I think I'll revive FEPG very soon. Anyhow, story time!
I'd spent about an hour and a half talking to the girls about ambition. These girls, whom were my new found students of my refound passion, were now in the graces of a would be reformed socialite queen whom in the past three years had gone though a lot. She had thought she'd grown up quite frankly, only not you your average expectations. Most of my friends either went MIA or turned up dead, An "estranged" cousin turned out to be a loyal yet reckless crook whom tried to ruin me beyond repair, My husband was killed, My popularity was semi-shot, and I'd stepped down from my position at French Vogue to instruct ballet classes at a preforming arts school near the heart of Paris. I wanted a simple, quiet life...yet in the shroud of this I still wanted to be looked up to. I was slightly done with men and women alike groveling at my feet in hopes of being in my elitist world, which had gone once my father had died of illness and left his money to his long time boyfriend.
Yes, I was what I considered to be poor. I sold my apartment and moved in residence of the school, often times sleeping in the dance studio since the cold floors in the midst of night conforted me. I was alone, yet I found solace in this thought.
Someone, somebody out there, would be taking over my throne and immersing themselves in sinful dirty work. Fame is beautiful, it really is. Without it, I would have been dead. In a way, I am dead; I'm dead on the inside. The girls at the arts school really love me. Often times they tell me about how they feel privileged to have such a famous person teach them how to jeter and pliet. They think I'm poised, they worshiped me in their little altar like rooms, cutting my images out of Paris Match and pasting them on their glittery, shrine-like walls.
Even as I'm teaching them such a great art, somehow I feel as if I'm plotting...
But I don't know what exactly. I still have this coniving mentality. I'm a real schemer.
But once a fabulous, elite of Paris, I always will be. Even when I physically die.
You know you love me, xx Chantal