You dance because you don't know any better.

You don't realise what is really going on, you may never truly realise what's going on.

So you dance, the three of you - in a moment they are your sisters, your mothers, your lovers. They are your world, your dance partners, although if anyone asked you their names you couldn't give an answer.

You dance.

You will never see them again, after this moment, after the moon sets and a new day begins. You won't remember anything else about the day but the dance. The dance will live on in your mind, it will remain with you for the rest of your days.

The dance will haunt you, in the fullness of time.

You will make it into perfection, an unattainable dream, a haven. Nothing will compare as you crown it, place it on a pedestal, revere it with the gods.

It is far from that. It is primal, and it is pathetic, it is ugly, and wrong.

You will not notice the blood around your toes, the blood on your hands, you will not hear the dying agony of those you dance on. You will never be aware of what it was, exactly, you did. You will never know who it was who moved you to do it.

It will be divine, this dance of yours, this ring a rosie that you twirl, this animalistic marking of territory and posession of land, posession of life.

Your innocence will be preserved.

The price will be high, but you will never know you paid it.

You danced.