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The skeletons danced around Crona in a circle, their pumpkin heads swaying one side or the other while they spun. When Crona tried to stab them with Ragnarok, they moved back, hands in hands, without ever breaking the pace of their steps.
The next second, they already were rushing forward again, trying to grab Crona with their skeletal fingers and pull them into the dance.
A melody could be heard, coming from the openings of their wide jagged mouths and big uneven eyes. It played in tune with the clinking of their bones and with each note entering Crona's ears, it sapped any strength and will left. Ragnarok's screams had not managed to break their wordless song. Now, the weapon only mumbled weakly, his sharp edge dulled by the hypnotic music and dancing motions.
Eventually, Crona accepted the outstretched hands, exhausted of being poked and laughed at by the circle of pumpkins clustering inches away from their face. As soon as the cold bones grasped both of their hands, the last pieces of Crona's will crumbled down and they joined the dance with a peacefully empty head. There was nothing to worry about anymore, nothing to fear, no thought to have, only the simple joy of moving round and round.
In the deserted night streets of town, every windows shuttered and doors barred to let no sound from outside come in, they danced in circles and in lines without ever stopping. Crona was vaguely aware that they would do so until their body shriveled up to the look of a mummified corpse and that once dead, the others would strip their skin out to make a pumpkin out of it, to put on top of their head before setting it alight like a candle. But having lost all sense of fear, it didn't bother Crona who kept on dancing almost joyfully.
It was nice to do as they were told, to not have to think of which way was wrong or right to act, and to be completely part of something, linked together through minds and bodies. The never-ending company of the skeletons would be enough to feel at peace, all the insecurities drowned in the melody that kept their limbs moving. Ragnarok had been lulled to sleep by the discordant song and his shifting presence inside Crona's veins could only be felt lightly, a nice break from his usual rampage.
Before long though, the jolly dance was disturbed. The skeletons tensed at the sight of a small figure in dark clothes, overlooking them from a roof. She flew down from the cloudy night sky and slashed at the pumpkins, the blade of her scythe shining bright in the moonlight. Crona suddendly found themselves holding only half of a skeletal arm in their left hand, the bone cut and its owner's head torn apart. It fell to the ground, the flame of the dead soul burning inside blown out by the wind.
Other silhouettes appeared from the nearby streets to attack. The song turned into a shriek and the dancers quickly moved to flee, still holding each others by the hands. Half in a daze, Crona was pulled away with them. They would have run along but the first figure slashed the arm of the other skeleton holding them and Crona slipped on the paved street floor instead. Another flourish with the scythe convinced the pumpkin heads to flee and the girl ran to Crona, dropping down to her knees in front of them.
"Crona! Are you alright? You're not hurt anywhere?"
In the haze of the dance, remembering anything about her had been impossible, as if a veil had covered the memories. Now, Maka's worried voice and warm aura were almost too much to bear and Crona had to look away.
The scythe glowed before turning back into Soul.
"Told you it was a bad idea to do extra work for the busiest night of the year. But no, little miss honor student had to rope us into trouble instead of taking a break."
Maka made a face at him.
"It's only going to get even more busy and dangerous if everyone thought like you and ditched the work!"
Soul complained some more about his need to take a rest every last day of the months, but especially in October. Maka called him lazy and held out her hand for Crona to take and stand up.
A chill went through them at the sight, the sharp feeling of the bone fingers interlacing with theirs coming back vividly. Crona hesitated. Of course, holding Maka's hand wouldn't be anything like that, there was nothing to fear, no risk of having their mind overtaken. When they finally grasped her hand, there was only the fabric of the white gloves and the human warmth of the skin callused by fights to feel underneath.
Crona couldn't tell if they were relieved or disappointed at the absence of the blissful emptiness that sucked all of their miserable thoughts away.
Back in Death City, the streets were full of pumpkins too, albeit decorative ones. Crona had racked their head trying to understand the strange customs of the people there but couldn't wrap their mind behind them making a huge spectacle of the evil spirits they were fighting at the same time. To Maka, it all seemed normal.
"I guess it's about being able to face your fears, or turning them into something more bearable?" she said while putting disinfectant on Crona's scrapped knees.
They sat in Maka's bathroom, under the bright ceiling light which made it seem like the night was far away. Crona had told her there was no need to do anything, the wound already dry thanks to the black blood, but she had insisted.
"Do you feel better? I'm sorry things turned out so badly, we shouldn't have split up to patrol."
Crona thought they should have been the one to apologise for messing things up, but Maka was probably too kind to blame them. It was still their fault though, for being too weak-willed and seeking the easy way out, always looking for someone to tell them what to do. Being directed, willingly or not, had the soothing effect of not needing to care about the risks and difficulties coming with making one's own choices.
As much as Crona loved Maka for accepting them as they were, and for being so considerate, a small part of them also perhaps wished for guidance from her and wouldn't have minded letting her take control of everything in their life. Or perhaps Crona hoped for her to read their mind, like she did with souls, and to do for them the things they wouldn't have dared to voice out.
"Is something wrong? Do you still feel the effect of their spell?"
Crona bit their lips and nodded, bashful that the truth was so easy to read.
"Do you want to dance then? I don't know if that would make things better but... Sorry, it's probably a silly idea."
The idea of having Maka's hands in their own and standing so intimately close to each other didn't fail to bring a blush to Crona's pale cheeks. Even if it had been a deadly dance like with the pumpkins harvesting souls, they wouldn't have minded. Maka would have probably killed them in a gentle way, with a soft kiss on their lips or forehead, like they had seen on some old church paintings of ladies dancing with skeletons. It was like a dream, one much too shameful for Crona to feel like they could deal with what it meant.
"I've never danced... Uuh, no, I have, but I'm probably a bad dancer! I don't know how comfortable with it I'd be."
"Well, I can't promise I won't step on your feet either," Maka said with an awkward smile.
In the living room, she looked through a few of Soul's collection of vinyls, before shrugging as if she didn't know what to choose and picking one at random.
They stood facing each other, and it took a little while for the both of them to find where to put their hand without blushing and excusing themselves, or how to follow the tune's rythm. When Crona tried to let Maka take the lead, she would instead push Crona to choose where to go and this all turned into something very confusing that Crona couldn't have confidently called a dance.
Inside their stomach, Ragnarok must have still been asleep, otherwise he would have made a sarcastic remark or dirty comment on the situation. Instead, there only was a slight buzzing, like the purring of Blair when she turned into a cat to rest on someone's knees. Distracted by their thoughts and the indecision following Maka's strange choices of alternatively leading or not-leading, Crona ended-up nearly crashing her against the sofa.
There they had done it, they had messed everything again. At least, they had avoided falling on her too, which would have been terrible. But perhaps a nasty part of them kind of wished for it, for the closeness it would have brought, their limbs interlocking in the chaos. Maka would definitely have despised Crona if she could read their mind, like the pumpkins did to take it over, or like lady Medusa often seemed able to do. And yet they still would have liked for her to do so, if only to not be so alone in their own head.
Though apologizing profusely would rarely stop any punishment that followed failure, they still did it, hoping Maka wouldn't be too mad or disappointed. But she only laughed at the accident and her smile was warm, like the hand in Crona's palm and like the fingers around their hips, which tickled the skin under the clothes.
All those things made shivers ran through Crona's body, cold but not unpleasant, and cotton balls filled them inside, turning them light-headed. Though dancing with Maka was scary and confusing, it somehow also felt even better than having their mind gently taken over.