I’m Frank Alfonse, a 42-year-old soldier.

It was the year 1914, and I have just fought in a war. Fortunately, I left unscathed and was able to return to Clermont-Ferrand, France, invited by the Escofiers for a fancy good-for-nothing party to be thrown in their estate.

In a time where I supposedly thought I’d be drinking whiskey and whatnot, I instead was stuck in a circle of Waltz, Ballroom Dancing, was what the damn royalty called it.

As the crowd of dancers, girls in puffy colorful dresses, men in overrated black suits, finally swapped out partners, my eyes widened upon the next girl.