Burnt Moon Waltz

Under a blood-red moon, the field glowed with firelight as the bar behind them crackled and collapsed into embers. The vampires danced barefoot in the grass, their silhouettes spinning through smoke and ash like twisted phantoms in a dream. Laughter echoed from fanged mouths, intoxicated not by liquor, but by the chaos they’d unleashed. Flames painted their pale skin in shades of gold and crimson as if the night itself had crowned them kings and queens of ruin. For them, the dance was a celebration—a final waltz for the mortals who once filled the bar, and a ritual of rebirth in flame and frenzy.