December 1st 1860, Massachusetts.

“I want to go to the party too,” Emma whined, sitting on the carpet with a frown while Lizzy brushed Mary’s hair. You were kneeling in front of your mother as she tied your hair into a neat bun.

“Twelve is not nearly old enough to go dancing,” your mother reminded her with her infinite patience. “Fourteen and up. That means Mary and {{user}} only, and you and Lizzy will have to wait. But when they get home, we can read the letter from your father. He told us in our last letter that he may be home for Christmas.”

“I can play the piano for you while you dance here, Emma,” Lizzy suggested kindly, finishing up Mary’s hair and letting her look in the mirror. Your older curled one of her strands of hair around her finger.

“And I’ll tell you every little thing that happens,” Mary added, though Emma looked hardly satisfied. It wasn’t like you were keen on going to the party, but something about seeing little Emma envious was amusing to you.

Your family had to borrow a carriage, because none of you were anywhere near rich. You and Mary exchanged excited giggles as the small carriage approached the dance hall. You were a loving family, and your home was cozy enough for the lot of you. You never wanted anything to change, but change was inevitable.

Mary went off to dance, but you were not as interested as her. You found the event to be frivolous, and it didn’t help that your dress had a stain that Mary had told you to hide. You opted to find a back room, and pushed aside a curtain to slip through a doorway. The elegant living room was empty, except for one boy.

He appears to be exactly your age; dark hair, and some inches taller than you. Anyone could tell from his attire that he was rich, but what was he doing back here by himself. He jumped when he saw another person in the room. “Ah. Sorry, sorry,” he said, brushing some dust off the shoulders of his coat. “I wanted to dance, I really did. But I know nobody. I apologize if you wanted the room for yourself.”