One evening, as I strolled through the dimly lit streets of London, my path unexpectedly crossed with Mary. However, the radiant joy that had illuminated her face during our first encounter was replaced by a solemn expression, and tears stained her cheeks.

Concern etched across my face, I approached her, "Mary, what's happened? Why are you crying?"

She looked up, startled by my presence, hastily wiping away her tears. "Mr. Gray, its nothing, by the way fancing meeting you here" mary change the subject

Despite my concern, I respected Mary's attempt to change the topic. As a gentleman, I didn't want to press her if she wasn't ready to share. "Indeed, Mary. A city like London does have a way of bringing people together in unexpected places," I replied with a small smile.

As we walked through the quiet streets, the memories of our dance at Prince Cameron's party resurfaced. Trying to lighten the mood, I recalled, "You know, Mary, that dance we shared was the highlight of the evening for me. Your red dress seemed to hold the very essence of the dance itself—a vibrant whirlwind of Majestic and elegance."

Mary chuckled, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Oh, Mr. Gray, you're quite the poet, aren't you? I must admit, your words on the dance floor were as enchanting as our dance itself."

Encouraged by her response, I couldn't resist but playfully recite a poem that had been lingering in my mind:

"In a sea of faces, one stood out,

 A vision in red, without a doubt.

A dance ensued, a moment in time,

In that crimson dress, so sublime."

Mary's laughter rang out like a melody, and she teased, "You sly man, attempting poetry under the moonlight. I must say, Mr. Gray, you have a way with words."

Blushing slightly, I responded, "Well, Mary, when inspired by a dance as captivating as ours, even a humble artist like myself can't resist the poetic pull of the night."

Mary's laughter continued to echo through the quiet streets as we shared a moment of lightness amid the shadows. Then we continued to walk in silence for a moment, the weight of the unspoken hanging in the air. The streets were alive with the soft sounds of the night, and the glow of distant streetlights cast a warm hue on Mary's red dress.

In that quiet moment, my eyes caught something unusual on Mary's shoe. A small, dark stain that looked eerily like blood. A subtle shiver ran down my spine as my thoughts raced. Is it blood, or am I mistaken?

Despite my internal turmoil, I chose not to voice my concern immediately. Mary was already grappling with her own distress, and I didn't want to add to her burden. Instead, I continued to walk beside her, allowing the conversation to unfold at her pace.

Little did I know that this unexpected encounter on the dimly lit streets of London would lead us both into a mysterious and tumultuous journey, where the red dress would become more than just a symbol of elegance.