The bar is smoky when Adam enters. It reeks of spilt beer and the feverish stale sweat of those surrounding him. Immediately, the closeness and the tension make his tongue swell and press against his teeth. He claws his way to an open spot at the bar, orders a beer he hopes will be cold and knows will not, and turns his eyes to the front of the room.

The cool flicker of dead light reflects off the multitude of eyes glued to the stage. He joins them in the sacred prayer for HER appearance. The one moment he risks looking away is to grab the beer waiting for him. The glass hits Adam's teeth sharply and rattles his foggy brain. His gums start to bleed, but he doesn't care. He licks at his blood and beer stained lips and gulps hard, the aftertaste becoming the only thing he remembers about the alcohol he just swallowed. That and the light buzz suffusing his thoughts. He wonders briefly if the buzz is truly from the beer, or emanating from those pressing in around him like sardines.

The silence suddenly becomes unreal, every breath, every blink in unison. Every person in the room melts into the silent seduction, and the unfathomable black of the stage becomes the partner they each long to impress.

Slowly the music begins...

At first Adam mistakes it for the shuffling of feet and the scraping of the door as it admits more and ever more of the faithful through it's gaping maw. Like a bird, the rhythm rises up from those commonplace noises and risks making itself known. A common gasp of relief ripples through the crowd until it reaches him. He raises his voice with the abandon of a zealot. All eyes strain forward. Each of these human husks surrounding him leans toward the stage. They are pressed into Adam's back and sides, their meaty red hands clench, squeezing the blood from blunt fingers. All of them, breathing slowed bodies tense with the endless anticipation of a f congregation in search of God.

A low heartbeat echo and the whole world gasps.

"The hour is now, the lovers join at last, again... for your pleasure." This disembodied voice, this lilting orgasm of controlled breath, caresses the audience. Only a servant girl, but she's infected with The Dancers spirit, and Adam shivers in anticipation. A scream of sitar splits the air and a monk in hooded black shuffles into sight. Almost lost in the impregnable dark of the stage, his hands move in a flash of gold that draws every eye to him. He holds aloft a large striker, its soft head pale... the long shaft of glowing, well-worn wood. He moves forward to caress the bell beside him. The stretched, endless, humming toll, and the show begins.

Like always, Adam's hungry eyes are first drawn to the two girls in white silk that appear out of the mist on stage. Exotic and virginal just achieving prime bloom, their cheeks stained red, and their legs trembling. Their eyes are the wide eyes of animals, afraid and confused. They cannot see, yet the whole world sees. He sees and watches their fall. They grasp at one another, trying to be brave until the angel sings.

His heart thuds, lurches, as the voice of Satan herself issues from the throat of a dark shadow behind the girls. They turn and seek this source of solace, the dawn rising with this voice, this... holy vessel. They reach for the shadows, and SHE emerges, his angel... his vision. Adam drops his glass of beer from numb fingers and presses forward, the sharp crack of glass hitting floor is lost. Sticky, puddled spill of beer spreads unnoticed. The end over end tumble into her voice is all that matters and he presses forward, his body electrified as he sees, The Dancer.

She floats toward the girls, arms outstretched, offering a safe haven in the beauty of a time long forgotten. They run to her, hiding their faces against her chest as she gazes upon the crowd and sings her new children into submission. Adam feels himself submitting as well.

The Dancer's blue eyes glare into the crowd, electric blue crackling as she seduces her lilies to a darker desire of off-white linen and soft skin. She is gazing out into the throbbing mass of humanity to find her voice, her inspiration, and the power to transport them, along with her, into a gentle beckoning to the innocent, dusky with mysteries of dead rituals. Adam feels summoned and tries to take a step forward, only to be blocked by the human mass that he'd forgotten was there, between him and the altar that is her stage.

Her fragile cobweb fingers stroke the hair of the two girls in white, easing their fear. The trembling that once was part of their horror has another more pleasant origin. Adam tremble with them. Their childlike hands reach to her, stroking The Dancer’s long swan white neck as she opens her mouth to begin the chant of beguilement. The seductive unfamiliar first words leave the girls—and him—boneless in their adoration. She extends her arms, letting the long sleeves of stardust and deepest night brush the floor, while exposing the smooth curves of her body, restricted in leather and buckles until she seems inhuman. Her leather-clad chest rises and falls as her song turns from moon pale to crimson desire. He cannot turn away.

Her head falls back, her long black hair a shadow swaying behind her in a dance of it's own, an unholy ritual convulsion that shivers down her spine as her splayed fingers twist to the sky, an invocation of the spirit. Her new seduced pair reaches toward one another, pulling free the cloth that marks them maidens, exposing fresh lush skin to fingertips sensitive as the lips that follow. Dark hollows of necks, peach blush of nipples, and their hunger rises from the cold winter of sexless youth, into the blossom of womanhood. Above them rising, always rising, the voice of the darkest angel pleads for scarlet desire to move to black.

