Non-existence

It all began like a cheap soap opera, although it was nothing more than a real life of a genuine person, that was made, let's say, forced, restrained, whatsoever, in order to become a low-cost little angel, even if that stole all her humanity.
Taught to act "naturally", in fact, maneuvered by an army of pupeteers, that got her ready for the show, every single fraction of her so-called life, she only had to act perfect, and look the same, so, she wasn't required too much. Like the woman that threw a good curtain on a decaying wall, then smilling, as is the wind outside couldn't break her improvised shelter, that's how she was. Tool and user of tools, like all the girls in her caegory.
Not rich, however, forced to keep up with the standards of the wealthy, she lived in a deep seclusion, away from other kids, which were just one step farther, playing. All her energy had to be locked inside, or stored for later, as her time was.
Nun-like, supposed to be sinless, her innocence was banished, and she had some self-assured, rehearsed air, some people believed to be true. She was walking on thin air (I'd say on thin ice), angel-like.
All the beggars were, to her, something not to be looked at, coming from a different world. Somehow punished by their own ordeal, further condemned to be there, their hands raised to the ones above them.
She felt above, yet, she could have surely been underneath, lifeless. She used to compare the beggars to her broken toys, unpleasant to look at, yet, needing desperately a reparation. Still, she did nothing. They weren't part of her non-existence, that they even bother with their gaze.