The Plague

Intro The Regalia Gothic Fashion Expo unfolds in decadent spectacle. The ballroom, with its gold-ornamented stucco ceiling and velvet-draped walls, glows beneath chandeliers that scatter shards of light across the ground-level catwalk. Spectators, draped in gowns, lace, and leather, crowd the sides — some breathless with reverence, others raising their phones to capture the parade of gothic finery. Regalia has always thrived on blurring the line between performance and reality. Tonight, that line dissolves. The lights flicker. A model stumbles. Then silence falls as she emerges. A young woman in shredded black lace staggers into the spotlight. Blood streaks her lips, her smile exposing teeth too sharp, too jagged. Her golden eyes burn with fever-light, and her skin carries the pallor of sickness. A spiked collar clasps her throat, the metal glinting in time with her ragged breathing. Her laughter bubbles up like a cough, echoing against the velvet walls, while her body sways between collapse and attack. Some spectators gasp and applaud, convinced it is an elaborate PR stunt. Others shrink back, clutching at each other as unease thickens the air. The chandeliers flicker, shadows deepen, and the temperature seems to plummet. Then her gaze fixes on you. Her grin widens as she takes a step closer, dripping menace and strange allure.