By Day and By Night

Prologue: Showtime

~*~

The O2 Arena is rumbling with anticipation. Phone notifications and excited chatter disappear into a hum of noise that can be heard outside the arena and beyond. Little girls swing their legs and jump about, teenagers grip hand-painted signs and adults flick aimlessly through their emails. Too many people are trying to use their phones for anything to load, but it makes them look busy.

Sometimes the odd girl shrieks in excitement, or a group laughing will rise above the noise and be heard for a few seconds. But even though most of the people in this room have never met, they are united by their passion for the performance that is about to begin.

Her face is plastered over merchandise all over the arena; on banners, t-shirts, posters, mugs, blankets, badges. Short clips of her blowing kisses and smiling replay themselves on the screens above and beside the stage. Those lucky enough to have done the meet and greet before the show are clutching on to signed posters and shirts, and one girl has four posters tucked under one arm, looking fearful that someone might try and pinch them.

Every second a child asks how long it will be before the show starts, and every second, another parents says they don't know. An usher is hurrying about, walky-talky in hand, hi-viz jacket illuminated, talking to a family of latecomers apologising profusely to the people they shove past.

The arena is full, there's no doubt about that. There's the odd single seat here and there, but no gaps big enough to make a song and dance about. The aircon furiously blasts down on the space below; it's a hot summer evening and the bodies shuffling about together are getting sticky before the show has even started.

Another 5 minutes pass by, and small children start to get agitated, doing the 'ants-in-your-pants' dance. They are shushed with sweets and fizzy drinks, and the occasional game of 'I-Spy'.

Before anyone has time to think about it, the arena is plunged into darkness, and a drumkit bursts into life. The screams from the crowd are deafening, but nothing compared to the noise that erupts from them when the back wall splits into two, a flurry of blue and white confetti bursts from two cannons, and a figure emerges from the darkness.

She is who every young girl wants to be, and every young man wants to be with. Her long black hair is tied back in a perfectly tight, spotless ponytail, and sparkling diamonds are threaded through various strands. She wears silver heeled boots that reach her thighs, and an ice blue blazer that is paired with simply a white bodysuit to hide her modesty. Gold earrings snake up both of her ears, and her makeup is nothing short of spectacular. Blue eyes with thick black eyeliner and gems under her eyebrows. Bright red lipstick and skin so smooth it almost could have been fake. She glitters under the lights and the microphone in her hand is studded with crystals as bright as they are.

As she raises the mic to her mouth, the whole arena goes silent. Because the performance has started, and Diamond Rose has taken the stage.