The music pounded, the bright lights pulsed, the air in the packed auditorium was thick with excitement. It was almost time for the show of the year. The anticipation surrounding it had built to an astonishing level since it had been announced just two weeks before. The whole world was watching. There were cameras everywhere, already broadcasting images of the rich and famous to the rest of the world. Models, designers, actors and musicians, as well as anyone else who had managed to get their hands on a ticket to the most prestigious event of the year.
The music changed suddenly, the pulsing lights now static, waiting. All eyes were on the catwalk. All around the world, waiting. She appeared, stepping out of the bright white light, dressed all in black. It swirled around her as she walked, her long chestnut hair spilling over one shoulder, her famous smile in place. It wasn’t the cold, forced smile of most models; her dark eyes glimmered as though she was laughing. She reached the end of the catwalk and stood for a moment, all eyes on her, enraptured. The music as loud, too loud. Loud enough to mask the gunshot. She fell backwards, the smile not quite gone from her face. Confusion. Was it a stunt? Was it a part of the show? And then they saw the blood. And then the screaming started. The cameras kept rolling, broadcasting every moment to the world as panic took over. Tears and blood and screams. And Dana. Lying on the catwalk. Surrounded by people but completely alone. Dana. Dead.