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She moved with a grace of the heavens fluttering over the stage as if it were here pond as if she was the swan, the floor rippled in response to the swans command, gliding over the glittering surface, it was a vision of unparalleled beauty, it meant death to us all, death and captivity to the moment, to the moment of the swan, for in those moments of life the immensity of the beauty weighed on us all as the earth on atlas, but it would be impossible to hold up the earth ever again, for the earth would never again be the same, and in the deepest place of my heart and soul I knew never again would I feel this way, never again would the swan truly dance, in the perfection of the curves, and it was a curse upon us all, each moment a pronouncement of infinite judgement, as the moments wrested through my grasping hands, this place became a prison, a prison of despair, for I could not hold them, I could do nothing to stop it, and as each movement unfolded the pressure in my chest grew and the despair threatened to explode me for I could not hold, I could not stop it, I longed to call out but was rendered mute by the dread that it may frighten the swan, and so I sat stricken with the profoundest joy and the most painful longing for it to pause forever, for the swan to stay frozen on pond through the seasons and until the passing of the sun, but then I hated myself, for what is the swan if she cannot dance, for her perfection would then be sacrificed for my safety, and thus I drew it all in and shuddered and shook with anguish and love, but most of all love, the purest most wonderful love, a sacrificially devastating love, and suddenly the swan paused in perfection and the pounding of hands together echoed in my ears as nails in the dry wood of my coffin, pounding and pounding, further and further into that hard wood, and then the swan was no longer a swan and the pond was no longer a pond and it was all a fantasy and I was just a hollow empty shell, left unfinished by the departure of the swan.