Rhythm is a dancer,

It's a soul's companion,

People feel it everywhere,

Lift your hands and voices,

Free your mind and join us,

You can feel it in the air

Stunned, Kurt freezes before stuttering, "Of course."

He stares at the man in front of him, watches the rosy lips curve into a smile. Hesitantly, he takes his hand and follows him to the dance floor.

There's a faint chatter about the room, masks of every shape and every color and every design mingling throughout the room, speaking in hushed whispers or boisterous laughs. The musicians are still settling in for the next number, and after hours of loud music, the naked air seems silent.

Taking a deep breath, Kurt grips his partner's hand tighter and leads him to the centre of the crowd. He's tempted to speak, but suddenly the long stroke of a violin fills the air as the musicians signal their readiness.

Masked faces spin to the orchestra, whose members now stand tall and ready, black masks covering their faces. The hall is silent as the dancers wait. Then the music starts. And it's a dance he's been taught as a child.

Thrilled at finally being able to have the superiority in a number, Kurt releases his partner's hand and sweeps into a graceful bow, signaling his intention to lead. His partner dips his head in acknowledgment, and they both raise their hands and bow, mirroring each other. Kurt stands tall, raising his arm high as his partner spins, their hands joining high above their heads. The dancers are all synchronized because it's a well known song, so it feels like the entire hall is elegantly lifting their hands towards the lofty heights of the palace.

Operatic voices seep into the air, echoing against the tall stone walls of the palace, the voices tangling with the smoke, curling and rising to stroke the painted ceilings. Reality starts to slip away again and the world falls into a haze of fantasy, the opera only contributing to the effect.

Masquerade! Paper faces on parade
Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you
Masquerade! Every face a different shade
Masquerade! Look around, there's another mask behind you.

His partner moves away as the music picks up, the arms in the hall rising and falling sharply and then gently, like the crashing of waves on a silent shore. The two circle each other, stalking each other with light, quick feet that move swiftly over the marble floor, before they meet again together, holding each other lightly as they move down the hall in parallel to the other dancers.

The pace quickens and his partner falls into his arms before Kurt grips his waist and leads him through a swift series of steps. He stumbles a bit, but Kurt keeps a steady hand on his lower back, guiding him through the proper movements. Kurt hears the man chuckle softly as he misses another step, obviously new to this style of dancing, and Kurt just squeezes his waist.

The air is hot now, laden with the heat from the fires and the sweaty dancers, but as they move faster and faster he can feel a light breeze on his cheek. A lady's fan flicks beside him, ruffling his hair slightly but he pays it no notice. The music rises and falls in sweeping crescendos, his heart mimicking it. Kurt feels like he's flying as he spins in his partner's arms, their arms rising high and falling again before they fall back together.

Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds
Masquerade! Take your fill, let the spectacle astound you
Masquerade! Burning glances, turning heads
Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you

Kurt looks down at his partner as he places one hand lightly on the shorter man's hip and the other arched in the air. His partner mirrors him and they spin, the longer they spend together the more synchronized they become.

The music changes again and the dancers line up in two lines opposite each other, switching places and stepping in and out of the lines. Sharp bows and quick flourishes of hand as the dancers move in and out of each other. Kurt can feel the silk of a lady's dress brush against him, the brush of another man on his elbow, but he keeps his eyes trained on his partner and the fluid movements of his body.

Masquerade! Seething shadows breathing lies
Masquerade! You can fool any friend who ever knew you
Masquerade! Leering satyrs, peering eyes
Masquerade! Run and hide, but a face will still pursue you.

The masks blur, their colors flashing past his eyes as he moves between the other dancers, trying to keep his eyes trained on his shorter partner. Drums thunder past the music, giving the hall a fluctuating heartbeat. The trumpets blare as the ladies stamp their heeled feet and snap their fans open, using them to further contribute to the illusion. The dancers peel off, and Kurt finds himself beside his partner once again, the pair meeting gracefully as they gently clasp hands, their bodies buoyed by the fantasy.

