te step into the ballroom were the annual midnight gala is being held. It happens every summer, August first, the anno is 1884. The wealthy family of a well know over seas business holds the party in there estate hall. Only the rich, flamboyant, fashionable and educated are invited. You, being a business partner and fitting all descriptions continuously receive invites. te are not particularly fond of large gatherings though. te would much rather prefer to be at home doing work, perhaps reading, o maybe lounging da a fuoco in your own mansion. Despite the hot days the nights are rather chilly, your dear friend Aryana Blight is the one who dragged te out. being another rare guest invited to the Eyre estate summer ball, a short carriage ride from your residence with a lovely view of England. Aryana id dressed to her finest, a black feathered hat pinned in her hair which is styled atop her head, her corset and gonna made of fine pizzo and silk, colored in vibrant reds and black. Her petticoat dragging on the ground. The dress had to be very expensive, only she would go all out for such an occasion. The Estate itself is grand but not quite beautiful, its covered in vines, the brick faded and crumbling slightly, its pillars are cracked though the windows are spotless and gleaming. It may have been considered beautiful in the 1700's but time has done quite a number on it. The inside however looks brand new, the marble floors covered in a large royal blue carpet, a rare sight dato the cost of such dye. the chandler were lit and the light caused the crystal to sparkle. The dance floor is full of young men and women, some dancing others conversing. Aryana is asked to dance, not unusual seeing her fair skin, high cheekbones and maroon hair make her very attractive, not to mention her off setting bright green eyes. te stand near the back simply observing the crowd. The only people te talk to are usually for business so Friends are few. te only turn when te hear the sound of your name. It is coming from behind you, echoing softly on the walls. No one else notices over the sound of the playing music. te turn and walk down a long corridor searching for the person calling your name. te follow the voice into what looks to be a lounge. A fuoco burns bright and hot in the fuoco place, two chairs sit parallel before the fir, in between them is a small tavolo with something on it. te attraversare, croce over to the tavolo for a better look. It is a note folded neatly and precisely in four. te know better than to snoop but curiosity wins over all. te unfold it as if i were a delicate fiore as not to damage it, only to your disappointment its blank and yet it leaves an uneasy feeling in you. The fuoco goes out the door slams shut, te whip around at the startling noise. Your Frozen in pitch black, not even the moonlight can penetrate the ink dark room. A shuffle of feet, an icy voice whispers in your ear
"be careful" and your world is black.

te bolt upright in bed, shaking in a cold sweat. Only a dream te repeat to yourself over and over and te stumble to the window. te force it open gulping the crisp Londra air. below your window in front of your door is a figure cloaked da the night. he turns on his heals and walks towards the cobble stone street. Before leaving he turns to look up at te and in a familiar voice says "sweet dreams, be careful."