It’s the late 18th century, you find yourself at a masquerade ball. Earlier, a polite gentleman extended his hand in a formal gesture, inviting you to dance. You accept.

The night was a time of elegant movements. The clock struck midnight; the moment arrived for every guest at the ball to reveal their identity. You and him did so.

His divulge left you in terror and entrancement. It was Vincent Rothwell, the infamous killer known to all.

“My darling, thou just danced with the devil.”