The lights of the stage flashed, and Harper sat on her stool, her guitar on her lap.

She looked the same as always; long, black hair, combed (one of her queer little quips was to keep it untangled at all times), and abnormally pale blue eyes.

The same eyes scanned the crowd carefully, and she picked up the strum on the guitar, trying to ignore what had happened that day.

Her fiancé of one year – one year! – had been found, by Harper doing what? Of course, the unthinkable. Cheating.

She felt sore from crying and yelling to convince him she never wanted to see him again. Yelling at him, telling him that she’d reveal his infidelity to the Press.

Heck, she felt rotten. That was the only way to describe it. And here for a moment, Harper thought she had gotten her happy ending.

What an illusion.

A shout roused Harper from her musical bubble.

“Harper! Above you – watch out!”

She only had time to crane her head upwards for a moment before the entire world disappeared into a maelstrom of black.