Dancing Stories Novels & Stories

She looked up and closed her eyes, took a deep breath and began her story. - You're the only person I'm telling my story to, Roberth. Promise me you'll never say anything to anyone. I will never comment on this. - Yes, Sarah. You will do yourself good. - Roberth, yes, I already had a certain financial comfort. I was born in the far north of the country. I was very rich at one time. I wasn't loved by my parents, but by my grandfather... it was different. My grandmother didn't like being around me...

“She’s off to a hell of a start.” Anaisse scowled at him. “Sure, plenty of people would say working at Phoenix Club doesn’t qualify as legitimate dancing, and consider it proof she doesn’t have what it takes to succeed, but it’s not true. She’s an amazing entertainer. She’s had lots of auditions and callbacks. Even at Phoenix, her artistry stands out. Those routines require more skill and technique than your average bump and grind. For her, dancing encompasses more than mere movement… She embodies a character, tells a story.” “You’re a fan,” he observed quietly, unable to hold on to his anger.

“Dance?” “Yes,” I say, gaining confidence. “I’m a dancer. It’s something I’m very good at.” Very, very good at, actually. But it’s not good to blow one’s own trumpet. Better to take him by surprise. He nods, considering. “Interesting. What kind of dance?” “One that helps people relieve stress,” I say, meeting his gaze. “I dress in very skimpy clothes and dance for exclusive audiences.” “Like a stripper?” “Not exactly. It may seem that way, but it’s another category of dancing,” I explain.

In a way, I was freeing myself through dance. During some of the more powerful moves the audience would cheer and vocalize more, which I could tell heightened the energy among me and my dancers. It’s like with every cheer we were super charged and the dance became more like a real story and less like a performance. At one point during the piece, I pulled away

She wanted to watch me be a joke. They didn’t know. While they were practicing their pretty steps, I was in the deepest part of the library. I wasn’t reading about wolf dances. I was studying the old scrolls. The dragon dances. Ceremonies from when the great beasts ruled the skies. They were not just dances. They were stories of power. Of flight and fire. Moves of grace, yes, but also of raw, untamed strength. I practiced alone, in the dead of night, in a hidden courtyard. My body learned the shapes. My soul remembered the fire.

This is my wedding afterall. Their dance steps are so fluid as if they practiced their choreography over a thousand times before my wedding. Flames dance around their feet, sometimes licking up their arms but never burning them. The spectacle is breathtaking. I feel like I am watching swimming bodies and they dance so beautifully. At some point, a few of them begin exhibiting acrobatic performances. They leap, spin, and tumble in different styles. “They are The Aekái. Dancers trained from birth," Azraelyrs says, noticing my attention that is completely drawn to them. His voice is so close to my ear and I turn slightly.

"I'm so excited. My brother told me you're the best in Abuja. He said you used to dance in Lagos. He said you were famous. I've been so worried about the first dance—I don't want to step on my husband's feet. I'm a terrible dancer, really. Everyone says so. I have two left feet. I'm completely hopeless." Zara blinked. She had not expected this. This girl was nothing like Dante. She was sunshine and light and complete, joyful chaos. "I'm sure you're not hopeless," Zara said carefully. "Everyone has rhythm. It's just a matter of finding it." "See?" Amara turned to Dante, who was leaning against the doorframe, watching them. "I told you she'd be nice. Most people are so mean about my dancing."

Dancing. Luca danced with Hope. She stood on his feet. They laughed. Eli danced with Grace. She spun in circles. She giggled. Derek danced with Derek Jr. He lifted him up. He spun him around. Luke danced with Grace Marie. She held his fingers. She swayed. Damien danced with Baby Hope. She was awake. She smiled. Derek's father danced with me. He said he was proud of me. I said thank you. The painting watched.

I am more than what they did to me. Beside me, Kael’s hand found mine. Rian’s shoulder bumped mine gently. We stayed like that for a long time, watching until the lanterns were tiny pinpricks and then nothing at all. *** Later, the square shifted from solemn to something brighter. Music picked up. Dancers formed loose circles—pups spinning until they fell over, elders shuffling in time to a rhythm that had outlived several wars. Storytellers claimed corners, weaving tales of old battles, old curses, and new beginnings.

Aside from Evelyn, everyone had had a few drinks, their faces flushed, clearly a little tipsy. No one knew who started it, but all of a sudden, the conversation shifted to ex-boyfriends. Some people doubled over with laughter. Others had tears in their eyes. A few stories were so ridiculous that Sophie could barely breathe from laughing. She nudged the only sober person next to her. "Evelyn, what about you?" For a moment, Evelyn's expression went blank. Unbidden, memories surfaced in her mind.