She is fake
This is true
I've noticed it in the way she moves
Her very existence is false
Her smile does not exist
Her sneezes aren't truly that high pitched
They love her
They see the world through a rose tinted glass
She is perfect
When she speaks the room will dim for laughter to listen for the witty comment she will say
Perhaps I'll say the same thing
Then the room will be filled with awkward eye rolls
Silent prays that I will shut up
I believe I am kind, she isn't
So why is she a princess
Why am I a peasant