Dahlia - The Velvet Witch and Her Dark Spirit

PART 12 - DANCE OF THE WOODLAND SPIRITS

We return to the altar, where an exciting energy has built. Laylah and I rejoin the group on either side of Dahlia. I feel like a giant next to her and no longer an outsider. I'm giddy with honour like a knight returning with the juices of victory dripping from his chin.

Laylah leans in and whispers, "Now for the main event."

"Tonight," Dahlia says, "we call the familiar spirits of these woods to come and dance with us. To celebrate the turning of seasons and to welcome new blood into our circle."

"The full moon was an event once feared. It brought out the wolves and scared away the fisherman's catch. Some even believed it woke the lunatics from their slumber and brought them into the village squares where they'd dance with their insanity on full display."

Dahlia's hands are working overtime to describe the twisted scene.

"Upon seeing this, the villagers would run home and lock themselves inside. The brave would peep through their shutters to gawk at the writhing bodies below, spasming like they were possessed, running, shouting, tumbling, crazed and drunk on moonlight. It's believed the evil spirits would circle them and stir them so wild they would collapse and die where they fell."

Without warning, a wolf howls in the distance. Dahlia turns and growls at it deep under her breath. And just like that, the howl stops dead, and she goes back to her tale.

"It became a regular night of terror for the villagers. They would hide away and lock their doors until it was over, then carry on at sunrise as though it never happened."

"Now we celebrate a full moon with love, wonderment, dance and celebration. We call this powerful evocation The Dance of The Woodland Spirits."

Dahlia closes her eyes and steps towards the fire, stopping just short of the roaring flames. She raises both hands and begins to hum that same melodic hum that preludes all of her craziest moments.

My eyes bulge in disbelief as she begins to levitate.

"Spirited jive, where've you been? Spirited jive, dance for this queen. Spirited jive, don't you de-mean. Spirited jive, let's make a scene."

Dahlia sings the chorus over and over. With each repetition, she rises higher, energised by its rhythm. A cloud forms around her, which swirls and swells until she's wearing a thunderstorm around her waist.

Dahlia's feet are now six foot off the ground and drifting over the fire. When the flames lick her toes, I panic. But she's not in pain, so I let the worry go and continue to gawk at the fantastic sight.

The cloud spreads wider as her arms stretch out like wings. She raises them higher, which pulls the swirling loop up. Then like a cowboy cracking his whip, she pelts the ring at the ground. The white mist scatters around us then sucks back in to form a dozen ghostly shapes.

The white beings sway as they take shape. Arms pop out, then heads, before their lower halves split into legs. Finally, a set of wings spread from their backs and flutter up.

Dahlia's eyes are closed with her head craned back. She's no longer mortal but a mystical puppeteer pulling the strings on a legion of dancing spirits.

They are uncoordinated at first, crashing and colliding with one another. But as time goes by, they tune into the rhythm and become fluid in their motion. The crowd is brave and moves in to dance amongst them.

The entities continue to take shape. Their faces are humanlike and happy. And while each one is different, they're all feminine. The one closest to me is young and strangely chiselled. She has a sharp jaw, a pointy nose and pixie ears. She gazes at me with a look that reminds me of Dahlia.