From somewhere there came the strains of a gentle aria. It soothed and relaxed with its notes, and for a moment attention was off the young girl. But first one, then another, than all were watching her, for she had begun to dance.

She moved smoothly across the tiles. Her feet slid silently about in the familiar steps of her dance. She was a living work of art, a glorious sculpture which had found movement and expression. The musicians who sang and played sat nearby, watching her as they worked. The song they played wove a story of timeless beauty and eternal freedom about her, and she danced to match it.

The lords and ladies of the court could not stop watching her. Their eyes traced the patterns she set; they swayed in an unknowing imitation of her flowing steps and graceful turns. They turned to one another to murmur their admiration, but quickly returned to their observation of the girl.

She seemed uncaring, as though there was a shield protecting her from life, from those who watched her. She moved freely across the court, pausing here, spinning gaily there, now seeming to fly to the center of the hall, now appearing to float up the tiers that led to the throne.

The musicians watched her as she soared, seemingly perfection. They felt the music as they played it, saw her pulled by it. With each shift of tone and melody, her dance evolved into something even more precious and priceless than it had been the moment before. She lifted her eyes, searching the faces of those around her, daring them to respond, to believe in her dance.

The rhythms of the music subtly entwined her, matched her as she gyrated to its ebb and flow. She moved freely within the sounds of flute and violin, muted horn and gently tinkling harp. Her mastery of motion let her flow into the rainbow of music that flooded the hall.

All too soon the soft tones of the musicians began to fade. The girl's dance became more subtle, slower. On feet quiet as cats' paws she descanted to the center of the court. Now she was almost still, with only faint movements continuing the dance. Even in this the free spirit within her inspired her to perfection.

The music ceased. The girl fell gracefully to the tiles below her. Every person in the great hall, from the Queen herself to the lowliest page, was silent. In that stillness, one sound grated harshly. It was the soft clash of her chains.