The Random Proses stored away.

A star's letter

Spent one night having a dream... Then, I spent my entire lifetime escaping from it.

All these glitters, and all these golds. Fanfare is wild as my efforts exhaust for the people staring. They're fans, big fans to say the least.

Hoisted up as a symbol of beauty and submission- I've grown to be quite perfect. Much perfect than any other woman- but those names and titles I earn in being so from the wives of a plethora of adoring husbands.

"Vixen" or... "Whore"- It's stamped into my back with the envy of women unable to reach such high as I have.

But starting days like these are never easy. I'm pushed down, yet brought back up again for the fans and attention. I'm insulted anywhere and at any time- yet I can't fight, leaving only a blind eye in my steed.

But that's how a woman supposed to be they say. This reminder rings in my ears, it's got to be unfair for such a damsel as me.

Now, all these dresses and gloves feel alien to me- my body, myself. It's not recognizable. But seemingly this revelation is for the greater good.

Fatigue and weakness are not anything I show. I put on a wild performance, adorn and ripped apart by the stares of those voracious animals... It's not good, none of this is good. I'm tired, quite tired. Yet they need a Sweetheart to kiss them nighty night... For I am that sole idol meant to be shared.

The stage is the eye of the storm, yet no one is going out- staying still with admiration and infatuation in their gazes. Maybe everyone has a reason to be obsessed, isn't it?

Those stares and those comments, they're like bullets- hitting hard and heavy. Bullets always hurt, but some people still love them no matter the type.

It's disgusting, but for I shall remain silent.