He grasped her by the wrist , running a thumb along the sensitive skin underneath. "Then let me call you Mine for a dance or two"She grinned but someone was suddenly between them, a tall, powerfully built person. Sam. He ripped the stranger's hand off of her wrist. "She's spoken for," he growled, all too close to the young man's maked face. The stranger's friend was behind him in an instant, his bronze eyes fixed on Sam.Celaena grabbed Sam's elbow. "Enough," she warned him.The masked stranger looked Sam up and down, then held up his hands. "My mistake," he said, but winked at Celaena before disappeared into the crowd, his armed friend close behind.Celaena whirled to face Sam. "What in hell was that for?""You're drunk," he told her, so close her chest brushed his, "And he knew it, too.""So?" Even as she said it, someone dancing wildly crashed into her and set her reeling. Sam caught her around the waist, his hands firm on her as he kept her from falling to the ground."You'll thank me in the morning." "Just because we're working together doesn't mean I'm suddenly incapable of handling myself." His hands were still on her waist."Let me take you home.

He was shockingly easy to follow. The pressure of his hand, the step of his foot, the angle of his frame... it was like reading his mind. When he leaned right, they turned in perfect unison. He swept her across the gallery in a quick three, a dizzying pace. Gilded frames and glass cases and the window blurred in her vision, and Azalea spun out, her skirts pulling and poofing around her, before he caught her and brought her back into dance position. She could almost hear music playing, swelling inside of her.Mother had once told her about this perfect twining into one. She called it interweave, and said it was hard to do, for it took the perfect matching of the partners’ strengths to overshadow each other’s weaknesses, meshing into one glorious dance. Azalea felt the giddiness of being locked in not a pairing, but a dance. So starkly different than dancing with Keeper. Never that horrid feeling that she owed him something; no holding her breath, wishing for the dance to end. Now, spinning from Mr. Bradford’s hand, her eyes closed, spinning back and feeling him catch her, she felt the thrill of the dance, of being matched, flow through her.”Heavens, you’re good!” said Azalea, breathless.”You’re stupendous,” said Mr. Bradford, just as breathless. “It’s like dancing with a top!

The months passed away. Slowly a great fear came over Viola, a fear that would hardly ever leave her. For every month at the full moon, whether she would or no, she found herself driven to the maze, through its mysterious walks into that strange dancing-room. And when she was there the music began once more, and once more she danced most deliciously for the moon to see. The second time that this happened she had merely thought that it was a recurrence of her own whim, and that the music was but a trick that the imagination had chosen to repeat. The third time frightened her, and she knew that the force that sways the tides had strange power over her. The fear grew as the year fell, for each month the music went on for a longer time - each month some of the pleasure had gone from the dance. On bitter nights in winter the moon called her and she came, when the breath was vapor, and the trees that circled her dancing-room were black, bare skeletons, and the frost was cruel. She dared not tell anyone, and yet it was with difficulty that she kept her secret. Somehow chance seemed to favor her, and she always found a way to return from her midnight dance to her own room without being observed. Each month the summons seemed to be more imperious and urgent. Once when she was alone on her knees before the lighted altar in the private chapel of the palace she suddenly felt that the words of the familiar Latin prayer had gone from her memory. She rose to her feet, she sobbed bitterly, but the call had come and she could not resist it. She passed out of the chapel and down the palace gardens. How madly she danced that night! ("The Moon Slave")

In her fantastic mood she stretched her soft, clasped hands upward toward the moon. 'Sweet moon,' she said in a kind of mock prayer, 'make your white light come down in music into my dancing-room here, and I will dance most deliciously for you to see". She flung her head backward and let her hands fall; her eyes were half closed, and her mouth was a kissing mouth. 'Ah! sweet moon,' she whispered, 'do this for me, and I will be your slave; I will be what you will.'Quite suddenly the air was filled with the sound of a grand invisible orchestra. Viola did not stop to wonder. To the music of a slow saraband she swayed and postured. In the music there was the regular beat of small drums and a perpetual drone. The air seemed to be filled with the perfume of some bitter spice. Viola could fancy almost that she saw a smoldering campfire and heard far off the roar of some desolate wild beast. She let her long hair fall, raising the heavy strands of it in either hand as she moved slowly to the laden music. Slowly her body swayed with drowsy grace, slowly her satin shoes slid over the silver sand.The music ceased with a clash of cymbals. Viola rubbed her eyes. She fastened her hair up carefully again. Suddenly she looked up, almost imperiously."Music! more music!" she cried.Once more the music came. This time it was a dance of caprice, pelting along over the violin-strings, leaping, laughing, wanton. Again an illusion seemed to cross her eyes. An old king was watching her, a king with the sordid history of the exhaustion of pleasure written on his flaccid face. A hook-nosed courtier by his side settled the ruffles at his wrists and mumbled, 'Ravissant! Quel malheur que la vieillesse!' It was a strange illusion. Faster and faster she sped to the music, stepping, spinning, pirouetting; the dance was light as thistle-down, fierce as fire, smooth as a rapid stream. The moment that the music ceased Viola became horribly afraid. She turned and fled away from the moonlit space, through the trees, down the dark alleys of the maze, not heeding in the least which turn she took, and yet she found herself soon at the outside iron gate. ("The Moon Slave")

মম চিত্তে নিতি নৃত্যে কে যে নাচেতাতা থৈথৈ, তাতা থৈথৈ, তাতা থৈথৈ।তারি সঙ্গে কী মৃদঙ্গে সদা বাজেতাতা থৈথৈ তাতা থৈথৈ তাতা থৈথৈ॥হাসিকান্না হীরাপান্না দোলে ভালে,কাঁপে ছন্দে ভালোমন্দ তালে তালে,নাচে জন্ম নাচে মৃত্যু পাছে পাছে,তাতা থৈথৈ, তাতা থৈথৈ, তাতা থৈথৈ।কী আনন্দ, কী আনন্দ, কী আনন্দদিবারাত্রি নাচে মুক্তি নাচে বন্ধ--সে তরঙ্গে ছুটি রঙ্গে পাছে পাছেতাতা থৈথৈ, তাতা থৈথৈ, তাতা থৈথৈ॥

ഉത്സവം കഴിഞ്ഞുഒന്നിച്ചു നൃത്തം ചവിട്ടിയവര്‍അവരവരുടെ കൂടാരങ്ങളിലെയ്ക ­്ക് മടങ്ങി.മഞ്ഞുപെയ്യുന്ന ഈ രാവില്‍,മുനിഞ്ഞു കത്തുന്ന വിളക്കുമരത്തിനു ­ താഴെഒരാള്‍ തനിച്ചാവുന്നു.പിന്നീടാണ്‌ ക്രിസ്തു വന്നത്.അവസാനത്തെ ചങ്ങാതിയും പടിയിറങ്ങുമ്പോള ­്‍ആരുമറിയാതെ ഉള്ളിലേക്കെത്തു ­ന്ന സുഹൃത്ത്‌.കുന്തിരിക്കത്തി ­ന്റെ ഗന്ധത്തില്‍ നിന്ന്നമുക്കീ തച്ചന്റെ വിയര്‍പ്പിലേക്ക ­് മടങ്ങാം.