Sanvean

The echoing clack of hooves stuttered against the cobble street, metered out with the drone of pipes and drums. Four mutes clad in black marched in time ahead of the procession. The sleek black horses stepped high, like show-girls, with ostrich plumes bouncing over their plaited manes. A man and his son stopped and put their hats over their hearts when they heard the melancholy sounds come near. An open carriage draped in black carried a shiny black coffin with brass fittings.

A woman stumbled into the procession, knocking a mute off kilter. A few sideways steps rumpled the line, bringing everything to a silent halt. The woman threw her head back and red tresses of hair spilled down. With her pink throat square with the sun, she let out a dry shriek. Her stiff movements liquefied inside the sea of black-clad mourners. She twirled and swayed between the frozen assembly, seemingly unaware.

Two men from the procession stepped toward the girl, with a nervous gait. They took her by both arms.
"There we go, miss. It's alright. Come now."
"All right, I am ready." As she said it, the woman wriggled free and stumbled into one of her captors.
His eyes flashed and she laughed, moving a silk-gloved hand up his inner thigh. The man's face burned. With a wry smile, she walked up to the carriage. Pulling her skirt with one hand and stretching a long bare leg, she hoisted herself up to the carriage and threw open the coffin. Before anyone could move to intervene, she laid herself down inside the box and let the lid fall.

The boy looked up at his father with wide eyes.

"Sometimes that happens." Said the man to his boy. "Sometimes they come up for one last dance."