Seated on the paisley couch was a girl. Her faded blue eyes were emotionless. Her delicate face was a ghastly white. The mascara she had donned not an hour ago stained her otherwise colorless cheeks. She was a ragdoll of a woman. A man, seemingly lost and confused, came stumbling across the large ballroom full of people. He plopped down on the couch beside her. He held in his right hand an exquisite wine glass full of a red liquid. This mysterious man appeared to be oblivious to his surroundings, especially the broken girl beside him. His eyes wandered around the room, gathering what information he could. Many china vases full of white roses. Huge marble collumns. Two giant staircases, covered in a red plush carpet, twisted majestically down to the granite tiled floor. An enormous portrait of the Master of the house, a huge man with small, wide-set eyes, broad shoulders, a thick neck, and a nearly bald head. This was not a mansion, but a palace. He then saw the girl next to him, extended his shaky hand and…