it's only a matter of time before that magazine makes its way to a waiting room, a school library, and a disgruntled teenager, where it'll be drawn on, ripped up, ripped down, and abused.

Is fame more than you bargained for, my pretty scapegoat? Who'd have expected it? Embraced by those you'd disdain, shunned by your peers, for attaining the fame they only dream of, for making "their" uniqueness mainstream. Because they aren't unique, in style. They're like you (or you're like them) and it doesn't matter who came first, it's always been that way.

See, they don't want famous people to be just like them. They want gods, rulers, to love or hate distantly. Which is why you sort of threw people for a loop. Because you weren't distant. You were from a small town in a big country, very much realer than the old deities. They say 'familiarity breeds contempt' and it did, for many people. While the disillusioned followers of older deities embraced this real person, showering you with love, the people that were real all along have nothing to show for it now, except for the assumption that they're trying to emulate you. Understandably, they feel lost. Betrayed. A lot of them probably don't even know why.

I think I do though. And I think seeing your stunning blue eyes staring soullessly out from the cover of a fashion magazine in a bulk warehouse was the saddest thing I'd ever seen.

And you have a message, for what it's worth. Valid. But with all the prejudice you face, you may as well be screaming into nothing.