It's a time without inhibition, without the heartache and loneliness of the freezing world. They have all cast off their troubles like winter hoods, and instead are left with light capes that flutter and curl as they twist and spin. Kurt's heart quickens as these strangers move closer and closer, infringing on the personal boundaries he's so used to having. It's new and frightening but...

But.

Kurt has never felt so alive.

He pulls his partner even closer as they move across the floor, their feet stepping quickly across the polished floors. The man's breath is hot against his neck and Kurt can feel the slight pounding of his heartbeat through his chest. Impulsively, his partner leans in closer and sings a fragment of the song into Kurt's ear, "Masquerade, hide your face so the world will never find you."

His voice is breathless and a little rough from the dancing, but it's still like honey, deep and beautiful.... and a little familiar... But before Kurt can think on it further, blazing hazel eyes look up through the mask, stealing Kurt's breath and leaving his mouth dry. But then they disappear as his partner spins again, Kurt catching him before he moves too far away.

Masquerade! Burning glances, turning heads
Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you
Masquerade! Grinning yellows, Spinning reds
Masquerade! Take your fill, let the spectacle astound you.

The voices cease, their echoes leaking into the hall. The violins take their final notes and the drums take their final beats and the dancers take their final bows.

The two stand panting heavily for a second with the others, before everyone begins to disperse. A lighthearted tune is taken, and some other dancers take the opportunity to dance. But to Kurt, the room is much too hot and he's much too tired. But he doesn't want to say goodbye to his partner just yet.

"Thank you, that was...fun," the man says breathlessly.

Kurt lets out a laugh, "Want some air?" he asks.

"Yeah... sure," the man replies quickly.

Kurt makes his way toward doors that open to a huge stone balcony but doesn't release the man's hand, gently leading him along with their fingers laced together.

The music fades slightly as they step outside, getting lost in the cold winter breeze. Both look out over the edge at the village below with its twinkling lights trying to imitate the stars above.

It's beautiful.

But after a moment of silence, Kurt finds himself looking at the man beside him, looking at the curls that neatly sweep across his forehead, one or two sticking out in defiance. The tan skin that then disappears into the mask but then reveals the sensuous curve of his lips. Then down to the firm jaw that curves into his neck and runs into his shirt...

Kurt's heart quickens and he has a sudden urge to kiss him-

"It's almost December," the man says quietly, interrupting Kurt's sinful thoughts.

"Are you cold?" Kurt asks, voice higher than intended. "We can go inside if you want..."

"Oh no no, it's nice. And clean. Just different I guess. Arenor is much warmer."

Arenor? He must be from the delegation. Kurt thinks before asking, simply to hear the man speak more, "Was it a long trip?"

"To arrive here? Yes, but it wasn't terrible. The scenery was beautiful... The rolling hills, the tall trees, the bubbling streams, the snow in the mountains, the clean winds-"

Kurt can't handle it anymore. "Can I kiss you?" he blurts out.

The man is stunned into silence but Kurt moves closer to him. Wide hazel eyes look into his own and Kurt can feel the man's warm breath against his lips. They're so close. "But I don't know you. I don't even know who you are," the man whispers.

Kurt smirks, "Well of course, that's the entire point of a masquerade."

"I've never kissed anyone before," the man admits slowly.

"Neither have I," Kurt replies softly, and with a sudden rush of bravery moves closer, and waits.

The man hesitantly moves his hands to Kurt's cheeks, and then leans in, brushing his lips against Kurt's. Kurt pushes in closer, wrapping his arms around the man's shoulders. His lips are warm and soft, but slightly chapped because of the cold winter winds and as Kurt holds him tighter, they part instinctively and Kurt explores his mouth gently. And so they kiss in the cold silence on a castle balcony with the twinkling lights of a kingdom glittering below.

Kurt pulls away, studying the man's eyes intently. He's smiling and he can see a hint of a blush peeking out from underneath the mask and creeping up his neck, softly staining his tan skin. The man, who Kurt notices is shorter than him, reaches up to kiss him again, but then Kurt is grabbing his shoulders and shoving him against the wall and then kissing him passionately. The man gasps and Kurt takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, pressing against him, reveling in the feel of the strong, warm body against his own. They move closer and closer, Kurt pinning the man to the wall, their arms wrapped securely around each other. Kurt can feel the man's heart pounding in his chest, in sync to his own. It's gentle and fiery and everything in between.

