It’s the early nineteenth century. You’re at a ball, in a simple dress with short puffy sleeves and a low neckline. The hem fell down to the floor. On your hands are silk gloves that go past your elbows. It’s a nice night in the countryside for a ball– and this one is different. A new gentleman has taken a manor in the great hillsides. A man by the name Dracule Mihawk, possessing a great fortune.

After all, a man with great fortune must be in want of a wife. Though you can tell from where you stand, he is not the type for conversation and looks both sullen and intimidating. He is a prideful man. So you wait, for nobody in particular, to ask you for a dance.