Sandra Moonpetal's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Sandra Moonpetal marked the dance floor with chalk and knew the pattern was wrong. She meant to bind the fairy, elf, and nymph courts with one dance, the first shared step in centuries. But her feet stumbled on a gap. Somewhere in the middle, the old steps were missing. Without them the binding fell apart before the first turn. She had begged three courts to send their finest dancers. They would arrive in two days. If she failed, no court would ever trust another again. Sandra dropped the chalk. She pressed her charm to her chest, a hand-me-down thing hung with tiny bottles and painted leaves. Her mother had promised it once held the memory of every dancer who came before. Sandra had never made it work. "You strangle it," a voice said behind her. Sandra spun. The old witch stood in the grotto doorway, leaning on a plain wooden cane. Crystal light struck her white hair and her eyes glowed like two small lamps. Power moved off her the way heat moves off a stove. Sandra had heard the courts whisper about her. The one who remembered the forbidden dance. The one who would not teach it. "You know the steps," Sandra said. "Teach me." The witch crossed the floor slowly. "The steps are not learned. They are shown." She tapped the charm with one finger. "You grip this like a coin. Open your hand." Sandra let her fingers loosen. The witch closed her own hand over Sandra's. The bottles warmed. The painted leaves trembled. The grotto walls faded. Sandra saw them then, the dancers who came before. A fairy, an elf, and a nymph turned together on old stone. Their feet drew a shape she had never guessed. Cross, dip, and a slow spin that folded all three lines into one knot. Sandra watched it twice. She felt the missing steps land in her body like a key sliding home. The vision broke. Sandra staggered. Her feet already wanted to move. "Now you know," the witch said. She stepped back and gripped her cane. "But knowing is the small part." Sandra danced the whole pattern alone, start to finish. Every step held. The chalk lines no longer lied. Then the floor shook. A crack ran through the crystal beneath her feet. Blue light leaked up from the split and hummed against her ankles. "The dance is a lock," the witch said. "You just turned it. The moment three courts move on this ground, something older wakes underneath." She started for the door. "I would not have shown you if I thought you could stop." Sandra looked at the crack, then at the two days she had left. The dancers were still coming. She finally had the steps. And now the ground itself was against her.