Pov: Angie Faith

But whose dream?

I close my eyes.

This is the real performance. Not the sold-out arena. Not the red carpet. It’s the act of letting myself be held when I feel like shattering. It’s believing, for eight hours of darkness, that I am just Angie.

The Weight of the Crown

You are Angie Faith, I whisper to the dripping girl in the mirror. You are the dream.

I lean over the marble sink, knuckles white against the cold stone. My reflection stares back—a girl I’ve known my whole life, yet one I keep surprising. My hair is down, no longer sculpted into the perfect, bouncy waves the camera loves. It’s just strands. Brown. Tangled. Human.