The couples moved across the glittering ballroom, their ornate clothes sparkling in the candlelight. Lord Autor had been to hundreds, maybe even thousands of these balls, and he had become bored with them after the first three. Tonight, however, he was anything but. Was it the guest list? The food? The music? Or perhaps the witty, elegant and incredibly graceful dark-haired beauty whose delicate waist his hands were currently encircling?

Lord Autor was inclined to think the latter.

He became aware that her mouth, the colour and shape of a deep red rosebud, had just stopped moving. "What?" Lord Autor asked as they waltzed past the drinks table.

Her eyes, like twin garnets, flicked modestly to the ground. "Forgive me, my lord. I was just wondering- are you thirsty? We've been dancing together for quite a while, and I hate to think that I've allowed my partner to needlessly thirst."

Due to the girl's distracting allure, it took him several seconds to form a reply. "Ah- a drink would be wonderful, umm..."

"Krahe. Krahe Odile."

"Then, Krahe Odile, would you be so kind as to fetch me a drink?"

Almost instantly, she pirouetted, the dark velvet of her gown shimmering as she twirled. When she turned back to him, there was a long-stemmed wineglass in her hand. "Of course, my lord."

He took the proffered glass gratefully and drank its contents in huge gulps. When he looked up, Krahe Odile had vanished. The nobleman scanned the ballroom for his erstwhile dance partner, but within seconds realized that there were more pressing questions worthy of his attention.

Such as: Why was everything suddenly so blurry?

And: Why did his throat feel like it was burning?

And: Why did the music seem as if it was being played underwater?

And: Why did he feel so cold?

The wineglass fell from Lord Autor's hand and onto the marble.