The cavern expanded as she watched people open her post: an action signified by view count—an eyeball icon next to a number—and nothing else. And yet, a hollowness, a yearning dissatisfaction she hadn't felt in months, threatened to overtake her completely as the number of views went up... slowly.
Far more slowly than normal. Far too slowly for her tastes.
A little thumb icon counted up as well, her post being "liked" by likes by hundreds of nicknames she'd never known as people, but had never felt the need to. Until recently.
Trouble was, the more she encountered this feeling, the more she hated it. Now, anyways. Not before. But now... Vignette held in a sigh.
It used to be so... validating.
At least, that's what she always told herself as she forced herself to push down the doubt, the questioning, the trepidation and apprehension that came with every post, that gnawing that she'd become a pro at defeating without a second thought every time she pressed the Send button. But now, as she sat watching arbitrary numbers go up, all she could think of was the revelation she'd come to after Rarity had admonished her:
"I have three million followers, but no real friends. How pathetic is that?"
What even is a friend? Vignette thought to herself, resting her chin on a closed hand as she idly scrolled through her feeds. Have I ever... actually had any? Would I even know if I had?
She thought back years, back over her life, a life that was marked mostly by her entrepreneurial endeavors—selling makeshift lipstick as a girl (melted crayon wax was still technically wax!), selling old garage-sale vinyl records during the digital music boom as a teenager (they'd become mass-market collector's items, right?), handling PR for Applewood movies (which had gone great until she'd run into that one movie with the talking fruits that everyone had said would be a shoo-in; it turned out that no amount of marketing or PR could have saved that trainwreck) and doing the same for amusement parks around the country.
Vignette Valencia had been everywhere, seen everyone, and all of those people had myriad titles in relation to herself: Customers. Clients. Enemies. Bosses. Employees. Fans. Oh, so many fans.
And yet, so many of her travels were punctuated by... exactly what she was doing now. Sitting in a Starcolts in any town, any city, that anyone could name... alone. It had always been a constant. But it was one she'd assured herself just came with the territory. #FirstSuccessThenTheWorld.
But what if she'd been wrong?
How many years of her life, of her beauty, would she have wasted? She'd be hitting the big three-oh sooner than later, and she refused to take it lying down when it happened.
Vignette's phone vibrated, knocking her out of her reverie. Oh! There were comments already. Odd, given how soon her picture had been posted. Usually, everyone took some time to gape in awe before telling her how much they wanted to be her and how impeccable her fashion sense was. But given how she was feeling, she could use the pick-me-ups. She opened the comments.
And spit out her chai in horror.
Very few of them were flattering. The largest, loudest responses, instead, consisted of pictures of her from the Equestria Land parade. Pictures of her wielding her old phone, waving it like some crazed maniac (because, let's face it, she sort of had been). Pictures of her being blasted by what looked like a magical light show by those teenage girls (oh, if they'd only known). Comparison memes involving her previously-posted pictures and the above footage shots, with awful captions like "#BANGS/#FANGS"—and "WITH OUTFITS LIKE THOSE/I'D FIRE HER TOO" pasted over screencaps of her Rainbooms outfit choices (which she'd admittedly been regretting more and more every day #MistakesWereMade).
All annoying, all insensitive, and, as usual, all in huge capitalized Impact font. She'd grown to despise Impact. Who didn't, though? It was a boorish font used by uncivilized savages! Helvetica, Arial, Times, even Courier for that old-school feel—those were what you used if you wanted anyone to consider you someone worth conversing with! Ugh, even Comic Sans would have served them better.
How dare they?
Against every bone in her body that knew better, every instinct that knew how to stay calm under pressure and accusations and cameras and flashing lights, Vignette felt herself getting incensed. This was her space! It'd taken her forever to carve a space where could be truly appreciated, where she could control that appreciation, and here it was being... grrr...
Invaded!
She slammed her phone onto the table, rolling her eyes in a huff. Still a week and people haven't forgotten? I made one little mistake! Okay, one big mistake. But still! Just one! On camera. In public. With the world watching. Ugh.
Vignette crossed her arms on the table, dropping her head into them.
There has to be something I can do, isn't there?