by Chris Colfer
I went into the Otherworld hoping to make a difference in someone’s life, but the true difference was made in mine. I had been so skeptical of myself before, but making those orphans laugh in such a miserable time had a profound effect on me. Maybe this old lady could help that world after all.…
1428, FRANCE
Dear Diary,
Today, I was back in Europe spreading stories and rhymes around France. What a mess this war between the English and French has been! Every time I return to the Otherworld it’s still going on. I swear it’s lasted at least a hundred years.
There’s so much commotion in the streets, you can barely hear your own thoughts. I needed a quiet place to rest, but that almost seemed impossible to find with all the soldiers running amok. I passed a cathedral just on the edge of town and decided it was probably my best bet.
I was right; the cathedral was heavenly inside. It was so quiet, you could hear a feather float! There wasn’t a soul in sight—except for the paintings and statues of all the Catholic saints, obviously. I lay down on the first pew I found and had a quick snooze.
I was having a wonderful dream about mud-wrestling ogres in a massive sold-out arena when something awoke me. A teenage girl was kneeling in the center of the cathedral, obnoxiously praying aloud. Although my French isn’t as good as my German, I could make out what she was saying.
“Please, Lord, send me a sign like you did when I was a child,” she pleaded. “Tell me how to recover France from the English and put Charles VII on the throne.”
Are all teenagers incapable of having internal thoughts? Can’t they have feelings without letting the whole world know about them? When I was a teenage girl, I always kept to myself. Granted, I was in a witness protection program, but that’s a story for another time.
What this girl should have prayed for was new clothes and decent soap. She was filthy, she wore boys’ clothes, and her hair was more tangled than a rat’s nest—total tomboy. She wasn’t going to get Charlie’s attention looking like a pig wrangler.
It took me a minute to realize she must have been that local loon everyone was always talking about in the taverns—which, by the way, are everywhere now! You’re welcome, Europe!
They said she’s super-pushy and entitled and annoys the heck out of everyone in town. That sounds like every teenager where I’m from; I don’t know why they’re making her so significant. The people in this world are weird about whom they do and don’t talk about.
Her name is Joan something—was it Joan of Snark? Or maybe it was Arc? Well, whoever she was, she was seriously getting on my nerves. I had to get her out of there so she’d stop disturbing my nap.
“Please, heavenly Father,” Joan prayed. “I am your humble servant. Give me guidance so I may satisfy your will!”
“Jooooaaaan, JOOOOAAAAN!” I moaned dramatically.
Joan rose excitedly and looked around the cathedral. “Is that you, Lord?” she asked desperately.
“NOOOO,” I said. After all, pretending to be God in his own house was just plain rude.
“Saint Margaret?” Joan asked. “Have you come to bless me with some guidance?”
“YEEESSS! ’TIS I, SAINT MARGARET!” I moaned.
“Oh, Saint Margaret!” Joan said and clutched her hands over her heart. “Thank you! Your wish is my command!”
“THANK YOU, MY CHILD. I KNOW I CAN ALWAYS COUNT ON YOU. OUT OF EVERYONE FROM ARC, YOU ARE MY FAVORITE. NOW, YOU MUST RAISE AN ARMY AND DEFEND FRANCE, JOAN!”
“Of course, Saint Margaret!”
“LIBERATE FRANCE FROM THE ENGLISH!”
“Whatever you say, Saint Margret!”
“HELP GOD PLACE CHARLES VII ON THE THRONE!”
“Oh yes, Saint Margret!”
“BUT WHATEVER YOU DO, JOAN…”
“What is it, Saint Margret? Please, tell me!”
“YOU MUST LEAVE THIS CATHEDRAL AT ONCE AND LOCK THE DOOR ON YOUR WAY OUT!”
“Anything you want, Saint Margaret!” Joan said. She leaped to her feet and ran out the door like a horse out of a burning barn.
I had a good long laugh to myself and then finished my nap. Poor Joan. I almost felt bad for misleading her. Clearly she wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. She’ll be all right, though—hormones bring out the worst in every teenager.
1503, ITALY
Dear Diary,
I never thought these words would come from my mouth—but I’m in love! His name is Leonardo da Vinci, but I call him Leo for short. He’s a painter, sculptor, musician, mathematician, architect, engineer, inventor, and writer! He’s what they call a Renaissance man!
I have to say, of all the trends I’ve started around Europe, I’m most proud of the Renaissance. Without it, someone like Leo may not have had the chance to show off his talents. He probably would have been burned at the stake, just like all the people in this world who think outside the box.
I was getting so tired of all that medieval craziness—it was all pillage this and torture that. It got old really fast, so I finally said, “Come on, guys, let’s spice some things up around here. Let’s create some new philosophies! Cook some decent food! Hang some drapes! Learn to enjoy life a little bit!”
They really took my suggestions to heart, because the Renaissance was in full force by the time I came back to the Otherworld. Every day they built better buildings, created better music and art, and discovered advances in science and medicine! And of course, the man leading the world into this new era was none other than my Leo.
We first met in a tavern—even those had improved! He bought me a drink and said, “I’d give my left arm to paint a beautiful woman like you.”
