All the world's a stage

Rainbow Dash walked out to the cheering crowd. They screamed her name. She was on top of the world, over the moon with joy. Everything was right in the world. Or so it seemed to her. She flew above the crowd, doing loop-de-loops and barrel roles. She blew kisses at the crowd, tossing down signed copies of her book. It was unusually mobbed, even for a Rainbow Dash appearance. She didn't care. She loved it, the way the called out: "You're the Dash! You're the Dash!" It was like her catchphrase. On hard mornings (they were few) she would say it to herself. "I'm the Dash!" But today it was the crowd. "You're the Dash!" Then she would say: "Louder!" They would howl out: "YOU'RE THE DASH!" Then she asked for more, more adoration: "I can't hear you!" That would do it: "YOU'RE THE DASH!!!" She loved it, every minute. The praise. She drank it in like it was water and she'd been lost in the desert for a week. How could she help it? She was a natural star.