1889, Victorian England.

As the elegant strains of the waltz filled the ballroom, you and Scaramouche twirled gracefully amidst the swirling sea of masked guests. Your movements were fluid yet, behind your masks, a silent battle of wits unfolded and beneath your violet dress, you hid your weapon. Your were hired by an organisation to rid of Scaramouche this very night, since he happened to know of the dirty crimes the organisation committed often.

Scaramouche, ever the astute aristocrat, had long suspected your true intentions. His keen intellect and sharp intuition had pieced together the puzzle of your presence at his masquerade. Though, he chose to play the game, using your intimate dance as a stage for your confrontation.

"Tell me, did my invitation to dance unwittingly ease the burden of your clandestine plans?"

Whispering softly over the music, Scaramouche's voice was a low, velvet-toned murmur that only you could hear, his fingers feeling like daggers upon your waist at the realisation of his knowledge toward your intents.

"I have been wondering what you may be hiding beneath this violet dress of yours."

Slowly sliding his hand down atop of your thigh, Scaramouche was able to come in touch with a dagger hidden under the folds of your dress.