Silk and Shadows: The Final Collection

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The dim lights of the runway flickered as the final model stepped out, her heels clacking against the polished floor. The audience sat in silence, anticipating the grand finale of designer Evelyn Bane's latest collection. Her work was known for its dark, almost grotesque beauty, and tonight, she promised a spectacle no one would forget.

The models walked stiffly, their eyes wide and expressionless, each draped in gowns that shimmered like liquid shadows. But something felt off. As the third model approached the end of the runway, a ripple went through the audience-an unease that began with murmurs and quickly spread to panicked whispers.

Her dress seemed alive.

The gown, a slithering cascade of black silk, moved on its own, curling around her ankles, snaking up her arms like vines. She stumbled, struggling to control her steps as the fabric tightened. A sharp gasp echoed from the crowd as the silk began to cut into her skin, small red lines appearing on her pale flesh. The other models froze mid-step, their expressions fixed in strange, vacant smiles.

Someone from the front row screamed as the model collapsed. The dress twisted and writhed like a serpent, pulling her down into the floor. Her hand stretched out in a final, desperate attempt for help, but no one moved. They were all frozen in place, transfixed by the sight.

Suddenly, the lights went out.

Panic erupted in the darkness, chairs clattering, people shouting. But beneath the chaos, there was something else. A whisper. The sound of fabric dragging across the floor. The models, who had been lifeless moments before, began to move-slowly, methodically. But something was wrong with their movements. Their joints creaked unnaturally as if they were being controlled by invisible strings. Their vacant smiles remained as they stepped off the runway, heading directly toward the audience.

When the lights flickered back on, the models stood in the aisles, surrounding the crowd. Their eyes gleamed with something dark, something ancient.

At the center of the runway, Evelyn Bane appeared, her arms outstretched. "Welcome to my final collection," she whispered, her voice echoing through the silence. "A show... you can never leave."

As she spoke, the dresses of the models began to unravel, slithering off their bodies and toward the audience, moving like sentient creatures. The fabric wrapped itself around necks, wrists, and legs, dragging people from their seats, silencing screams as the runway transformed into a living nightmare.

And in the end, only the sound of whispering silk remained, as the fashion show claimed its final victims.



(A/N): I'm going to a fashion show




Word count not including this: 436

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