Charles isn’t sure what about you caught his 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 he likes it.

He 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, Monsieur? How come no mademoiselle has come to dance you away into the night?” Charles asks curiously as he approaches you; perhaps you had a bad night, he wonders, tilting his head to the side with a charming smile.