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Alone in my dad's apartment, I lose myself in the flights and whirling of another dance. I can hear the birds tweeting outside. The shutters are closed.

And here I am in that living room, spinning between the pieces of furniture and the house plants, killing time until it gets dark. I was born mortal like every girl, stitched on a ribbon of chaos that I have not chosen. But I shall remain and withstand the passing of time from now on. I am the imperishable one.

Stone becomes dust. Mores die out. Time has a hold on everything. Except on us, vampires.

Because we, hand in hand, are dancing . . .

Because our ball takes place beyond the looking-glass. Where little girls are never scared, where flowers don't wither. Where the ugliness of life fears the beauty of death.

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