Overwhelmed, Kurt can barely process thought. But he is suddenly struck by the desire to tear the man's mask off, rip away their biggest barrier. I need to know who he is. I have to know-

But then, the bells toll midnight.

Won't you teach me how to love and learn,

There'll be nothing left for me to yearn,

Think of me and burn and let me hold your hand,

I don't want to face the world in tears,

Please think again,

I'm on my knees,

Sing that song to me

For the second time in a matter of days, Prince Blaine is left alone.

All is silent as the midnight bells stop tolling. Only the sounds of laughter and music emanating from the castle behind him can be heard. He leans his back against the wall, closing his eyes tiredly.

The man had literally disappeared before his eyes. Literally. There were rushed apologies and then he had run away, down into the gardens below, and out of sight. Blaine had pursued him but he had vanished. Had to be some sort of sorcery, but the man certainly didn't seem like a sorcerer.

He returns to the castle with a sigh and sits the rest of the night in the corner, watching his friends, colleagues, and hosts, sweep across the dance floor, twirling and bowing in the warm hall. The Kings and Queens watch from their high place in the thrones above, the only people recognizable amidst the flurry of colorful silk, jewels and masks.

But the man he had spent the night with never returns.

Dawn approaches rapidly, and soon, everyone retires. The courtiers returning to their chambers in the palace. The villagers returning to their huts below. The delegations back to their guest chambers, with only those from Arenor staying encamped beside the walls to be close to their horses, since the stables in the palace weren't large enough to house them.

And the next day while he sweeps through his daily routine, exercising the horses and tuning out his father's long lectures and practicing the motions with the soldiers, Prince Blaine thinks about true love.

Love. Synonymous of to adore, to have affection for, to worship. But there isn't really a synonym of the term is there? Love is a concept that entails being so enamored with another human being that you would do anything for them. You would lay down your life, sacrifice everything, and even follow that person to the very ends of the land if that's what would keep you together.

Most people meet another person they are attracted to and choose to live together, and most often build a family. It is a relationship based upon respect, responsibility, and survival. And some do fall in actual love. Not all, but some. Mostly, they build the illusion of love and live with it so long and make it so elaborate that they begin to be fooled by it themselves. Simply a trick of the mind, nothing more. After all, most human beings cannot be alone. We crave the presence of another, affection, love, attention, just as a man in a desert craves water from an oasis he can see but cannot reach. We cannot stand the thought that we will live alone and die alone. We all are just silly romantics fooled by a mirage.

Now true love? That takes the root concept of love and elevates it to another possibility entirely. It is the concept that right now, there is someone who you are destined to be with. You are one half to a whole, and your other half is looking for you, just as you are looking for him or her. There is no question regarding the presence of "love". Love is automatic. Love for those two is not a fire that sparks, it is fire that has burned for years. Meeting your true love just makes you complete. Your missing puzzle piece, as it were. It is the concept that somehow, somewhere, is someone you were meant to be with.

It is a comforting thought.

But it doesn't exist.

Think about it, the concept of true love entails that two people were born to be together. They may have never met, but they are already in love, or will be. All they have to do is meet, and then everything will click and then you either have a happy ever after or a tragedy of enormous proportions. And even if such a thing exists, the probability that you would even meet that person is so remote that true love might as well be nonexistent. You don't have to be a mathematician to figure it out. There are thousands, maybe millions, of people in vast kingdoms that stretch to the very edges of the seas, and maybe even kingdoms beyond that. To find one in thousands, millions, and maybe in the future, billions, is impossible.

And whoever told you that nothing is impossible is deluded.

Only fictional characters find "true love". The rest of us are forever searching.

Love and true love. Both are concepts that are nothing but fairytales in Blaine's mind.

And fairytales aren't real.

But what could explain his feelings for the masked man at the ball? And then the man in the forest? I must be going insane, Blaine thinks with a shake of his head. He can't stop thinking about the dances, the music, the laugh....

