My Evil Stepmother, The Comedic Terror

Previously

…The echoes of eccentricity were not just in my memory; they were woven into the very fabric of my being. I had escaped the house, the immediate torment, but had I truly escaped the influence? The diary lay heavy in my lap, a testament to the enduring power of secrets, and the unsettling truth that sometimes, the most terrifying monsters are the ones who are simply, desperately, afraid of being forgotten. The rain continued to fall, a steady, melancholic rhythm, and I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that the story was far from over. The quiet was just the preamble.