There she was. Klara sat stiffly in a chair with her hands folded in her lap. She looked dashing. Her normally unkept hair was braided neatly, she had a red dress lined with emerald green on the hem and sleeves, a white fur capelet over her shoulders, a gold cord belt with silver bells on the ends on her waist, shiny black boots, and a black cross made of iron on a chain around her neck.

Francis had never realised how much he wanted- no, scratch that- needed her. He was going to have her some way or another. Thus, he muttered a few words of encouragement to himself, straightened his tie, and made his way over to her.

"Bonjour," he said politely.

Klara looked up to see the Frenchman who had been sleeping with Arthur before the movie night two months earlier. "Hallo."

"Why don't we ditch the party and go have a little fun, if you know what I mean."

"I zhought you vere vith Arzhur," she replied. The German teen knew she would crack eventually, she'd figured it was best if she prolonged this for as long as she could.

Francis laughed his signiture "honhonhon". "That's cute. Arthur is only for when I have- how would you say...?- 'urges'."

"So he's your -censored- toy?"

"To put it like that, oui."

She nodded curtly and stared off behind him. Her brain was screaming at her to GET AWAY, but the pit of her stomach was saying "go with him; you know you want to". Both sides were right, so she figured she'd start lightly. Klara stood up.

"Quoi?" Francis said in slight shock at the sudden movement.

The teen grabbed his hand and led him to the front door. Whatever gentlemanly instincts he had forced him to open and hold the door for the girl, she was a lady, after all. "Do you know vhy I brought you out here?"

"Non."

"I vant you to teach me how to dance."

"Uhm... A-alright." He paused to collect himself and scrape together his knowledge of dancing. Something simple but elegant. Maybe he throw in his own touch. "Put your right hand in my left, but don't squeeze tightly. Hold it loosely."

She nodded and did so. "Vhat next?"

"Stick your left hand on my right shoulder," he said after slipping his free hand onto the curve in Klara's waist.

"Und now vhat?"

Doing the best he could without music, Francis led Klara into a simple waltz-like dance. It consisted of step left, step up, full turn clockwise, step right, step left, half turn anticlockwise, and the pattern continued.

As they danced through Antonio's courtyard, snow started to fall. It looked like a scene from a fairy tail.

"Zhis reminds me of zhe story of Aschenputtel, except vithout zhe stepmother und zhe vork."

"Aschenputtel?" The name seemed familiar, but distant at the same time.

"Ja. It's zhe story of zhe girl who vas a slave in her own home, und her fairy Gottmutti gave her a pretty dress und fur slippers. Does zhat ring a bell?"

"Oh! You mean the story of Cendrillon? Her slippers were made of glass."

"I guess it's zhe same story, just vith different names und details. Eizher vay, my point is zhis is like zhe part vhere she dances vith zhe prince."

Francis laughed again. "Are you saying that I am your prince?"

"Perhaps. I've got my eyes set on someone else, but I suppose you can be for zhe night. Are you going to Gilbert's after zhis?"

"Oui, why do you ask?"

"I'll be going as vell. I'm staying vith mein brüder, und he came here, so I'm here."

"Who's, well, whatever you said. Your brother?"

Klara nodded. "Ja, my brozher. He's Gilbert, by zhe vay."

"Ah, so that's why you're going to his place. Will you be attending my Christmas party as well?"

"Ja."

"Really?"

She nodded again. "Mein brüder is taking me to every party zhat he vas invited to. Ludvig und Feliciano are out of town, so I'm staying vith him for zhe veek."

"I see. I have a question for you, about the dancing."

"I may have an answer."

"I'd like to do a rather ambitious dance move with you, but I wouldn't want to force it onto you. May I?"

"I suppose so."

Francis proceeded to dip her low, with one of her legs wrapped around his waist, and her head tilted back. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Nein. It felt razher dirty, however. Is zhat supposed to happen?" She inquired upon regaining her original position.

"Oui. As I said, it's a rather ambitious move, honhonhon."

He was about to say something else when the back door of the large Spanish home opened and a stumbling Brit wondered out. He was obviousky drunk due to the slurring curses and terrible mood swings.

"Isn't zhat Arzhur?" Klara asked Francis as she went over to help the Brit who had stumbled into some trash cans. "Excuse me, but are you Herr Kirkland?"

He nodded. "What do you want?"

"I just vanted to know who you vere, zhat's all."

"Are you related to Ludwig and Gilbert Beilschmidt?"

"I don't zhink zhat zhis is zhe best time to discuss my family tree, but ja."

Francis walked over and picked up the slurring drunk bridal-style. "I'll be taking care of him. You go enjoy the rest of the party. I'll see you at mine later." With that, he walked off in a direction she assumed was one of their houses.