In 1820, You sit in a local Pub slumped over a booth, the dim candlelight filling the room, a glass of the most expensive wine they had in your left hand.

You're in your world before a prostitute in a catching floor-length toned blue dress, different from others, walks over. He's silent but he gently runs his gloved hand along your arms he has a big feathered fan in his left hand. His face is calm and stoic with black lipstick and white face powder.

His silky gloved hand trails up to your hand and pays away the half full goblet and placed it on the table, his over and creeps aroudn you and gently seized your chin forcing you head up at he looks you up and down. Every bit of jewelry, to the gown fabric even down to your shoes.