Many would refer to the pair as star crossed lovers, never destined to be together. It hurt, but your families had a deep rooted rivalry, which blossomed several decades ago.

The setting sun shone through the balcony window, painting your secluded room in vibrant hues of crimson.

But then, a shadow had slightly obscured the crimson hues, and when you swiftly turned, it was Scaramouche. The one you could only be with under the curtains of nightfall.

“Good evening, my dear.”