He was so charming, I melted on the spot. “Save your arm and just treat me to dinner,” I said.
Leo took me to his favorite spot in Florence and we hit it off right away. We had so many similar interests—which wasn’t a surprise, because Leo was interested in everything. We had so much in common, too. He also had a rocky childhood and knew what it was like to be ahead of the world he lived in. He was fascinated with my stories of the fairy-tale world and thought what the fairies and I were doing was very noble.
Leo is more than one hundred and fifty years younger than me, so I felt a little insecure. But we were so intellectually in sync, you’d never know there was that big an age difference.
On our second date, Leo invited me to his place and painted my portrait. It was so difficult to sit still because he kept making me laugh. When he was finished, he claimed it would one day be known as his masterpiece.
“I’ll call it the Mona Goosa,” he said.
“Oh, don’t name it that,” I said. “Just in case a warlord comes looking for me, I wouldn’t want you to get involved—it’s a long story.”
“Then how about the Mona Lisa?” he asked.
“Beautiful!” I told him. It takes a real gentleman to be so sensitive to a lady’s needs.
The next time I went into the Otherworld, I brought Lester with me so he could meet Leo. Lester wasn’t as taken with him as I was, but geese can be so territorial. Truth be told, I think Lester was a little jealous there was someone else in my life.
Leo loves going on flights with Lester and me. He enjoys it so much, he started sketching plans to build a flying machine so Lester doesn’t have to carry both of us on his back. Lester really appreciated this, and I think Leo won him over.
I know I’ve been making fun of those happily ever after idiots back home for years, but that’s because I’ve never felt like this before. Now I get why everyone is so smiley all the darn time. Leo makes me feel so complete, protected, and unstoppable—like I could take on the whole world if I had to! And if I don’t stop gambling with warlords, I just might have to!
Who knows, there just might be a Father Goose in Lester’s future.
1519, ITALY
Dear Diary,
I’m not going to lie, today is a sad day. Forbidding the trolls and goblins to leave their territory in the fa
iry-tale world has been keeping the fairies and me from traveling to the Otherworld as regularly. By the time I returned, Leo had passed away.
I don’t know how I let it happen. I’ve always been aware of the time difference between worlds—I guess I just forgot. But that’s love for you. It makes you careless and forgetful. It fools you into thinking the people you hold dear will be around forever, so you take them for granted.
I’m used to losing friends—that’s what happens when you live as long as I have—but losing Leo stings worse than anything I’ve felt before. I don’t think I’ll ever find someone like my Renaissance man again.…
1532, LONDON
Dear Diary,
Well, I’ve met someone! He’s smart, tall, likes food, enjoys jousting, and comes from a good family. Okay, I’ll just say it—he’s King Henry VIII of England!
I know, I know—England is still recovering from his messy separation from Catherine of Aragon. Can you believe Henry is going to separate England from the Roman Catholic Church just to get rid of her? She must have been terrible! And have you met the daughter, Mary? Good luck marrying her off!
All my friends have warned me that Henry probably isn’t the best choice for a husband. He’s got major commitment phobia, he’s always on the verge of bankrupting the country, he’s got a bad temper, and he has more mistresses than he knows what to do with. But really, who doesn’t have baggage?
Lester can’t stand Henry. He says the king is just a “rebound” after losing Leo. The goose might have a point; not a day goes by that I don’t miss Leo terribly. Luckily, the wedding plans have been a good distraction from that.
Of course, when you’re marrying into royalty, you’re bound to run into a little controversy. There have been a lot of rumors circulating court that Henry has a thing for my good friend, Anne Boleyn. I’ve assured everyone their relationship is completely platonic! The reason Anne is around so much is because she’s actually going to be one of my maids of honor; she’d never betray me by seducing my future husband!
Gosh, all of Henry’s friends are so judgmental. I suppose that’s why they call it court! Now I better get back to planning the big day. There’s nothing like planning a party with an unlimited budget!
1565, LONDON
Dear Diary,
Can you believe that backstabbing double-crosser Anne Boleyn? She stole my fiancé from me on the eve of our wedding and then had the nerve to name me as the godmother of their daughter, Elizabeth. It’s all right, though; Anne got what she deserved in the end. People are still talking about that amazing party I threw on the night of her execution.
Regardless of her terrible parents, I ended up growing a soft spot for Elizabeth. She was such an intelligent, strong, and feisty child—she reminded me a lot of myself when I was her age. I knew the pressures of being a Tudor woman in a Tudor man’s world, so I looked out for her when she was growing up.
Even though she was third in line for the throne, I always had a feeling Elizabeth would be queen one day. And thankfully for England, I was right.
I was in the London area telling some peasant children fairy tales, so she invited me over for brunch. I could tell she was a little stressed because her ruff was extra thick today.
“Liz, what’s wrong?” I asked.
“My advisors keep telling me I need to marry and provide an heir to the throne,” she said. “They say my position as queen won’t be secure until I do so.”
“That’s a load of goose droppings!” I said. “You’re the best monarch this country has had since William the Conqueror.”
