The Golden Song
The ballroom hummed. It was a low, metallic thrum. The air smelled of ozone and burnt sugar. Lila stood on the edge of the dais. Her dress was white. It was not cotton. It was spun light. It caught the gaslight and held it. She did not blink. Around her, the dancers moved in circles. They were tall. Too tall. Their limbs were thin as wire. Their faces were smooth. They had no mouths. Only eyes....
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