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 <font style="italics">sure</font> 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? "Of course", I tell the Newspaper Girl. "I'd love to be interviewed. This is about my Prom campaign, right?" "Oh, yes!" Newspaper Girl grins. "You're the star, Ethereality. What else will it be about?" "Sorry", I say, offering a slight smile. It'll feel consolatory enough. "It's Prom Day." "Oh, yes!" Newspaper Girl says. "I'm so sorry, of course you're busy. You're going to shine, Eth!" 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.