“It’s not that I’m against marriage or children,” Elizabeth said. “But have you seen the options they’ve presented me with? And I thought my cousins were inbred!”
“Well, I may still be bitter and burned from everything I went through with your father, but I think marriage is the worst!” I said. “You’ve got a good thing going here, Lizzie. You don’t want a man coming in here and messing it up for you.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “So, what am I to do? What should I tell my advisors?”
“Tell them you are married… to England!” I said. “Say you’ll consider marriage when and only when they can find you a suitable, smart, and handsome prince with no political agenda. Until then, declare yourself the Virgin Queen! Say you’re staying pure for God and for your people’s best interests. You’ll be a rock star!”
Elizabeth thought about it for a moment and then nodded her head—well, as much as that ruffled thing around her neck would allow.
“Now, enough virgin talk,” I said. “Tell me what’s been going on with you and Robert Dudley! Everyone knows he’s got the hots for you!”
1590, JAPAN
Dear Diary,
I’m sorry I’ve been missing in action for a while, but I’ve got a good excuse. For the last five years, Lester and I have been living in a secret ninja clan deep in the Kii Mountains of Japan. I know I’ve said this before, but that was just because I had missed a bunch of Happily Ever After Assembly meetings and the Fairy Council was ticked off. This time the ninja were real and I have the battle scars to prove it.
It all started when we visited the secluded village of Koka to spread fairy tales to the children living there. Had I known the village was secretly a training camp for ninja warriors, I would have worn more comfortable pants. From the way I dressed, the ninja instantly assumed I was a samurai spy, which I took as a major compliment given my age. They captured us and threatened our lives.
Our only chance of survival was pledging our sole allegiance to their clan. Yeah, I probably could have whipped all their skinny butts with my eyes closed, but after everything I went through with Henry VIII, it felt good to join a club.
We spent the next several months learning all the ancient traditions and arts of ninjutsu. We had espionage Mondays, assassination Tuesdays, combat Wednesdays, deception Thursdays, and finger painting Fridays. I guess ninja are really into finger painting—who knew?
Once I mastered the skills taught to me, I began teaching the ninja a few of my famous wrestling moves from back in the day. They loved hearing my stories about dragons, so I gained a lot of respect. They called me Kunoichi Okāsan, which means Mother Ninja, and they called Lester Debuna Yatsu, which means the fat one.
We worked for the local landowners and used our skills against the corrupt samurai that were invading the land. These were some of the most intense battles of my life. Each time we went out on a job, not all of us returned. I’m not proud of everything we did, but at least I made some major dough.
Eventually, the samurai caught up with us. A samurai warlord known as Oda Nobunaga, or Cowabunga, as I called him, invaded our area and wiped out all the ninja clans in the providence, including Koka. The survivors fled to the Kii Mountains, and we’ve been here since. We spend each day plotting our revenge, but I think I’m beginning to lose interest.
It’s been one heck of an experience—I never thought ninja warrior would be something I could add to my résumé—but I’m ready to go home. There are certain moments in your life when you look around and realize you don’t belong, and this is one of those moments. It feels just like the time we joined Christopher Columbus’s ship thinking it was a Mediterranean cruise.
I’m not sure Lester is cut out for a life of espionage anyway. All this ninjutsu seems to be going to his head. Lately, he’s insisted I refer to him only as the crane. It’ll be good for both of us to get out of this mountain air and get back to our day jobs.
1719, THE CARIBBEAN
Dear Diary,
Sometimes you just need a girls’ weekend—or in my case, it was six months on the high seas aboard the pirate ship called Revenge. I was a cocaptain with my friends Anne Bonny and Mary Read, who I met in Jamaica a few years ago. We had all just gotten out of bad relationships and were looking for something spontaneous to do.
After a few rounds of drinks, we decided stealing a ship and setting sail around the C
aribbean was exactly what we needed—and we were right! I’m glad they suggested it, because I was just going to recommend new haircuts.
There’s nothing more healing after a breakup than pirating a ship full of men and bringing them to their knees. We stole our weight in gold and then buried it on exotic islands that only we knew existed.
We had some great times aboard that ship. We swore to one another we’d never return to shore and we’d live the rest of our lives on the water. Unfortunately, Anne’s ex-boyfriend, the pirate John “Calico Jack” Rackham, eventually caught up to us (it was his ship after all). Naturally, he and Anne ended up getting back together, and our sisterhood was never the same.
Mary stayed with Anne and John, but I had to leave. I loved the ocean, but I needed to return to my normal dual-dimensional life. Believe it or not, I was starting to miss Lester and the fairies.
1774, VERSAILLES
Dear Diary,
Lester and I were at the most amazing party last night at the Palace of Versailles! You know you’ve had a good time when you wake up on a chaise lounge floating in a fountain and have zero recollection of how you got there. That Marie Antoinette sure knows how to have a good time! It’s so sweet of her to keep inviting me to her parties, despite her in-laws’ opinions of me.
The French royals and I have never gotten along. It all started a century ago, when I accidently said, “Excuse me, ma’am” to Louis XIV. In my defense, the guy was wearing a long curly wig and high heels. Anyone would have made that mistake. Since then I’ve been put on the do not invite list.