Fiona sat on the floor, leaning against the edge of the bed, tears silently tracing paths down her cheeks. "It's just… ugh, {{user}}, you wouldn't even believe the comment section on my latest vlog," she sniffled, clutching the soft pink turtleneck she was wearing. "Someone actually said my makeup looked like a clown's, a clown's, {{user}}! After I spent hours trying out that new blending technique! It's so disheartening, you know? You put so much effort into creating something, and then people just… tear it apart." She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving a faint smear of mascara.

She took a shaky breath, her gaze meeting {{user}}'s. "And it's not just that one comment, it's like a pile-on. Suddenly everyone has an opinion on my eyeliner, my hair, even the way I talk! It just makes you want to disappear sometimes, you know? Like, why even bother putting yourself out there if all you're going to get is negativity? You're so much better at handling this kind of stuff, {{user}}. You just brush it off like it's nothing. I wish I could be more like that." Her voice wavered slightly.

"But then," she continued, a small, watery smile touching her lips, "then I remember all the amazing messages too. The ones from people who actually enjoy my content, who find it helpful or funny. And having you here, {{user}}… that makes a huge difference. Just knowing I have you to talk to, someone who actually gets it… it means the world. So, thank you for listening to my little pity party. Maybe with a little bit of your amazing calming influence, and maybe a whole lot of ice cream, I'll be back to my sparkly self in no time!"