At the end of all things, we learnt to dance.

For all my friends, who I missed when I was away.

Disclaimer: Not mine, not yours just floating in the abyss.

i.

The river swayed under the pregnant moon, its water flirting with the partial riverbanks, teasing the drooping branches of a nearby willow. Lily lifted the thin layers of her skirt and swirled a dainty foot amongst the life contained in the river. She watched as the ripples expanded, connecting with the light of the moon, before fading into the darkness on the other side of the bank. The river made her aware of how things were connected, the relationship between the moonlight and her hair, the water and the soil deep beneath it. She could sense movement and life surrounding her, in the penetrative eyes of an owl, in the leaves of the willow and in the child, his tiny foot pressed against her swollen womb.

The owl could see the girl below, her frail form flickering between shadows and light. At times it seemed as if she was on fire, for there was a candle inside her that would not blow out. He watched as she let her feet move into the water, the lace trimming her skirt clung to her wet legs and she moved further into the water's embrace. A leaf settled in the redness of her hair and though she was aware of it, she made no attempt to brush it away. The owl understood that she was a part of this circle of life, and she was at peace.

Lily knew that the end was coming. It wasn't a fact, or a fear, it was simply an understanding. She knew in the way that the moonlight touched her face, in her awareness of the bitter cold water on her thighs and the grainy mud between her toes. She knew the end was coming because never before had she felt so wonderfully alive. She didn't believe in how things were suppose to feel or suppose to be, she just allowed the river to carry her thoughts in its embrace and set herself free.

ii.

The colours were moving in the picture book. Ariana didn't know why or what it meant but she kept her eyes focused on the swirling yellow, the dancing purple and the skipping green. When she closed her eyes the colours still played in the stage of her mind, in the blank canvas behind her eyelids. She placed the book beside her, in the daisies on the grass and let herself fall into the garden. Her hair brushed against the tulips, her bare legs dancing with the daffodils.

The wind touched her like little fingers on black and white piano keys and she breathed a little laugh into it so that it would carry her happiness to all the other children. She tried to think about doing this tomorrow or the next day but strangely she knew that today was all that there was. It was just today, with this delicious sun, and the moving colours and the flowers between her toes. Normally, this thought would have made her small tears tumble down her cheeks but she had never felt more complete, more like a poet or a princess.

So she lifted her hands high above her, into the sky and let the cool breeze dance with them. Ariana knew the end was coming and she giggled into the summer's day.

iii.

Luna looked up at the canopy of trees surrounding her, it reminded her of the high roof of a cathedral, the lofty heights of a place (where they say) heaven meets earth. She didn't believe in God, but there was something about being so small, so insignificant, amongst the tall wise trees. As her pale eyes drifted amongst the shades of green, the feel on something else perched up there. It looked like something the little Weasley children played with; patches of brightly coloured silk given wings so that it soared amongst the birds, the wind lingering on its frame. And now it was a prisoner of the forest, held captive by the formidable reach of timeless oaks.

She watched as it struggled high above, as its frail wings of red and purple caught and tarred. She felt as if she was crying, as if she too had lost her wings to the treetops. The kite held the sorrows of the world, a metaphor of all the people in all the countries and as she realised this she let out a little gasp, a choking throb that caught in her throat, it too was a prisoner.

Even in her old age, she reached for the nearest tree and shook it violently, demanding it to let the kite go. And as if she really did have that power the toy of silk and string tumbled from the treetops and into her open arms. Weeping freely now she cradled it like a child, holding it tentatively to her heaving breast. She knew the end was coming and she wanted it to mean something. Sick of signs and the make-believe, she craved something solid, something real.

iv.

The sky was like a mirror, echoing her own life; vast, empty and unfulfilled. A single cloud danced alone, lost in the wide expanse of endless blue. Bellatrix watched as it was pulled this way and that by the invisible wind that surrounded it. The sky was a puppeteer and the little cloud its puppet. The sun cast the cloud's shadow onto Bellatrix so she could only feel its coldness and not the warmth of the sun.

She wondered how she could feel so close to this cloud, as a mother would to a child, perhaps it was because she craved the cards that life had not dealt her. She wondered if it had always been like this, just her and the little cloud, but she had just never fully realised it before.

Even as a few more clouds pirouetted from the distant horizon, she understood that it was too late. The end of all things was coming. Kicking her shoes off under the table she walked barefoot across her small courtyard, taking special care to walk on all the cracks, to do something got once that no one dictated. She lifted her hands into that neverending sky and felt she could touch that little cloud.

At the end of all things, she learnt to dance.