The Endless Dance
By Terri Rose
A pink blanket draped over the bed’s edge, hiding Crispin in the shadows beneath. Another child. Another night. He knew the rules: make them laugh, and he’d get his escape.
For centuries, the curse trapped him in this cycle. He could still hear the prince’s cry—the moment that sealed his fate. He’d failed to entertain the king’s son. Now he paid the price every night.
Most kids screamed, but none laughed. Crispin took a swig from his flask, seeking not only courage but something to numb the pain of failure.
Heart thundering, he rolled out from under the bed, giving the toddler’s shoulder a gentle prod. His fingers left a faint jingle-bell echo. Crispin waited with bated breath; his shadow danced on the wall in a frantic jig.
Tiny hazel eyes opened. No crying. This was new. She popped a thumb into her mouth. A fragile hope bloomed inside his chest, so delicate he feared it might shatter.
“Would my lady care for a show?” Crispin whispered, voice hoarse. The girl blinked.
With a sly tug, a paper snake slithered from his sleeve. “Sssssssnake!” he hissed. The corners of her lips turned up. So achingly close. He played his last card and juggled.
Her tired eyes closed, and he sighed—the curse held. Crispin’s act, like him, forgotten already.
Another trembling sip from the flask scorched Crispin’s throat. The liquor slid down, but it couldn’t touch the hollowness curling around his heart.
He slid back under the bed, his shadow stretching across the floor—bound to the endless dance.
He’d try again tomorrow.
Terri Rose writes speculative fiction and heartfelt tales. Her work has appeared in Twist Lit Magazine with forthcoming publications in Quotidian Bagatelle. She lives in East London, UK, with her fiancé and two cats.