[ When it comes towards her, at last, there is a silver knife in its grip. It slinks around her like a hunter, and that is when she is brought in to dance with it. Slow, polite exchanges with the silver thing glittering behind its back. The dancing grows slowly more erratic, struggle and chase with the violence in their strings becoming more and more pronounced. A tragic little tango that ends with her skirts splayed out on the floor as she gazes up into the knife held over her head.
no subject
It stands there, frozen in indecision. ]