• The moon shined hauntingly down upon a grotesque scene of death and decay. Beams of light gleamed eerily off of rotting marionette strings, long out of tune guitars twanged jarringly, and the steady sound of flowing blood could be heard. A normal night for the damned. The macabre dance had been going on for an eternity, the same every night, stopping at the first light of dawn, starting with the emerging of the first star, the band slowly starting up, limbs of the only remaining dancer creaking stiffly as they moved into the well practiced routine. And as she danced, jerking hauntingly across the floor, oblivious to the eyes of the long since immobile bodies strewn out of the way, a single man laughed. It was a cold laugh, blood chilling and venomous, soft and confident, yet it rang eerily across the room, bouncing off the age-mottled floor and fraying curtains. It drew no reaction, as expected, and he proceeded to stride carefully to the lone figure, still dancing, to take the place of the invisible partner.
    "May I have this dance?" broke the silence, that had only just now returned, in a low, seductive, and teasing voice as he took his place, on hand wound around her cold waist, the other clasped in her dead hand.
    And they danced, master and puppet, gliding through hell, over the blood, ichor, and decay, her stained dress dragging, fraying even more where stepped on by her partner, only for him to leave again with the first rays of light, an unspoken promise on his lips to return tomorrow.
    Throwing one last glance over his shoulder at the puppet slowly falling in a heap, he left.
    Until tonight.