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[center][b][color=DC143C]Location:[/color][/b] Almack’s
[color=DC143C]“Having a soft heart in a cruel world is courage, not weakness.”[/color] 
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	Fyror ran his hands across his face and through his hair. He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. He really needed to rein in these rampant emotions before they got the best of him. He felt such helplessness and desperation in the moment. Emotional pain laced his expression as his mind tormented him with images of Millicent being ripped from him and defiled by Lord Rutherford. What was he supposed to do? How could he put a stop to Lord Rutherford and repair the damage the man had caused? Was it even possible? Or worth attempting? Why did life always have to be so cruel to a man who cared as much as Fyror did?

	Fyror’s thoughts were penetrated by a rustling noise followed by footsteps, alerting him to someone approaching. He let out a small sigh and further repressed some of his emotions before turning to fully face whoever it was. However, he was taken aback to find a foreign woman who was clearly of nobility, if her elaborate dress was any indication. He stood there in shock for a moment, certainly looking a fool, as she approached him and looked deep into his eyes. He quickly snapped out of it and etiquette took over. [color=DC143C]“Your Grace,”[/color] he addressed her and bowed deeply in respect. His eyes gingerly met hers once more as he straightened again. He found that her gaze remained intently on him in an unblinking stare. It was unnerving yet mesmerizing all at the same time. He stiffened a little, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. After a long moment, she finally spoke up, but what she said only confused him, his brows furrowing. What was interesting? [i]Him?[/i] He really didn’t know what to think about this whole situation. At least it drew him away from the emotional pain he was in, if only for a moment.