Stilettos, Shade, and Drama - 1. Stilettos, Shade, and Drama

Daisy Dessert was the afternoon's star attraction. As the undeniable diva of the summer, she strutted onto the stage, brimming with confidence and sequins. To her, this was merely chapter one of her glittering autobiography. Others might have doubts, but Daisy? Absolutely not. Fame, she believed, was her birthright, and she wasn’t shy about proclaiming it to anyone within earshot. Some called her arrogant, but Daisy knew the truth: You can only take what you don’t already have—and she was undeniably important.

Draped in her signature floor-length, sparkling gown—so radiant in the sunlight it forced onlookers to squint, as if they’d dared to stare directly at an eclipse—Daisy glided through the crowd. Her smile gleamed with the smug satisfaction of someone fully aware that her brilliance was too much for mere mortals to handle. A glittering headband perched on her head like a tiara, and her makeup was a masterclass in excess. With each step of her towering heels, the crowd parted, either out of reverence or fear of being impaled by her aura. Daisy’s gaze swept over the audience, basking in the adoration. Nothing was sweeter than a sea of fans ready to worship at her sequined altar.

Then, her eyes landed on Scarlet Starlight, her sworn nemesis, sulking at the edge of the crowd like a storm cloud looking for a parade to ruin. Daisy’s smile flickered. That bitch! Of course, she was here just to revel in Daisy’s potential failure. But Daisy had no intention of giving her that satisfaction. At the Miss Pinkstar competition, Scarlet had rightfully lost, but clearly, she hadn’t gotten over it. Daisy, always a peaceful soul, had ended their feud diplomatically—by gently and lovingly driving her stiletto into Scarlet’s fake décolletage until it popped. The memory brought a sharp, sugary smile to Daisy’s lips, which she shot Scarlet’s way like a poisoned dart.

Nearing the stage, Daisy faced her final challenge: a staircase. The stairs were steep, and her heels were practically stilts. Men scrambled to help, vying for the honor of touching even a fingernail of her magnificence.

“Oh, boys, you’re all so eager. I guess nobody can resist Dessert,” she purred, balancing gracefully on one of them like a glittering flamingo. Halfway up, she slipped, her heel catching on the edge. One of her helpers took the brunt of her stumble. Daisy didn’t miss a beat. “Sweetheart, life’s a ladder: If you want to go up, you’ve gotta step on someone first.” The crowd erupted, and Daisy was back in her element.

At the top, Daisy struck a pose, arms outstretched like she was summoning the gods. “Daisies bloom everywhere, and nobody says no to Dessert! Your guilty pleasure, Daisy Dessert, has arrived!” she declared, voice dripping with diva energy. The audience roared their approval, but Daisy felt Scarlet’s daggers from the shadows. That bitch wasn’t just competition; she was a cockroach wearing a wig—a reminder of past battles Daisy had already won.

Daisy began her performance—a powerful lip sync to “Lady Marmalade.” Her moves might no longer be as fluid as they once were, but her charisma remained unbroken. Yet as she performed, she noticed Scarlet pushing her way through the crowd toward the front. A hint of unease spread. What was Scarlet planning?

Then came Scarlet’s move. Shoving her way to the front like a bull in sequins, she snatched a mic and sneered, “Tonight, I challenge Daisy Dessert to the ultimate drag showdown! Let’s see who the real queen is.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Daisy tilted her head, her smile as sharp as broken glass. “Scarlet, sweetheart, if losing again is your idea of fun, I’m happy to indulge.”

“Oh, Daisy, let’s just hope your shoes don’t take flight this time,” Scarlet shot back, smirking like the Cheshire Cat. She was referring to The Incident—Daisy’s infamous “Monroe Moment.” The time Daisy attempted Marilyn’s iconic air-vent pose, only for the fan to blast with hurricane force, sending one of her heels rocketing into the crowd like a heat-seeking missile. It hit an unfortunate spectator square in the face, who then flung their drink, drenching another poor soul who toppled into the buffet table. It was a domino effect of disasters, and Scarlet had been milking it ever since.

But Daisy wasn’t fazed. Back then, she’d risen like a phoenix, tossing her other shoe into the crowd with theatrical flair. “Weapons of mass destruction don’t belong on a queen’s feet,” she’d quipped, earning raucous applause. Tonight, she’d channel that same energy.

