See Author's Notes at the bottom!


Prologue

I closed my eyes and tried to block out the uneven thumping of my heart, but it was useless. The erratic beats roared in my ears and for a moment, the chanting from above washed out completely. I could taste the thick, dampness of sweat in the air. It clung to every inch of my body. A disgusting slurping sound made me cringe and my shirt was ripped off. My muscles were limp and I was too weak to try and cover myself tonight, but then again, I should have been used to this by now. It had been a regular occurrence for years.

Hands circled my waist from behind, grabbing my pants and yanking them down. I resisted, feeling my soaked underwear cling and descend with the fabric of my jeans. A deep chuckle, followed by a wolf whistle from across the room had the blood pooling in my cheeks. No time for modesty, I reminded myself, shaking off the embarrassment.

My eyes focused on the dark specks spaced randomly throughout the tiled cement floors as I tried avoiding the many hands pushing, pulling and tugging me every which way. Relief washed over me as a new top was placed carefully over my head. Unfortunately, due to my excessive amount of perspiration, it too was quickly drenched.

Sweating was normal and expected, however, I felt as if my pores were flooding and I had been feeling feverish all night. There had been a tiny tingle in the back of my throat for days and I was praying that I had not caught anything. I still found myself gargling steaming honey water, just in case. I definitely could not lose my voice.

"Isabella!" I glanced up at my manager's red face. She had the habit of going over my itinerary between sets to make sure I was aware of my schedule. "Are you even listening to me?" She literally growled and threw her hands up in the air in defeat. "Trust me," she snipped, realizing she had to stop yapping if I was going to make it on stage in time. "We are not done talking, Miss Diva. You're up."

I knew by the way her face had turned purple that I made her angry, but I was beyond caring at this point. My manager only wanted what is best for her, which means I had to be the best, twenty-four-seven. She had control over my life. Every detail was planned out to her liking. She chooses what I wear, what I eat, where I go, who I see; never have I been able to decide for myself. Then again, I had no idea how to live without her. She does everything for me.

My mother, Renee, signed me up for a talent show in downtown Phoenix when I was five. She had been so proud and excited that her little girl would be performing in front of the local media stations and showing the town how well she could sing. I assume that is what made me belt my heart out. I wanted to please Renee more than anything in the world. What I got instead was first place and an invitation to go on a nationwide television show and compete against other young, talented stars. When I won that everything escalated from there and now here I am, performing in front of fifty thousand fans in a massive amphitheater, ignoring my obsessive, nut case of an manager as she drones on about my "engagements."

Renee abandoned me as soon as Judy, my oh-so-lovely manager, was hired five years ago. Judy claimed that having my mother on tour would only be a distraction and Renee actually agreed with her. I am no expert on normal parenting behaviors but I image that any mother would put up some type of argument. Then there's my father, whom I have never really met. I know three facts about him: His name is Charlie Swan, he lives in Forks, Washington, and he's Chief of Police. That's all I really cared knowing about my absent father.

The fact of the matter is, this is my life and the only thing I can do is live it. I took a deep breath, counted to ten and waited for my cue to go on stage. The lights dimmed, and The Pack shouted their thanks to the audience. My fans cheered, the roar reaching to it's maximum peak. I smiled bitterly and ran on stage. They love me, but they don't know me. Hell, I don't even know the real me. I'm just a commodity; the poster of a girl.


Author's Note(s): Well, there you go. I had to take a breather from Haunting Moon.

Before I continue with this fic, I would like to know how many of you would be interested in reading it. Yes, it's only a prologue, but I still would appreciate any feedback and response to this story. I'm actually very interested in this plot and I would love to finish it so I hope there are many of you who enjoy it.

I do not claim to be a master at writing novels so I can guarantee that you will find mistakes scattered throughout. I apologize first hand. I still haven't figured out the Beta thing. You would think by now I'd know.

Again, characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. I just like to dabble with their lives occasionally.

Finally, check out my MySpace: /goldeneyeslove for more on Haunting Moon, Poster of a Girl, and other upcoming fanfic projects! I will be updating it tonight with the latest graphic for PoaG so don't forget to take a peek!