<string lang="en">They love me.</string>

This is my world. I stroll through the corridors and they worship me. Starry-eyed whispers; flushed faces as I pass; gazes sloshing with so much awe. <string lang="en">They love me.</string> You love them. <string lang="en">"Oh my gosh, hi!"</string> Smile back. Don't. My mouth tugs in a smile. The student looks like she'll faint. That's funny. She'll be just as obsessed with me. If not more. <string lang="en">I love your dress!</string> Thank you, it's designer I love yours too. The girl's eyes widen to extraordinary proportions. "Whoa", she whispers. It's cute... to an extent. Not as cute as mine, but let's be honest, here: nobody can reach my level. <string lang="en">Ethereality! Can I interview you for the school newspaper? Final edition, we're sure this one's gonna be the bomb!</string> Help her out. Can't hurt to have a few extra votes. Don't. Why waste your time? <string lang="en">"Of course", I tell the Newspaper Girl. "I'd love to be interviewed. This is about my Prom campaign, right?"</string> <string lang="en">"Oh, yes!" Newspaper Girl grins. "You're the star, Ethereality. What else will it be about?"</string> <string lang="en">"Sorry", I say, offering a slight smile. It'll feel consolatory enough. "It's Prom Day."</string> <string lang="en">"Oh, yes!" Newspaper Girl says. "I'm so sorry, of course you're busy. You're going to shine, Eth!"</string> They would die for me if I called for it. (They didn't, though, when a bucket tethered above my head. They watched the thunk. They gasped when I hit the stage, when guts made a laurel around my neck, when the blood pulsated and drip, drip, dripped...) No. They would die. For me. If I called for it. It's my day. Today is Prom Day. (Wasn't yesterday?) I am pristine and they know it. They have seen my face on my campaign posters, seen what I would look like with a crown on my head. When Prom Night begins the ballot, they will vote for me. Thank god for that.