Love in Death

They were lovers in the deepest sense. They knew one another’s bodies as well as their own. They were romantic in their smiles, their little gestures and fleeting glances in public. But they were a tragedy; two hearts separated by a silly thing called fame. He was a star, a magnificent actor in his prime with the world at his toes. And she a simple college girl, down to earth and just concerned about getting through the weeks, the finals, her life.

He was Leonardo and she was Anna, and they were essentially irrevocably in love. Of course, all good things come to an end; this is the twenty-first century. Divorce is on the up rise and there are more single mothers than ever before. It wasn’t small arguments that began their downfall, no; it was his fame and popularity. It was the paparazzi harassing Anna once they’d gotten wind of their romance. Psychotic, deranged fans began sending her threating letters, leaving discriminating and horrible things on her front porch.

Then they began attacking him. How dare he date a woman who isn’t in the spotlight? How dare he give his heart to a fan that wasn’t them? It was, to the fans, an ultimate betrayal. The papers recounted the gruesome scene for months afterwards, relating it to the late Romeo and Juliet. But it was nothing like the star crossed lovers romantic suicide. It was murder, and it was raw.

The only similarity was that they were slain in each other’s arms.