The kiss.

Just breathe Blaine, don't get too ahead of yourself. You're probably just tired... Blaine reassures himself. But could-

"Blaine? Blaine!" His father's voice shakes him from his reverie.

Startled, Blaine lifts his head, "Yes father?"

King Anderson looks at his son carefully, "Pay attention and then go to sleep. You've looked exhausted all day."

"I'm fine, Father, really. What is it?" Blaine replies tiredly.

"Well..." King Anderson takes a deep breath, "Yesterday, I had the opportunity to speak with King Burt. We discussed our kingdoms, and how we could mutually benefit from one another..."

Confused, Blaine eyes his father suspiciously. "And?"

"So we also discussed how we could guarantee future success and friendship between the two kingdoms. And we felt the best way to ensure such a venture was joining the kingdoms through marriage. As you know, King Burt has a son, Prince Kurt, who will be returning to the castle in a matter of days and he'll be eighteen..."

"What are you saying?"

"Well, King Burt says that he has heard that his son is... attracted to men. Like yourself. And you will be eighteen in a matter of months, so naturally, we decided that you two would make the perfect match."

Blaine widens his eyes and chokes, "Wait... So I'm betrothed?"

King Anderson looks down for a second before meeting his son's eyes steadily, "Yes," he confirms.

"But I can't... I've already met someone..." Blaine blurts out before thinking.

The King narrows his eyes, "Where?"

"Once upon a dream-"

King Anderson stands taller, looking down at his son, "What is all this dream nonsense?"

"It wasn't a dream father, I really met him." Blaine stutters, improvising.

"Who?"

"I don't know who he was, a peasant I suppose."

It's King Anderson's turn to choke, "A... A peasant?" he laughs, "Why Blaine, you must be joking." Blaine shakes his head, and King Anderson responds angrily. "You can't do this to me. You can't give up the throne, the kingdom for some nobody. You can't marry a... a...peasant," he spits. "I won't have it! You are a prince, and you will marry a prince."

Blaine straightens, meeting his father's gaze, "Now father, you're living in the past. This is the fourteenth century and-"

"That doesn't matter I'm still the King! And I command you to come to your senses!"

"And marry for love!"

"What's all this about love? You are a Prince. And you have a duty to your kingdom and your people."

"So you're just going to sell me off to some man you've never met, to a kingdom you've only visited twice? I am not for sale!" Blaine raises his voice, but it cracks slightly.

"You are if I say you are. Enough of this folly. This is not up for discussion. You are my son and you will do as I command. You will marry Prince Kurt and finally be of use to me. I will hear no more. Now get out of my sight."

Swallowing, Blaine bows stiffly. "Goodnight father."

King Anderson nods and turns away, returning to his maps.

Blaine ducks outside the tent. The sky is grey and Blaine looks up. Snow is beginning to fall, fluttering about as it settles on the ground. Shivering, he rushes back to his tent and curls up in the blankets. He can't stand the soldier's questions now. His eyes sting sharply and he just wants to sleep. He just wants to be alone.

So we will leave the Prince to his thoughts and dreams of betrothal, masked men, and tolling bells and rise up into those grey skies where the snow falls heavily now, coating the ground in a downy layer of frozen white, until the lights of the kingdom are nothing but stars in a wreath of stone. Let us rise into the darkening skies, where tints of orange are splattered across the canvas of the atmosphere with reckless abandon. Let us fly through the winds and watch the vivid colors of the land slowly fade until all is colorless and dark, with jagged rocks and treacherous cliffs. And up at the peak of the tallest mountain a castle is carved from black stone. Its walls are beginning to crumble but its spires still pierce the very sky. Clouds and smoke swirl about the walls, the glow of emerald fires flickering from within. The castle of has stood for thousands of years, casting a shadow across the lands below it, every wall splashed with phantom grief and despair. It was built on tragedy, and it lingers now for the promise of vengeance. For this is Maleficent's domain, the Forbidden Mountains, and now, it thunders with her wrath and frustration.

