Giuseppe stepping she ain't moonwalking
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WHEN THE SUN ROSE again and the midnight magic faded away, Diana felt the weight of the world on her shoulders once more.

Her mind once again flooded with whispers and taunts, this time, along with a repeating image: the image of women's undergarment that didn't belong to her lying in the backseat of Aiden's car.

And it was this image that had somehow led her to stand outside a house that didn't belong to her.

Diana was like a possessed woman as she stood there, murder on her mind and death on her hands. She made her way into the old house.

Hands in her coat pocket, Diana headed upstairs calmly, knowing no one except her target was home. She browsed the family photos that hung in the hallways, running her right hand down the peeling wallpaper. She hummed along to the pop music that blasted out of a room at the end of the hall. She came to a stop and stared at the closed door, memorizing each chip in the paint. Jaw clenched and mind pounding louder than usual, Diana pushed the door open and laid her eyes on her target.

"Diana?" the squeaky blonde said.

"Hope you don't mind, Mads," Diana drawled. "I let myself in."

Madison Knightley's eyes were wide with confusion. She turned the music down and stood up quickly, her blue eyes scanning Diana's head-to-toe black outfit. "Yeah..." she stuttered. "C-can I help you?"

Diana simply gave a hard stare before scanning the small room. Her eyes observed the boy band posters, the colorful polaroids, the messy make up table before landing on a shining pair of Louboutin's sitting in the corner, no doubt paid for with her credit card.

She then observed the girl that stood before her, the girl who had repeatedly used her for money, the girl who dared call herself her friend.

Yet none of that bothered her, because in her mind, Diana didn't see Madison but instead, Marie. And in that twisted mind of hers, Diana blamed it all on Marie. It was Marie's fault her mother fell apart, Marie's fault she had to do what she did, Marie's fault her mother was dead.

Diana saw red.

"You know, the one thing I can't stand," she snarled, "is a cheater."

When her dark green eyes flashed with a red madness, Diana lost herself to the knife she pulled from her pocket.

Her mind was filled with red lies and twisted highs when she brought the knife down. She saw nothing, felt nothing, yet heard everything. She didn't know what or how until the voices in her head suddenly dropped dead silent and she felt herself sink into the eerie quietness.

She let out a breath and looked down at her bloodied hands, then at Madison's twisted body. Blood seeped out of her throat, past Diana's feet, into the carpet.

Diana wrinkled her nose at her bloodied black boots. Annoyed at the mess, she walked over to the corner, sat down on the bloody sheets, and put on the glistening Louboutin's. She scanned herself in the mirror, nodding in satisfaction as she looked into her own green eyes. She barely recognized herself.

And yet she had never felt more beautiful.

Walking back towards the door, Diana looked at her bloody work one last time. She tilted her head to meet the lifeless eyes of her victim, jutting out her lip in a mocking frown.

Her sharp heel came down hard on Madison's limp hand and made a satisfying crunch, gracing the wicked smile that curled on Diana's face as she walked away.

Oh, how she had wrecked the home wrecker.