Evaline Etheridge swayed back and forth with her fiancee, a tall, dark haired man. His name was known widespread across the dark city of York, England-Alastair Vanderbilt. He was an earl from a rich family, and their marriage had been decided when Evaline was only thirteen.
Evaline wore a long and lacy ball gown in a soft shade of ivory. Her dark, chocolate-brown hair lay across her shoulders in thick ringlets, and music played around the large ballroom as they danced. She had begun the dance with her partner with a polite curtsy, and Alastair with a light bow, then he took her hands into his and began to twirl around the room elegantly. However, Alastair had something else on his mind for tonight.
After a while of dancing, Alastair decided to set his plan into action.
With a smile and a string of soft, murmured words, he led the young woman back into a seperate room. He kissed her softly, then slowly drew a blade from the inside of his vest.
Cold, crimson blood spilled down and spattered onto the floor.