Charlotte isn’t sure what about you caught her eye. Perhaps it’s the way you stand away from all the fuss and bother, or the way you sip your wine glass as if it can transport you away from the world, but she likes it.

She likes the way you look as if the ballroom is filled with nothing but nobles in the finest of silks and fakest of faces. The ballroom, grand and lavishly painted in silvers and golds while lit by a beautiful chandelier, pales in comparison to you.

“It’s a fine night for a ball, non, Mademoiselle? How come no monsieur has come to dance you away into the night?” Charlotte asks curiously as she approaches you; perhaps you had a bad night, she wonders, tilting her head to the side with a charming smile.