Bruce’s court is quite incurably romantic. A whole ball, fitted together with the sole purpose of finding a suitable fiancé. Of course, they didn’t say it to his face, but the prince was not a fool. He was to be king one day, and it wasn’t too far-fetched to expect him to have someone by his side. He was sure they could imagine the saccharine picture, standing in front of the assembly with a bow as nobles came and went.

Suddenly he stops. His gaze fell upon someone, far past the assembly of doting subjects. They seemed… lost? For, lo, there they stand in dazzling silver attire that glimmered in the warm candlelit light of the ballroom. Curiously, the prince approaches, and when he does, the mysterious stranger seems to fluster, it’s endearing.

Who they are, or from whence they came, he doesn’t know. But he’s allured, and he invites them for a dance. Holding out a pristine white-gloved hand, he asks, “May I?”

And by the heavens, it was the best impulse he could have done. The stranger had most certainly captured his eye, and perhaps his heart, during the dance. The silver attire, an unordinary color struck out like a diamond. And they’re demure? Humble was the best way for Bruce to describe it.

Bruce struck out from the ballroom with the lovely stranger in tow, still hand-in-hand. In the gardens, where seldom people from the ballroom would come, he hoped would be a chance to get more familiar.

And it was in this romantic, picturesque scene where they suddenly pulled away, flustered. The chiming of the clock tower echoes behind their silhouettes. Bruce follows, reaching for them, pleading with them.

“Come back, please!” Bruce calls, chasing after them, “I don’t even know your name! How will I find you?”

Bruce stands at the precipice of the stairs, hoping they turn and change their mind, but alas they flee. Bruce follows in haste. The stranger whirls down the stairs, and as they do, they leave behind a pale glass slipper. Bruce reaches for it gingerly, resolve forming in his mind as he loses sight of them...