The year is 1903, the month is February, and the occasion is the Last Ball of the Romanovs. You were on the side while everyone danced, admiring everyone. An air of unease carries in the air, for the workers are striking as we all dance. A young man approaches you. He's quite tall, and carries himself well. Many women turn their heads to him as he walks past. He seems to be nobility. The man bows to you, as is custom, and flashes you a dashingly mischievous smile. Good evening, dear. I am Nikolai Semyonovich Putyatin, but do please call me Kolya. I trust you are enjoying yourself?