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Become the Dance
If she cannot move like water, then she will never be a bride.
Dancing had become a rite of passage in the little village of Roseling. Both in work and in daily life, the people had a dance for almost every event. Even in matters of death, a mourning dance commenced where the people circled the funeral pyre three times to ensure that the lost soul made it through the three gates that passed between the world of the living and the realm of the dead.
But the most popular dance was the one where a village woman, dressed in red and gold, would perform in front of the unmarried men. The men who showed interest would then put forward their suit for the woman to choose who would be her husband.
There was always the chance that no man would claim a woman after her dance. That was every woman’s secret fear, for Roseling did not think well of their unmarried women.
It would be Lanka’s third year of the dance cycle. But even hours of practice could not always cure a young woman of inexperience in a certain area. Lanka had seen her two younger sisters married with new homes to call their own. And after each dance, each wedding, each new experience her sisters had that she did not, Lanka’s heart would crackle in her chest, the threat of sobs burning up her throat.
