The window squeaked as the shadowed figure inched it open. The sound echoed through the empty streets as one foot and then a second emerged from within. A tangle of curls came next and if anyone had been watching at that moment, they would have witnessed something no one in Paris would have believed without seeing it for themselves. When the figure finally extracted themselves from the confines of the dark room of the old stone building, there stood the most beautiful woman ever to have come out of one of the most guarded structures in Paris: the musketeers' garrison. In fact, other than the guests that came and went during the day, asking for help in one way or another, she was the only woman ever to have emerged from that building.

There was nothing normal about this event. One only had to glance at the woman to know she was up to something. There was only one reason someone would sneak out of another person's room at night and, dressed the way she was, never did an idea seem so absurd. Anyone passing by would have realized that something was about to happen. Anyone would have known that a woman dressed in such expensive clothes does not make a habit of climbing out of someone's bedroom window. Anyone would have discovered that this woman was not simply out for a harmless midnight stroll. And someone did.

As the woman straightened her skirts and patted down her hair, she seemed unaware of her surroundings; the first mistake when attempting to remain unnoticed. She did not see the face in the window just inches from where she stood. She did not see the man watching as she freed herself from the window. She did not notice the smallest movement of a dark curtain in that window as the face disappeared into the black room beyond.