My Evil Stepmother, The Comedic Terror

Previously

…A shiver, colder than the night air, traced its way down my spine. The final act. Captivated audience. Silenced critics. It sounded ominous, a prelude to something grand and terrible. But as I closed the diary, the worn leather cool against my fingertips, a new resolve hardened within me. I would not be a passive participant in her final act. I would be the director of my own. The weapon forged in ink was mine now. And I intended to use it. The night outside remained dark, but within me, a dangerous spark had been ignited. The game, as Seraphina would say, was afoot.