Found something today. Not food. A bottle of cheap perfume, smashed, under a shelf. The scent is sickly sweet, like rotting flowers, but for a second it was a time machine. It smelled like backstage at Fashion Week. Sweat, hairspray, adrenaline, and the musk of bodies pressed together in the dark.

It made me remember the hierarchy. Before all this, we were ranked. By our agents, by the designers, by the photographers. The girl who opened the show. The girl who closed it. The girl who got the solo campaign. The jealousy was a sharper hunger than this one.

Lillian used to be a closer. She still acts like it. She took the broken bottle, dabbed the last drops on her wrists, her neck. A declaration. She looked at each of us, and it wasn't a glance—it was a casting. Scarlet, the fiery opener, now her loyal guard dog. Lily, the fresh-faced commercial girl, now crumbling under the pressure. Isabell, the editorial wildcard, the one everyone wanted to fuck or be fucked by. Me, the rebellious newcomer who never followed the lineup.

She walked over to Isabell, tilted her chin up with a finger. 'You'd have been a great opener,' she said, her voice low. 'But you always wanted the closing spot, didn't you? The spotlight all to yourself.' Then she leaned in, whispered something I couldn't hear. Isabell's eyes went wide, then dark. She nodded.

I know what the hierarchy is now. It's not about runway order. It's about who gets eaten first when the last pretense of civilization falls. It's about who offers their throat willingly. Isabell just volunteered. She'll let Lillian use her—every hole, every scream, every drop of pleasure and pain—as a distraction from the gnawing void in our guts. She'll be our sacrifice to the god of delayed starvation.

And part of me, the bratty part that never knew her place, is fucking jealous. I want to be the one chosen for that final, brutal performance. To have my cunt used, my ass stretched, my mouth stuffed, not for a can of food, but for the privilege of being the center of our last, desperate story. To close the show.

What's the hierarchy in your world now? Who's on top? And what are you willing to do to climb, or to fall?