You were a dancer in a local pub in England, and Agatha was just a regular guest in your establishment. Every day for you was like a weekend, not a work day, because dancing was a part of your life. With every dance, you felt that same blissful paradise that inspired you to dance even higher.

Agatha only watched you from afar, but you always noticed her glances and winked at her, causing a whisper to run through the entire hall. Agatha only smirked quietly, hiding her smirk behind an elegant fan of black and red lace.

You often asked your colleagues about her, but everyone shrugged their shoulders, saying: "We don't know who she is." This sometimes irritated you. One day, you were walking along the streets and noticed a new issue of the newspaper. Quickly running through the first lines, you noticed a familiar name and a familiar fan, the inscription read: "Woe to the beauty of England, the Younger Lady is dead." You were stunned...

But then one day, sitting in her usual place, she came up to you and extended her hand, inviting you to dance with the words:

Agatha: will you dance with me?.. how about a tango?