“Scarlet, sweetheart, so sweet of you to worry about my shoes. Maybe you should focus on your makeup—it looks like a child got loose with crayons!” Daisy fired back, voice honeyed with venom.

Scarlet struck first with a so-called "live" rendition of “I Am What I Am”—though it sounded more like “I Am What I Screech.” Her vocals had all the finesse of a malfunctioning chainsaw, grating and relentless. Her movements, far from the grace of a regal queen, resembled a broken marionette flailing under the control of an overzealous puppeteer. Yet, despite her obvious stiffness, Scarlet threw herself into absurdly dramatic poses, wobbling precariously like a giraffe attempting ballet on a frozen pond.

Daisy clapped politely, her smile barbed with sarcasm. “Well, that was almost impressive, Scarlet. Did you practice not falling on your face today?”

Then it was Daisy’s turn, performing the timeless classic “The Rose.” From the moment the first notes played, the audience melted as Daisy transformed the stage into a garden of nostalgia and grandeur. Her sequined gown sparkled like a disco ball on overdrive, casting shimmering reflections across the room. Every move she made, though touched with the stiffness of age, radiated the poise and drama of old Hollywood. Daisy didn’t just perform; she commanded, weaving the song’s emotion into a spectacle that left the crowd utterly captivated, as though she were a virtuoso playing her most cherished symphony.

And then the finale. As Daisy stretched her arms wide, a storm of red rose petals cascaded onto the stage. One particularly enthusiastic fan tossed an actual rose, which Daisy caught mid-air, clutching it to her chest like the star of a black-and-white romance. The audience went wild.

Scarlet hissed from the sidelines, “Oh, how quaint, Daisy. Didn’t know you’d started gardening.”

Daisy didn’t flinch. “Roses are for queens, darling. You might find some thistles if you’re lucky.”

The audience could barely stifle their laughter as Daisy hit her stride on stage. Every second was a chance to defend her crown as the unrivaled Drag Queen of the scene—and she did so with full force. To underscore her superiority, she spun into an elegant pirouette, paused dramatically, and blew a sarcastic air kiss in Scarlet’s direction. The gesture dripped with confidence and just the right amount of sass, sending the crowd into a frenzy of cheers and applause.

Scarlet, of course, wasn’t about to let that slide. “I see you’ve finally managed to change your expression, Daisy. Who knew Botox could be so flexible!” she sneered, her voice sweetened with venom.

Finally, it was time for the audience to decide who the true queen of the night was. Daisy and Scarlet took it upon themselves to collect the votes, each trying to milk every last advantage from the moment. Daisy grabbed a slip, read her own name aloud, and announced, “Oh, Scarlet, so many votes for me. I guess it’s true—some people just have it, and others… well, they have excuses”

Scarlet snapped back with a poisonous grin, “Keep dreaming, Daisy. You couldn’t win an argument with a mirror, let alone this competition.”

Unfazed, Daisy plucked another slip from the pile. “Ah, here’s a fan who truly appreciates elegance. Thank you, darling!” she cooed, holding it up theatrically.

Scarlet scoffed, “Elegance? Is that what you’re calling that costume? I was thinking more… ‘Carnival.’”

Without missing a beat, Daisy fired back dryly, “Oh, Scarlet, I didn’t know you told jokes. Shame no one’s laughing.”

When the votes were finally tallied, it was close, but—once again—Daisy Dessert was crowned the victor. Scarlet, wearing the fakest of smiles, forced out a begrudging, “Congratulations, Daisy. It’s truly amazing how you manage to stay upright at your age. That’s real art.”

Daisy didn’t even blink. With a syrupy smile, she shot back, “Thank you, Scarlet. Must be the good genes. But you, my dear, are the true artist—it’s genuinely impressive how you manage to dance so stiffly while sounding like a chainsaw.”

The crowd erupted into roaring laughter, and Daisy basked in her triumph. Not only had she defended her crown as the unchallenged queen of the scene, but she’d also reminded everyone that she was willing to fight to the glittery end for her place on the throne.

As the night carried on, Daisy returned to the spotlight for her victory speech. “Sweethearts, that was for you! Always remember: True greatness comes from within, and no one can take your dreams from you—as long as you believe in yourself and carry enough painkillers.”

With those parting words, Daisy left the stage, shining as brightly as a disco ball under a barrage of flashbulbs, fully confident that her reign would not only survive this summer but the next, and the one after that—and maybe even the next apocalypse.