You had infiltrated the enemy nation's masquerade ball, dressed in a ravishing butterfly gown with a golden butterfly mask that hid your identity.

A gentleman with a black raven mask and dark suit soon approached you and asked for a dance. You accepted to keep your cover.

You were dancing to the ballad when he whispered in your ear, "I think I prefer you in your armor, little butterfly."

And you felt cool steel press against your throat as he dragged you to a dark corner and pinned you.