Maleficent violently smashes her fist onto the table. Her fists clench and unclench, the muscles of her forearms tensing. She screams her frustration, her voice echoing through the dark room. Small licks of green fire leap from her skin, wrapping around her arms in slender strands, rising to brush against her cheek. She clenches her jaw and stalks away from the table, the little flames disappearing as she moves.

The witch paces in her throne room, her cloak fluttering about her, her olive face twisted into a mask of rage. A handful of generals stand below her, shivering slightly, but not of cold. "It's incredible!" she shouts, lightning crackling from her scepter, "Eighteen years! And not a trace of him! He couldn't have vanished into thin air!" Stalking towards her soldiers, which cower in fear, she screams, high, clear voice trembling with fury, slender eyebrow arched in accusation, "Are you sure you searched everywhere?!"

One man stutters, "Ye...Yeah everywhere. We all did."

"What about the town, the forest, the mountains?"

"We searched houses, uh forests, and all the cradles..." he stammers.

Maleficent's eyes widen, "Cradles?"

The man forces a smile on his face, and speaks with more confidence, "Yes, every cradle in the kingdom my lady."

"CRADLES!?" she exhales and turns to her raven, stroking its beak while her crimson lips twist into a smirk, "Did you hear that my pet? All these years they have been looking for a baby." She raises her hands to the sky and cackles, doubling over with laughter. Her laugh is high and piercing, and unlike most laughs, unpleasant to hear.

Her soldiers laugh forcedly with her, but their eyes betray their fear.

Maleficent stops her hideous laughter and rises to her full height, green light enveloping her slender form, "FOOLS! IDIOTS!" She waves her scepter at the now fleeing men and sends lightning snapping at their heels, sizzling their flesh. And she doesn't stop. She twists and turns, sending twisted beams of jagged lightning at her own men until they all disappear from sight.

Once she's alone in the carnage of her own creation, she exhales deeply, lowering her arms, the green fire fading until only wisps of smoke rise from her robes. "Oh they're hopeless..." she sighs. The witch sits on her stone throne resigned, almost as if in pain. Her raven flies over to her, and she strokes its ebony feathers gently. "Two days," she hisses. "Two days until Kurt turns eighteen, and my curse will be useless, my prophecy false. And all this waiting will be for nothing."

She moves away again, impatiently pacing around the great hall. Her cloaks sweep gracefully around her as she moves, contrasting sharply to her pale olive skin. She exhales in frustration, collapsing back onto her throne. "I have to make them suffer," she whispers, voice cracking, looking down at her fingers as she fiddles with them in her lap.

Her power has made her invincible to time, her face still smooth and unlined, but hardened by the years. Her eyes glow momentarily as she conjures a sphere of fire, cradling it in her palms, staring into the flames as they flicker and roil in her hands. Maleficent blows gently into the sphere and the fire breaks apart into the shapes of little emerald dragons which flutter in the dank air, every flap of their wings leaving behind sparks that sink to the filthy floors. She watches them until they eventually burn out, vanishing but for traces of pale smoke.

After a moment, the surviving generals hesitantly return, bowing deep before their queen. "My lady-"

"Enough," she sighs. "There is nothing that can be done to erase your foolishness and give us more time. There are only days left before the Prince turns eighteen and my curse will fail. And I," she spits, "Shall be made into a fool. I will not fail, never again. That kingdom will never get its happy ending as long as I draw breath."

Silent, the generals only deepen their bows.

"We have no time to look for him now..." Suddenly she is struck with an idea and her lips curl into a smile again. She rises and walks toward the men, her black robes billowing around her in the windless night. "Assemble the men and ready them for battle," Maleficent sneers, "If you cannot bring me our little Prince, then I guess I'll just have to draw him out myself."

Her men disappear and Maleficent is left alone. Laughing at her own insane impulsiveness, Maleficent walks out to assemble the men already in the castle, the cloaks around her reforming on her body, shaping and solidifying until the darkness is molded into layered, obsidian armor, and her hand, gloved in metal, closes tightly around a long sword that hardens from the shadows.

This is the rhythm of the night

The rhythm of the night