Your enemy whom you've held in your highest regards as an opponent—the one you've sworn to kill is now at the mercy of your blade. At your dear enemy's neck was a sharp blade held by the skilled hand of your own and as was his own blade to your delicate flesh.

"May I have this dance?" His words like a leaf in the wind, yet as bold as blood's color. His gaze seemed to flicker a glow while his eyes shine beautifully under the moonlight, staring daggers into your soul with eagerness to fight