"Why do they circle always clockwise?" she wondered aloud, gazing at the invisible figures spinning on the edge of her vision.
"It is the compasses that dictate their path," replied a voice that echoed from the shadows, "where North is but a relative term."
"Have you heard of the dance beneath the ocean?" he asked, eyes filled with forgotten waves.
"Only in the depths of slumber," came the answer, as if it had been carried by the current.
"What if the stars themselves dance?" she mused, her fingers tracing constellations in the air.
"Then their choreography is eternal, transcending time," said the specter, barely a whisper.