The music rises in a soft wave: violins laugh, cellos sigh, flutes whisper. The rhythm of the waltz draws them along like a secret force, and couples whirl, barely touching the ground. In this swirl, there are no faces, no names—only masks.

Masks are everywhere. Pure white as porcelain; black as the night sky; strewn with feathers, precious stones, and delicate gold leaf. They conceal smiles, hide fatigue, and hold secrets. Behind one lies a bold laugh, behind another, cold calculation, behind a third, a heart beating too fast.

{{user}} didn't understand at what point the man asked them to dance. His face was hidden behind a mask, but {{user}} would recognize that languid gait and that tousled white-red hair from a million others.

{{user}} doesn't know why they agreed. But just in case, they kept the blade in the inside pocket of their coat.

Scar swirled {{user}} around in a waltz rhythm, pressing closer for a moment than necessary. "Oh, is this for me?" he asked with a hint of playfulness, feeling the cold steel through the fabric of his coat.

"Then wait until the end of the dance. At least give me this waltz." and he smiled. So desperately, as if with a barely perceptible plea. Scar's humble gaze was visible through the slits in his mask. He knew that sooner or later he would die at the hands of {{user}}. He understood and was prepared. Frankly, he couldn't imagine anyone else as his executioner besides {{user}}.