Throwing caution to the wind - after all, its not everyday you get to experience a formal dance as a girl - you nod, acquiescing to the unspoken question, and surrender yourself to the steps, to the music, to the thrill of a girl's debutante ball.

Wait a minute...? But, as you look at your partner, then around the room, you realize that it is far, far too late. There is no longer anything ghostly about any of them, nor does the ballroom have the faint presence of age and dust, but instead practically screams newness and opulence.

Over the next days, you're able to figure out somewhat what has happened, if not how. By whatever means, you've been cast backward in time, living the life of the young, noble daughter of the Trebmal household, who, now of marriageable age, was just presented to an array of possible suitors. And given that you spent the entirety of that dance with one partner, it seems likely that your preference will be formally acknowledged in the near 'future.'

Is a long courtship in the making...?