Demon Dancer - Short Story

It's behind your eye-lids black, but not quite; dusty white perhaps?
Artificial lanterns lived unavailable in this abyss one especially enjoyed to flicker consistently between; human eyes. Musk filed delicately upon chairs, steel beams and stage boards, the atmosphere was waiting.
The sound of a water droplet hits the wooden floor below.
A women stands poised, ready center staged hidden with no face to speak of and her leotard for a shroud.
Customers began to stir and shift in unknowing anticipation, spotlights cut through the center of a scene.
Smells transcending memories to places once been; breadsticks, melted butter, mocha to be sifted through air particles.

We present the spotlight voiced calm and stoic speakers.
A man was sat in the rays fastened into place by filament straps, He should have been weeping but his eyelids were missing and bruised lips stapled to hands gone bad.
How could this man neglect such a spectacular performance now?
Tamra had prepared her audience of seven for their first and last show tantalising reasons from cipher.
If understanding easy constellations began with acid-hugs, we should drink with both hands removed for your stepping-stones were meant to be of swollen feet. Her mother had always chanted.
Find my theatre Tamra had thought to herself, it was sealed with only an entrance from the sewers her plan had taken many years and persistence before reaching this turning point. Death was a mere frailty that most could not comprehend.
We apologise for any up and coming screams, please be patient your turn will come. The voice said living inside the speakers.
Three lights flickered between subjects when out of the dark they could see each other and the panic bludgeoning between them.
Soft and slow music enveloped through an empty room, the performance had begun.

Tamra swam sincerely into the lucent escaping it every now and then to become one with midnight. Each step made precise, perfect hand momentum crafting choreography into torture.
A man in the distant left was sobbing, this human had lured girls at one stage in his life to do grievous things.
One of them had been Tamra
Gears clicked as cogs itched and scratched into action; a cheese grater inched back and forth upon his tongue.
Tamra meagerly floated above planks happily paying no heed to echoing screams.
His siren calls synchronised to the musical  lament; perfection. A tongue now lay neatly in its bowl.
We present After five minutes without a sound. Act two.

Tamra's arms changed frantically, blood ran in rivers as tongues wail red.
Their haemoglobin couldn't drain from them with a room chilled beyond the bones and consciousness could only stay filled with adrenaline. They quiver earthquake fanatics yet no one had found time to notice that the music had stopped, and then it increased in volume and pace.
Her dancing grew tempo, an atmosphere dizzying in content.
Candyfloss vendors, costume jugglers sweat to circus fire drifted through the theatre
This tongue-less vagabond knew she was next her hair nebula red, with fear dislodging senses she had stolen from the circus, Tamra a witness.
Tamra's dance remained at pace yet no sweat or breathe was lost, her inhuman ability never misplaced.
Eyes wide shut
It stung at first when the battery acid snuck slowly over her ears washing them into seizures, the lights were on at this point and the audience merely watched in silence.
The women herself had withdrawn mentally, she hadn't even screamed.

As you look past black hole travesty, Tamra was flitting one foot backwards and one step forwards. A bow saw was imitating her foot-flecks.
Not much got through to Tamra as she sank into bliss, the seven shrieked in agony as their ears were taken one by one.
Wind had become Tamra in world-less mirages; wide ushering momentum graceful and strides, as remnants of victims remained.
Sobbing throbbed to the eccentric melody, all besmirched with blood dried faces; volcano burns along arms left and right.
Time for the finale spoke cone whispers.

No smells seeping into the air this time except that created from the seated.
It had been ten minutes before anything changed; they had been left to wallow on purpose.
As illuminations plagued confusion Tamra could wait no more and slipped from dancing into the splits causing three miniature drills to twirl, towards their eyes. When reaching the back this device would open like tiny claws and grab onto your optic nerves, only to begin leaving the way it came. Shadows winced as sets of human eyes popped from sockets all at once crafting an echo into the ceiling above even taciturnity was afraid to re-enter.

The dance had ended music but a trickle; most near death the voice spoke
Speak not of evil, for it has no tongue.
Groans filling the theatres atmosphere lasted several moments.
Hear not from my devil, as ears were not yours to be gifted.
They slipped in and out from deaths doors.
“Be denied sight and lace calamity in your palms.” Emotion-less said the recording.

Tamra stood up and merely blew kisses and bowed, she left them to rot forever in the sins they had committed, there were seven of them after all. Sometimes she follows her feet back here a lovely spot to think she would say; to practice.