Turning now, the newly formed women reach kitten claws to the breast of She who has forced their evolution, she pulls them close. A mother nursing her young she struggles to continue her song... the faltering aria of creation and sacrifice... of new born blush and ageless needs. Adam cries openly at the beauty of her motherhood.

Her voice trembles, and slowly slips away into the shadows. The goddess' words grow vague in the drunken group-mind as she slips into the shadows, backing away until only her pale white hands remain to their sight, turning her new daughters of passion to the adoring eyes of the crowd. Her voice, speaking softly, splits even the most hushed whisper; "I present to you... Mine." He trembles at the strength of her voice.

Adam's mind spins, as these women turn to gaze upon him with her same eyes... her same exotic smile... her same hidden ancient knowledge... they have each become one of her own number. He swallows against the desert in his mouth, and the women prostrate themselves on the stage recovering from the exertions of evolving.

He is released from her spell, this weaving She has wrought, and shaking it off sees her newly made women. He moves forward with the mob that has also become aware of the lingering magical presence these daughters hold. Bitter beer breath washes over his collar, skin presses so close that body heat is shared, but everything is secondary to seeing these women closer, perhaps touching one of them. Adam battles his way to the front ducking and sliding around strangers in an outlandish dance to reach those that have touched... felt... The Dancer.

His hands reach forward blindly, lost in a tangled jungle of limbs and bottles. He goes down on his knees. Those behind him quickly swallow up the air that was just his. He groans and moves forward, unable now to move back. The feet behind him begin to strike him in his ribs. They begin to step on his legs in their effort to move forward. He is overpowered by the fetid odor of half washed bodies. He gags dryly and lurches forward drunkenly. His jeans stick to the filth on the floor. A large black boot impacts with his face, then moves on unknowing. He reaches between two bodies, one last desperate bid before he's crushed by the mob that now is beginning to trample him... his hands searching for anything to hold onto, panic taking over. The trip hammer of his heart so loud he can't hear anything else. Reality thins as another boot steals the last of his breath.

Cool hands finds his and draw him forward, and the smell of sweet incense overwhelms him. He emerges into a small opening and stands on quivering legs gasping to regain his breath and settle his trembling heart. Adam looks up to thank his savior, mouth half-ajar he realizes it's them... the new daughters. Hers. He gapes and mutters as they both smile at him, gesturing for him to join them on stage. He climbs up, never taking his eyes from them, lost in the magic of their bright blue eyes. Adam kneels before them, hands turned up in supplication, his voice a long forgotten memory, and they smile at one another and turn to the back of the stage, holding hands while walking off. He scrambles after them, in the wake of the sandalwood smell of their skin...all at once darkness becomes all that is. He pushes though the smoky velvet curtain and is spilled out into the harsh back ground to the vision he's just witnessed outside.

A low heartbeat echo...

He turns to look for the women he was following. They are kissing passionately a few steps from him. Their skin shimmers with sensual heat. Adam is afraid to touch them, wondering if they are simply a mirage his mind has constructed to lead him back here. Unsure, he steps around them and searches for something to lead him. All he sees are quiet men rolling up black cords and picking up props. Picking his way through the dusty stomach of the theatre, Adam finds himself following an inner song until he is standing before an old warped wooden door with a tarnished brass star tacked onto it.

He's afraid to knock, and the blue green oxidation at the edges of the poorly polished star seems to wink condescendingly at his cowardice. He sucks in a deep breath and raises his hand, but before he has time to bring it down the door opens slightly. A girl... with small delicate features that hide her age smiles up at him with a dazzling premature beauty. She takes his hand and pulls him inside, making sure the door closes solidly behind him. They weave through the receiving room; it is piled high with flowers. The scent of roses is so overpowering Adam feels as if he is breathing though petals, dark red petals soft as lips.

The world gasps...

The girl pushes open a door in front of them, not so unlike the other door, but without the mocking star. The interior is murky and he's suddenly afraid he cannot go through with this. He's got no choice. The girl pulls him through, into this new darkened room. Adam watches as she leaves, taking the weak light with her before he can move to stop her. He looks at the closed door wishing the girl would come back. Wishing she would give him a chance to leave. Then he hears a soft hush of sound; silk rustling, the rise and fall of a chest of moon glow, a disciples chant heard in the back of his mind. He turns to it.

She's sitting across the room in front of her lighted vanity with her back to him. A gulf of darkness is all that separates him from her now. Her head is tilted to the side; it exposes an ancient Mayan calendar, circular and intricate, sewn into the back of the short black robe she wears. It leaves her long legs exposed to mid-thigh. Adam's body betrays him and responds to her in a base animalistic way. He notices the brush in her hand, she's brushing her hair. That long black curtain that dances with her on stage and now shimmers in the low light of the room. He imagines his face buried in it, stray strands wrapping around him in an older, more primal dance and he shivers. She looks up in the mirror, as if his movement was a scream, her sparkling blue eyes meeting his unflinchingly.

