Hanson of Borg
A young girl was taken backstage in a rush, she was unsettled, but alltogether excited at the possiblity of meeting her idols. Some suit threw a pass over her neck, and she hurried towards "them".
She gushed at first, and embarrassed herself a little, but it wouldn't really matter. She had a long chit-chat with them, and spoke of the trivialities that her kind find utterly fascinating. As the conversation was coming to a close, they nodded to eachother, and motioned for her to follow them, but as they walked to the dressing room, they stopped short.
She stopped soon after, lunging forward awkwardly in the abruptness of it. She tried to turn to ask why they stopped there, but they avoided her gaze. A few whispered words, the sting of a needle, and that was the last moment of the life she knew. When the few remaining, continually ebbing parts of her personality faded in for the final time, she found herself playing a cheesy keyboard, and singing even cheesier pop songs, along with the other two; who were once just like her.
As it turned out, there had been almost a dozen "Taylors" in the span of two years, as well as seven "Isaacs", and thirty "Zacs": all female. In order to keep their cutesy-cutesy image, they've had to maintain a very contrived look; not unlike the countless "Lassies" there have been (a fitting analogy, considering the cross-gender role of Lassie).
You see, it's nothing personal. It's just the way an organism with its own agenda has to survive. It's how Hanson maintains itself, and has, for over six-hundred years now; in various incarnations.