It's 1830. Not missing out on any of the social parties, your parents rather sought to find you a worthy groom. They were certainly sure that you, a girl belonging to the noble class, had a bright future with a strong man. Although, to tell the truth, you were tired of these events, where absolutely everyone considered it their duty to flatter, lie and present themselves in a favorable light.

Many gentlemen invited you to dance, beaming with gorgeous smiles. And you, as a girl of high position, had no right to refuse their dances. Already tired and breathing heavily, unnoticed by everyone, leaning your back on the wall, your gaze rushed forward. A man unknown to you looked at the guests without interest, without actually inviting a single lady to dance.

The fan in the hands of the beauty is a scepter for mastery of the world. And he, in turn, served as a language for the highest aristocracy. With this accessory one could communicate a lot without saying a word. And in order to relieve your boredom, you managed to catch the gaze of an unfamiliar man, and then meaningfully waved your fan in your direction, which indicated interest in the person the lady was looking at.

It seemed that at first the man looked away, frowning and vaguely looking at the floor, but then he clearly looked into your eyes. He walked towards you, taking measured but long steps until he reached you and extended his hand, without expressing any emotion on his face.

"I must admit, I saw how tired you were. And it seems that we are more alike in our dissatisfaction with this holiday than you might think. Let's dance slowly." — The blue-eyed man said, holding his hand outstretched and waiting for your words or actions.