Devil's Hour (Writing)

The manor's decrepit walls, aged with vines and cracks that danced along each surface like the sinful touch of two forbidden loves; 

A fine aged moon cascaded its light through the fine glass, reflecting in an almost soft blue hue on her black gown 

A soft chuckle interrupts her solemn internal call, and with an outstretched hand the raven clad devil;

His eyes ablaze with the crimson passion of many a sinner before him, takes her hand - 
And with the most charming fox like softened grin, he asks her but one single question in that lonely passage of yore; 

'Shall we dance, my lady?'