"I met a guy who said, ' I talked to a fake of yours online for two years, and I thought I was talking to you! In person, she's striking — with angular cheekbones, plump lips and enormous almond-shaped blue eyes, which she enhances to superhuman size with false lashes and liquid liner.

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It started online and quickly grew into the most intimate of betrayals. And across the garage door, big as a billboard, was scrawled the word "SLUT."Photos: Teen Internet Celebrity Kiki Kannibal"Oh, my God," Kiki whispered. For the past year, she had endured the hateful blogs and e-mails, the threats and prank calls, the late-night drive-bys with teenagers screaming her name out of car windows.

The rise, fall and stubborn survival of Kiki Kannibal, a teenage Internet celebrity who discovered that the real world can be a very scary place he first thing Kiki Ostrenga saw as she ran out the front door of her family's white ranch house were the neon-green words spray-painted across the front path: "Regal Slut." She stopped short. Her mother and 11-year-old sister stepped outside, and their faces froze in horror. Just this week, at an all-ages punk show, a pack of girls had recognized Kiki in the audience and jumped her, cramming gum into her bleached-blond hair.

"Five years in, the cyberstalking nightmare shows no signs of stopping, and threat assessment has become the backdrop of Kiki's life.

She doesn't take any of it lightly, especially since the message she got last spring: "I know where you live and I'm gonna kill your fucking cat." Soon afterward, her cat Sebastian disappeared."It's scary," says Kiki, her words muffled by her braces.

She didn't know that her life was about to become an extreme parable about connection and celebrity in the digital age — that the next four years would be fraught with danger, threats to her family, and a violent death.

She had yet to understand what a lot of us don't comprehend: that our virtual lives can take on their own momentum, rippling outward with real-life consequences we can neither predict nor control.

Her second appointment was with a sex-crimes detective, investigating a pedophile who had sought her out online and taken advantage of her.

As her mom backed the car out of the driveway, Kiki took one last look at their house, where her father stood before the graffiti-ridden garage, raising one hand in a cheerless goodbye.

Despite that morning's shock, she had to run: She was late for the first of two appointments, which summed up her life.

The first was a modeling gig at a local hair salon, for which Kiki was dolled up in a pink tube top, skinny jeans and heels, her makeup now a tragic ruin.

And Kiki's public has responded in kind, expressing both its love and loathing without boundaries.