It’s like when I was a small child and my father used to toss me into the air. The sudden rush of movement startles another laugh from my throat, and I let my head fall back.

The other dancers seem to know the steps well enough to guide me through, and soon enough I’m matching their pace, even if I’m doing it all wrong. I pass from partner to partner, and each seems equally delighted to take my hand—

A man with smooth, perfect skin darker than the new moon laughs. “Hello!”

A little girl, with hair so long it reaches her ankles, giggles so hard she snorts, and I laugh along, not knowing why.

A young woman with eyes as pale as a moth’s wings shows all her teeth in a wide grin.

Some of them greet me silently. A few call me Changeling. I don’t ask how they know what I am. I don’t care.

I’ve never been able to dance without feeling like I’m missing something, like my arms and legs aren’t quite moving to the same beat, but this is as natural as breathing. I dance and dance until I can barely breathe, and then I keep dancing. I can’t stop. I’ve never had this much fun before, and I don’t want to disappoint anyone by leaving.

It feels good not to worry. Not to wonder what I’m doing wrong or what’s going to go bad next. I know I used to do all those things, but it all seems so silly now. I am beautiful and timeless and weightless.

I’m happy.

Even when my muscles start to burn, and my breath hitches sharply. I feel the pain of each step, each uncontrollable swirl as I move from hand to hand, but I can’t remember why pain used to upset me.

The lanterns blur, their flames streaking by like golden comets. I gasp in the flower-perfumed air, but I can’t get enough. My head is light and soft, like dandelion fluff. I just beam brighter. It’s strange, though: none of the other dancers ever seem to tire. There must be something wrong with me.

The spots swimming in front of my vision are so beautiful, like the fireflies, only more colorful. A man with deer legs and antlers takes my hand and spins me around, and the world spins round and round and—

I stumble.

I’m falling, and even when I hit the ground, I keep falling. Something tugs in my chest, startling me into clarity. It’s like when you’re right on the edge of sleep, and suddenly your stomach drops and you’re wide awake, heart pounding. One thought, bright and cold, breaks through the rest.

That’s enough of that. Wake up.

The dance continues around me as I gasp for breath facedown in the sweet-smelling grass. My feet ache, sending sharp bolts of pain up my legs, which feel like jelly. I don’t know if I can stand. My fingers dig into the grass, into the soil.