Yasmine stepped onto the old ballroom floor, which creaked softly under her feet, and in the center of the room sat a violin that had aged centuries. A cold wind pressed against her back, and then soft music started to play as the shadows formed into shapes of dancers. They moved in rhythm, faceless and somewhat graceful in a creepy way.
"Dance with us," a soft voice uttered. The voice was like silk.
The music played softly in the background as Yasmine's feet started to move without a thought, pulling her into the waltz. She was spinning with her arms lifted by the shadows that she could barely see. Every turn she made blurred the room slightly. The shadows pressed closer with their faceless heads tilting, hungry. Then she saw them—shoes gliding across the floor, leaving crimson streaks of blood. Real blood, nothing fake. The ballroom was alive; its polished walls began bleeding crimson, like a waterfall feeding on her pulse, mirrors reflecting not her face but a hollow-eyed corpse that resembled her, wearing the same gown.
The violin in the center shrieked. Yasmine's skin started to get cold, her breath showing in the air. She tried to pull away, but with each pull, the shadows pulled her back as the song and dance started picking up tempo. Her heart was pounding like a frightening storm just to keep up with the tempo.
"Forever," the soft voice whispered again, but this time from inside her head.
The dance and music kept gaining more tempo, and the last thing Yasmine felt was her feet giving out, her body spinning so fast that she was nothing but a shadow. The ballroom went still as the violin slowed, and the walls began to bleed. In the center of the room, a new curious mind awaits, a new shadow to take, her face pale with her gown soaked in crimson.
Yasmine was now a part of the Blood Dance Ballroom. "Forever." The soft voice uttered as the cobwebbed chandelier went dark, the walls stopped bleeding, and the doors slammed closed.
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