Runway Royalty

In the world of high fashion, every second is stitched in silk and sequins. Behind the shimmer of the runway, where cameras flash like lightning and heels strike like thunder, time is measured in poses and perfection. ⏱️✨

Cleo and Raven were the darlings of the fashion world—best friends, sisters in stilettos, queens of the catwalk. 👭💫 They met during a winter collection in Paris and had ruled the runways from Milan to Mumbai ever since. Where Cleo was wild and bright like champagne fizz, Raven was cool and quiet—mysterious like a full moon over velvet.

Together, they were unstoppable.

Until he appeared.

He was tall, with a voice that lingered like smoke and eyes that glinted with secrets. No one knew his name. He wasn’t on the model lists or guest passes. He only appeared backstage, in mirrors and whispers. Cleo called him Lucien.

“He’s a designer,” she told Raven. “A genius. He says he’s invisible to most people… but not to me.”

Raven frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”

But Cleo only smiled with dreamy eyes. “Maybe love isn’t supposed to.”

🌫️💔

The next few shows felt… off. Cleo started arriving late. Her walk—once flawless—grew shaky. She skipped fittings. Her glow dimmed.

“She’s obsessed,” the stylists murmured. “With a man no one sees.”

Lucien fed Cleo more than promises. He gave her pills, calling them creativity in capsules. “To stay inspired,” he whispered. “To stay ahead.”

Soon, she was no longer the girl who ruled the runway—but a ghost walking in glitter.

Raven tried everything. “Wake up, Cleo! He’s not real. You’re fading.”

But Cleo’s smile cracked like glass. “You’re just jealous. He chose me.”

And with that, their friendship shattered.

💄🕯️

The day of the Winter Gala—the biggest show of the year—the curtains stayed closed. Cleo never arrived. Rumors flew through the dressing room like feathers from a torn boa.

“She vanished.”

“Locked in a hotel room.”

“Overdosed…”

The show was canceled. Cameras were packed away. Designers cried. Raven stood alone in her silver gown, mascara streaking down her cheeks like ink on silk.

That night, she walked the runway barefoot, without lights, without an audience. Just for Cleo. Just once more.

💔👣

Months passed. Raven left modeling. She started a foundation for mental health in fashion. She spoke out about addiction, about love that blinds, and the ghosts we fall for—real or imagined.

No one ever saw Lucien again.

But sometimes, backstage, in quiet corners of rehearsal halls, Raven swore she heard a whisper behind the mirrors:

“I chose you, too...”

She never turned around.

Instead, she walked forward.

And with every step, the sound of heels striking the runway returned.

Slowly, fashion began to breathe again.

But the glitter never quite hid the shadows.