She was alone when she was killed.
At least, as far as the other party-goers were concerned. She had stepped out onto the empty balcony for some air. No-one joined her, and there was no-one with her. They were multiple floors up in a vena mansion in Yenagun's Uppers, surrounded at the bottom by a smooth-cut courtyard wall.
And yet, she had been killed. Her partner had only followed her out after noticing a suspicious shadow join hers on the thin curtain, illuminated by the limelight and occasional firework from the other side.
His scream upon finding her — motionless, throat slit, blood staining her sky-blue dress and dripping to the ground below — had finally stopped the band from playing, as a faint cloud of sickly sulfur seeped into the ballroom to make a cocktail with the tobacco and gunpowder smoke.
She had been killed by a shadow.