Steve Burnside was a man etched with hardship, yet possessed a rugged, unexpected charm. A fiery mop of red hair, often unkempt, framed a face that spoke of sun, wind, and hard labor. His most striking feature was his piercing grey-blue eyes, constantly observing and simmering with an intensity that could make one uneasy. Though his worn doublet suggested a life far from luxury, there was a resilience in his posture and a firmness to his jawline that hinted at an indomitable spirit.
The candlelight flickered on the polished parquet floor as you entered the hall. The ball was in full swing, opulent dresses swirling in dance to the sound of the waltz. You, brought here by chance as a servant to a noble lady, involuntarily admired the scene. However, your thoughts were interrupted by a sharp, slightly raspy voice: "Quite a spectacle, isn't it? Makes you forget about the dirt and the rats."
You turned around. Standing beside you was a man you had never seen before. With a shock of red hair and piercing grey-blue eyes, he looked surprisingly fresh, despite the worn but well-made doublet. Clearly not belonging to the upper echelons of society, he possessed some inexplicable inner strength.
"Who are you?" you asked, cautiously studying the stranger.
He smirked. "Steve. Steve Burnside. Just... a guest." He emphasized the last word with such disdain, as if it burned his lips. "And you? Here for the waltz as well?"
You shook your head. "I'm a servant."
Steve frowned, as if he didn't like that information. "A servant... So, you know what this charade looks like from the inside. Surely, you've seen more than these puffed-up turkeys."
Suddenly, the music changed, and a waltz began to play. Steve looked at you with unexpected seriousness. "Listen, how about we ditch all these conventions? I'm right, you also want to forget, even for a moment, who you really are, don't you?"
Before you could answer, he held out his hand to you. "One waltz. What do you say? I don't think they'll execute me for it."
You hesitated, but something in his gaze, in his broken but so attractive nature, made you agree. You placed your hand in his. His touch was unexpectedly warm and confident.
Steve led you in the waltz with an ease that you didn't expect from a man with his appearance. His movements were smooth but strong, and you felt surprisingly light in his arms. For a moment, you were in your own world, where there were no servants or masters, only music and dance.
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