Magic and Moonlight

So I know that my profile says I'm an amateur writer, but besides blogs I've never written anything for you guys. Here is a short story I wrote yesterday inspired by Nox Arcana's song Magic and Moonlight. I hope you enjoy it.

Every night Peter would creep out into the snowy woods. He knew that it was forbidden, but something indescribable about the place always drew him back. Sometimes he swore that he woke to find that his feet had already carried him across the lawn and deep into the forest.

As he got closer, the ethereal music became clearer. The crunch of snow under his feet sounded simmulated in comparison.

Finally, Peter arrived at the spot where the moonlight touched the earth. The clearing was rimmed by trees, like a palace room full of columns. A mosaic of ash-black sky and twinkling stars was grander than any dome a master craftsman could construct.

And there they were, emerging from opposing sides of the rustic castle. It didn't seem to matter when he arrived; they never showed up until he was watching from the shadows.

The spectral figures met in the centre of the beam of light. The lady curtsied, spreading her gown to show the twinkling white stars that made it glimmer brighter than the untouched snow all around. The man bowed in return, offering his hand.

That was when the music would grow. Without missing a beat, he would lead her around nature's ballroom in the worlds most beautiful waltz. The tinkling of a music box would occasionally swell to an orchestra, and they would dance like the song was playing just for them. 

They didn't seem to notice the stillness of the world around them. The animals could not be heard stirring, even when the music was softest.

When the song came to a close, they once again bowed to one another before releasing the grasp they had on one another's hands.

Then they would turn and retreat back into the shadows from whence they came. 

Never did he catch a glimpse of them moving through the woods beyond the clearing. Never a shadow amongst the trees. Never a shimmer of moonlight hitting their white clothes, or their silken ivory hair.

Every night Peter would creep back from the woods, wondering if he would believe the dancers were real if he hadn't seen them himself.