My muse dances for your muse
ham hadn’t taken the art of dance, it did not interest her to learn things she felt she already knew. And yet, Khamat’at took the liberty of making use of the university’s stage upon the night it was vacant. It may not have been a curriculum that she was eager to be graded on, but it was certainly a past time that she felt she could enjoy at her leisure.
She had even decided that this night she would be traditional in her dance, pretty golden charms dangling about her waist, revealing the glittering gem in her navel. The same coin like accessories are woven into the single braid of the woman’s hair, dangling to rest on her forehead; bangles about her ankles and wrists.
It had been centuries, since she had taken part in a dance, but the recording of the Mizmar, and the quick clanking of the Sistrum. Khamat’at moves her mid-driff with snake like grace, hips swinging to add to the beautiful tune of the music, arms sweeping in smooth and pretty arcs as she turned and twirled, her bare feet making hard and intricate steps against the wooden surface of the stage.
The Sphinx notices the door open from the little panel of light that spills into the vacant seats. Ah, an audience, if only of one—she is not at all bashfully, in fact she gladly decides to engage him in her solitary performance. Slender fingers of one hand, which ended in long painted nails, reach out to the stranger before curling in on themselves to beckon him closer. The female’s waist, winding in an elegant circle as a large, gleaming, white smile spreads across her face.