The time is now...

She turns to him and smiles then slowly stands and walks over to him, pushing her hair back over her shoulder as she moves. It sways with her as she walks lightly across the void dividing them. Adam can't take his eyes from her until she stops right in front of him. Reaching out she lifts his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"Aren't you afraid of me?" The snake soft lisp in her whisper sets him to trembling. It leaves him lost looking for basics, like his name and his purpose being here.

"N-n-no."

"You should be."

She takes his hand, and pulls him trembling through a black curtain he failed to see when he entered, into the room behind it. It is set like a stage, the walls and ceiling painted a dark black of the interior of long forgotten pyramids. The carpet beneath Adam's feet is black and lush, not the soft green of grass, or the warm of desert sand, but close. It muffles all the sounds he makes while crossing to the... bed. His breath catches in a half-hidden gasp. Before him on a raised platform is an immense bed, is wrought iron frame set with metal carvings of human beings twisted in carnal poses. He blushes and looks away quickly, cursing the body that will not obey him. Adam's eyes roves around the room, as he recovers his composure. He finds the light in the room is bright enough to catch the sheen of the white satin bedspread that tumbles down the sides and hangs, barely touching the floor, but not bright enough to clearly define anything else in the room. Twilight... he thinks. She tugs him closer to the bed. He feels like a sacrifice, and then leaves him to take a seat on its edge while she lights the candles set in scones high in the walls around the room. He tastes jasmine in the air.

Her hips sway in a mesmerizing saunter as she steals around the room, his eyes follow her convulsively, her liquid movements consume him. Adam feels the light from each candle in his veins. He is her fire, molten lava for her to bathe in. By the time the last guttering candle catches and holds it's light he is sure their first touch will blaze between them. He aches to beg her to touch him, but can't bring himself to cut this soft agreeable silence. Finally she comes to stand in front of him, her clear blue eyes boring into his. She doesn't move... she doesn't move for so long and his body is crying out, beyond his control. He MUST reach out to touch her. When he does, she slaps his hands away, and takes a step back. The devoted fails a test of faith.

The lovers join...

His eyes plead his body bends forward in supplication. In slow motion she takes the belt of the robe in her hand and pulls until the knot comes loose. She lets the belt drop to the floor and stands with a sliver of golden flesh showing down the middle of her body. From the valley in between her breasts, her slightly rounded stomach, the thick thatch of hair between her legs... she is perfect, and he wishes to worship at her feet for it.

For his pleasure...

She reaches for him and encourages this performance to begin. Adam bows his head as unworthy, she only smiles and pulls him to the soft skin of her goddess belly. His cheeks are harsh, stained with stubble. He scratches and kisses over the peaks and hollows she offers to him. He fights the silk where it covers her until it falls free of her body, and they tumble onto the bed, a panting hunger claws at the both of them. They begin the discovery of a new world in one another's arms. His clothes seem to dissolve under her eyes, while the rest of his body preens and stretches for her. The positions switch, performer becomes audience, and his stage is found in those places their bodies touch and burn as bright as spotlights.

She pulls him into a dance as old as the night. She is a wild thing, a huntress from which there is no escape. His native blood sings when she offers no mercy. Together their bodies prance and dart caught up in the sport of the hunt. They draw apart only to breathe, to pant at the pace of this furious chase. He howls at the sweet agony of her claws and teeth, but his cries for release are unheeded. Save the sound of her growls in the shadows, the scent of arousal that drives him on, and that hope for a merciful death from this fever she has delivered to him. She tempts him to give up, but he is better sport than that. He holds on by will alone, gritting his teeth as her softness tries to undo him. She has no pity for him. She laughs and teases him, plays with the trembling control he has over his body. He holds strong until in her flawless primal beauty she opens herself to him. She purrs with sweet abandon, and Adam comes forward to the light she holds inside her skin, and batters at it like a moth. Until the fire in her eyes fades, the hunted is captured, and the moth, sated, falls into a peaceful slumber.

Sleepy satisfaction suffuses Adam's body as he comes awake by degrees. His limbs tingle with a new vitality, every piece of skin exposed to air, prickling with increased sensitivity. He stretches and let's a sleepy smile fix on his face. Flashes of last night spring before his closed eyes, a silent film of the most erotic night of his life. He turns to her warmth, drawn. He wants to thank her. He's never been more alive. Adam reaches out, musky thoughts of more nights like the last and a buried certainty that she is the one swims across his mind. Until his hand brushes unfamiliar skin. That's when he knows something is terribly wrong.

Slowly the music begins...