Mary Christof, Queen of Hearts

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So, she doesn't have a sister...?/Liar, Liar/Emotions

The bipolar anger. The three cups of coffee. Editing. Snark.

"Okay, fine. So apparently, there are conflicting views on her early life, but she did NOT have a sister. Maury Povich, you'd be rich. Anyway, back to research...why? Why me? I mean, seriously, this whole thing reeks of the whole "I'm sorry, please forgive me for beating you up, I swear I'll never do it again..." crap that most abusive relationships pride themselves in.

And yet, I think she's good anyway, despite what my boyfriend says. I can do this, I'm not a chicken. I made it this far, didn't I? Also, I don't see anyone else up there stopping me. It'd be weird if they did."


I was now extremely pissed. The kind of pissed that had manifested itself into unwanted anger. It was horrible. It was frustrating. It sucked. I had dragged myself so far into the dirt by my own hand that angrily dismissing the cat was the only thing I could actually do at this point along with pointedly attempting at ignoring her voice and handling it on my own.

"Go. Leave. Take your love and shove...it! Shove it! I'm a dog, see? I'm a dog wallowing in my own shit, and that's all I'll ever be, understand?!

I'm surprised you didn't notice, Mom. I really am. I'm also not going to be shocked if it turns out you were really not Mary at all. Because I'm just a dumb dog!"


My tongue was now sharp as an arrow. Horribly, horribly sharp and sad and pathetic. I couldn't talk. I didn't want to.

The future just looked grim, hellishly grim, and my Audrey wasn't around. In fact, everything just looked dead. Dead like the flowers in the vase near the mirror in my room. Dead like the TV in the recreation hall. Dead like my dreams, really.

Why I wasted that last chance, I had no idea, and the headache the prince had from listening to me certainly didn't help.

At this rate, we both had tension running high. Absolutely needless tension brought on by an evil witch.

"Well, Mary Poppins...that's it. You're gonna get sold, or donated, or whatever. I don't give a damn anymore, you're ruining my life. I don't care if I go to hell, but I'm certainly not going to drag you with me, got it?!"

Wednesday, September 28th...

...I had a headache and my emotions ran high. Plus, I felt like ramming that painting into a wood chipper for toying with me.

I couldn't do that, but what I had done was objectively evil on its own right, demonic possession or not. So terrifyingly gruesome, those of you with weakened constitutions might want to get a barf baggie.

Murdered my best friend.












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