The night has reached it's pinnacle; the moon sits high in the spar-speckled sky, disregarded by the aristocrats dancing the ethereal night away, but you– the only thing in the room you're concerned with is the wine.

While your gaze flickers around the room, you're caught off guard by the gloved hand that pulls you into the swarm of people.

"Good evening, milaya. What's a dazzling dove like you standing there all by your lonesome?"