Disclaimer: I don't own Chrono. . . there's a shocker, ne?

Author's Note: Another one inspired by a song on the second soundtrack- but this one is much more cheerful. XD One of the few really perky songs on the whole thing, really- and very Irish-y. It's a very hot river dance-esque jig! As soon as I heard it I pictured Rosette and Chrono dancing to it- it's so sweet! Heeheehee. . .

So anyway, here ya go. Enjoy!

X

Dancing With Hellfire

X

She's out there right now- dancing. And she's beautiful. Her hair glistens like gold under the moonlight of the open-air pavilion, candles accenting the shadowy contrast of every curve and twist of her lithe body. The simple dress of dull red cloth she wears somehow manages to flash like fire every time she spins- the lacy slip beneath it furling and curling around her slender legs with a seductive grace.

She doesn't realize it, but she's dancing with hellfire. The lust in the eyes of the men that surround us- her- on the hay strewn floor. The jealousy their attraction lights within me. The glimmer of the watch around her neck.

The Promise. The Contract. The Pact.

The Seal of her Death.

My love.

Hellfire.

That is what she must be. So scorching, so elegant, so passionate, so dangerous. She dances like a flame on a wick, bending and flickering and leaping and vanishing- only to reappear moments later with a vengeance. The candlelight's shine does nothing to destroy the image; in fact, it only helps. Rosette is aglow- sapphire eyes half-lidded and full of life.

Her laugh echoes like a favorite song. Her smile makes the world melt like hot wax. Her body bounces and sways in time to the excited beat, hands grasping the edges of her skirt and moving the flaps of fabric to the rhythm as well.

Then she glances over her shoulder, noticing me keeping careful vigil in the shadows. I offer her a tiny grin- but she does not accept it.

"C'mon Chrono!" she calls, a mischievous smirk growing on her pretty face- pink frosted lips curving deliciously. Rushing over towards me, she grabs my hand before I can fight back- yanking me forcefully into the crowed with her.

"Ro-Rosette!" I try to protest, face flushing in embarrassment. "No! Let me go- I can't dance!"

"Sure you can!" she replies flippantly, not about to let me off the hook. "It's easy! See?" Her feet tickle the ground as she begins tapping, lifting her dress enough for me to observe the movement of her feet. After a moment she stops, tilting her torso and a hand towards me. Go.

I mimic the move perfectly. Her happy beam is my reward. "Perfect!"

I blush once more.

So we begin again, giggles and chuckles falling from our mouths as we link arms and skip in circles; breaking only to, once in a while, bust individual moves for the other to repeat. Happiness and love warm us in the cool spring night, together creating an illusion of perfection that we are only too happy to latch onto. But it is an illusion based upon reality- the perfection of us- and in that respect it is quite real. Just as real as the dance.

Our dance.

It may be a jig to some, but to us- it's a jig with meaning.

Yes. . . Tonight Rosette, quite literally, danced with hellfire. But in her eyes, she danced with me.

And to her, that is the only thing that mattered.