attached to you, it's guarding you.

I can almost see its shape: a flash of white hair and ice-blue eyes staring into my soul.

I blink and it's gone.

There's just you: you smiling at me and saying it's alright.