He doesn’t even know why he let Heizou and Kazuha drag him here, he swears. The Moulin Rouge was a place of carnal desire and hidden fantasies, all things Scaramouche was unfamiliar with.

Scaramouche had come (against his will, certainly) along with the pair of bohemian artists to the infamous nightclub to pitch a new musical to its best performer to be put on by the establishment. “The Sparkling Diamond,” they called her. As if.

But as he sits down in the box and the lights dim, eyeing the rather unscrupulous Duke of Monroth across the way, that’s when he sees her, descending from the ceiling onto the stage on a gem-encrusted swing. Long legs, vibrant eyes, and shining complexion to match the elegant, yet risqué costume she was clad in.

The star performer. The Sparkling Diamond.

And suddenly, Scaramouche feels his mind filling with a thousand unwritten songs, his heart riddled with want, all for her.