AN: This may possibly be the most disturbing one yet. Okay, no "may possibly" about it, this IS the most disturbing one yet. I reread this and feel a bit unnerved that I actually came up with it. It's quite likely that I'm finally just losing it... This is wrong on so many levels, ittakessomeliberties with the traditional very secret diary format,and you will absolutely die laughing by the end of it. I mean, shoe fairies, wombat incidents, english orphans and the powers of darkness. It doesn't get much better than this.

The Very Secret Diary of Carlotta Guidicelli

Day 1: Am living the life of my dreams. All in the Opera House are in awe of my beauty and singing. My world is perfection itself and my lipstick looks divine with tonight's costume. All is right in the world.

Day 2: Stupid chorus girls all yawning during my solos. Bitch-slapped nearest one, who whimpered something about not getting any sleep, as if that is my problem? Voice in lovely condition. Conductor appreciative. Chorus girls stupid, stupid, stupid….

Lipstick still divine.

Day 3: Can't get any peace around here. Manager is quitting. Insinuated quite obviously that it had something to do with myself. New managers so obviously frightened of me. Haha. Idiots. Stormed out because I felt like it. If they make the necessary salary adjustments- added monetary compensation for pain and suffering inflicted by falling set pieces, in particular- I shall be back tomorrow as if nothing ever happened.

Day 4: Some half-trained ingenue apparently took my place last night, and got a standing ovation. Received vaguely threatening letters which no one would admit to having written. Suspect new patron, as have heard that he and this singing tart have some sort of thing going. However, after talking to him, decided he was not responsible, not threatening, and probably illiterate. Inbreeding among the blue-bloods is starting to take its toll. This Vicomte personage is textbook case of mental retardation, but absolutely MUST ask him who does his hair.

Sender of notes never found. V. worried. Signs are not good. First falling objects from sky, now this… Will go home and sacrifice a goat, just to be on the safe side. One can never keep Them too happy- the dark gods are fickle and take away their gifts as readily as they grant them.

Later That Night: Forgot to change shoes. Shoes now stained with goat's blood. Heavens, what an awful day.

On bright side, shoes now match lipstick.

Day 5: Have been returned to the limelight which is (of course) where I am meant to be. Angry gods appeased by blood, stupid ingenue put in her place, all right with the world once more.

Later that night: Have been stuffed in dark closet and can hear screams coming from outside. Someone obviously risked their life to assure that I was in a place of safety. Must have been a sudden pirate attack or something.

Passed time by reminiscing. Have not written down life story as of yet, so will do so now. Can always tear it out of diary and novelize it in my declining years, to inspire youngsters to try to follow in my footsteps and fail miserably so I canlaugh at them from my pearl-encrusted carriage.

Was born in England 33 yrs. ago as the eldest son of a poor shoemaker and his wife. Grew up sweeping chimneys, selling matches in freezing winter weather to feed my younger brothers and sisters, and staying up all night to chase damn shoe fairies away from the shop. (They've formed a union- these days they sneak into the shops, make shoes, and you find them there the next morning demanding 15 of the profits and an insurance plan.)

Stayed awake through the long nights by admiring the lovely high-heeled shoes and imagining that I were one of the grand ladies who would wear them. I saw myself on a stage, beautiful and elegant, singing before scores of admiring fans, roses thrown at my feet. One night as I wasgazing at silk dancing slippers and fantasizing of such things, a sinister darkness passed over the shoe shop, blotting out the stars. (Notjustmetaphorically,I seriously saw it happen. (We couldn't afford a roof.))

Then the voices began speaking to me in sharp,hissing whispers, telling me that my dreams were before me and I had only to reach out and grasp them. Understanding came over me as the ancient powers spoke. Grabbed an awl in one hand and a sharpened stilleto heel in another and left the shoe shop, walked back to our hovel, and killed my parents and little brothers and sisters, one by one, as they slept.

As soon as the blood of the last scrawny sibling gushed over my hands, I felt the dark ones begin to change me, shape me. V. agonizing pain occurred as they twisted and reformed my body into that of a lovely young girl. Before they could leave me, pleaded with Them to give me a beauteous voice so that I could sing onstage and have roses thrown at me just like I always dreamed. They demanded for that, the ultimate sacrifice- I got my melodious soprano and they took and devoured my soul.

23 glorious years and a name-change later, am soulless, ruthless, narcissistic diva and have never once regretted it for an instant.

Day 6: When commotion died down, exited closet cautiously only to find out that it had been some idiot prank followed by a lynching. Poor Buquet. The French are indeed a much hated minority, but I would never have imagined that such things could happen here in their natural habitat.

On the bright side, managers refused to let this unfortunate tragedy stand in the way of tonight's lavish masquerade. Must fly now, as need to buy new lipstick to match mask.

Later that night: Stupid stupid man wandered into masquerade, threw an absurd opera at us. and insulted me! And now managers plan to put on aforementioned freak show, and I am not going to be the star!

There will be dire consequences for this.

Day 7: Vicomte and managers not listening to my repeated demands for the starring role. Are too busy making some stupid plot to catch the "opera ghost" who haunts the theater. This "opera ghost" was "responsible" for every single disaster we have had, including burnt-out lighting, missing props, wardrobe malfunctions, and that nasty incident with the wombat.

Wonder if the Vicomte still stays up onChristmas Eve to try and catch Santa. Bet he does. Some people never learn.

Day 8: Before the show, sacrificed siamese twin goatsby the ancient Aztecritual and offered the gods their still-beating hearts. A sudden peace swept over me as I was cleaning off the altar afterwards and I knew that I would be avenged. And so I have been!

In middle of opera, little ingenue snatched away by masked man, stage set on fire, and chandelier dropped on audience. Many deaths. Sweet.

Later that night: Have found that Vicomte is taking ingenue away to marry him and live in a lovely mansion as his wife. This means that that wench is out of my spotlight for good! My existence has been reaffirmed once again. All hail the powers of darkness, and know that your humble servant, Carlotta the Amazingly Beautiful, has triumphed once again in your name! Woe betidehe who crosses the diva of the Paris Opera House!

... I feel an evil, maniacal laugh coming on.