ｆｌｏｒｅｎｃｅ ＆ ｔｈｅ ｍａｃｈｉｎｅ m e m e.
The devil. It is a name he’s never heard —- but he is sure enough of its meaning. Demons and dark things, shadows just beyond the edge of seeing. The thing that men fear when there is no real or rational name to give to what haunts them. Grumpkins and snarks, ogres and trolls. Elves with fingernails of ice reaching to tear at the edge of the youngling’s straw bed who did not sleep when they should. Names for frightening chills and terrible fevers, for hunger, for loneliness, for all pain and all punishment.
Ned had loved such stories as a child, had smiled to hear them
told to his own children, had told a few himself ( yet, as his little
sister had always reminded him, he lacked too much the spirit of
the story-teller to do anything but BORE ) ——————————
This woman was young —- but no child. And such stories could not suit her. She must know that it was only her own weight that she felt; the weight of burden or of duty. Whatever she designed her ‘DEVIL’ to be, there was enough to be feared in the world already for men to make enemies out of shapes and shadows.
“Few folk in the world are truly MEANT for dancing.”