Guinness world record longest ingrown hair

At Royal Rumble 2023, Asuka returned after a brief hiatus, sporting a deranged look reminiscent of her days as Kana. And since that point, the Empress of Tomorrow has solidified her powerful aura, winning the Elimination Chamber match and avenging her disappointing loss to Bianca at WrestleMania 39 by dethroning the EST at Night Of Champions. And while Asuka has been Raw Women’s Champion before, this time feels…different…
Monday Night Raw (5/29/23):
Following Night of Champions with the crowning of Asuka, it would appear the landscape of the women’s division has changed. While some individuals are surely eager to go after singles gold, this isn’t initially the case for the Way. In a backstage interview with Byron Saxton, Candice LeRae and Indi Hartwell express their desire to go after the Women’s Tag Team Titles, only to be interrupted by the lunatic duo of Chelsea Green and Sonya Deville. Deville tries to get under the skin of the pairing, particularly LeRae, mocking her struggles to get victories as of late. However, Candice retorts that Sonya and Chelsea haven’t done anything either, their only actual success as a duo being making Adam Pearce question his own sanity. After a few more moments of bickering, Green tries to slap LeRae, but Hartwell blocks it for her, shoving Chelsea to the ground. Sonya shoves Indi back, and Candice in-turn attacks Deville, forcing several officials to have to separate things.
This results in a singles match later in the evening between Deville and LeRae, with Sonya trying to make an example out of the “Poison Pixie”. It’s a fairly back-and-forth encounter, with LeRae starting the match off hot, but Sonya is able to adapt, using her MMA background to her advantage with increasingly strong shots. However, as Sonya gains control, her emotions also start to fluctuate a bit. Rather than just go for the win at points, she decides to inflict further damage, regularly targeting the right arm in particular with a combination of stomps and armbars. However, the turning point of the match comes when Deville kneels down, once again looking to apply some type of submission hold…only for LeRae to transition it into the Garga-No Escape! While Sonya doesn’t submit, it gives her enough breathing room to mount a comeback, eventually hitting her signature springboard moonsault to finish things.
Candice LeRae def. Sonya Deville via pinfall
After the match, Candice and Indi take a moment to celebrate the win…BUT HERE COMES ASUKA! The Raw Women’s Champion is in the building, and she looks as maniacal as ever. She makes her way towards LeRae…and offers a handshake? Candice is definitely hesitant to accept, and for good reason, as when she starts moving her hand out…ASUKA HITS HER WITH A ROUNDHOUSE KICK! Indi tries to avenge her downed partner, but Asuka takes her out with a spinning backfist. The Empress moves back towards LeRae, staring at the injured right arm…AND SHE APPLIES A VICIOUS ARMBAR, SNAPPING IT IN THE PROCESS! Asuka eventually lets go, with Johnny Gargano and a medical official coming out to tend to LeRae while Adam Pearce wants to know what’s wrong with Asuka…to which she merely replies with a sinister smile…
Monday Night Raw (6/5/23):
About half-way through the show, Johnny Gargano comes to the ring, ready to give an update on his wife Candice LeRae. He says that while LeRae is unable to compete, it’s only for a short period of time, and the fracture to her arm was small enough as to where she won’t require surgery. However, Gargano also says that LeRae wanted him to pass along a message…which is why he’s calling out Asuka to the ring! On cue, the Empress comes out, looking at Johnny Wrestling with a curious look. Gargano says that once upon a time, he and his wife both had respect for Asuka’s accomplishments, especially her record-setting run in NXT. However, with the actions of last week, they no longer have those sentiments, and when LeRae returns from this set-back, she’s challenging you for that Raw Women’s Title! As Gargano says this, Asuka just begins giving a deranged laugh. No one in the arena knows what to make of this…until Asuka picks up a mic…to simply say…bye bye…
As Asuka makes her way to the ring apron, Gargano is left staring in confusion at what transpired…but suddenly, the lights go out! When they turn back on…a trio of masked men are destroying Johnny Wrestling! He tries to fight back, but he’s just overpowered, and left to be stomped on as Asuka just watches on from ringside, enjoying the carnage. The biggest of the three hits Gargano with a top rope splash, before what appears to be the leader hits…a wheelbarrow neckbreaker. As the individual hits this, Asuka comes back into the ring, standing alongside the figures. She whispers something to them, and they move their hand to the top of the masks, pulling them off to reveal…IT’S SAnitY! Eric Young, Alexander Wolfe, and Killian Dain are all back in WWE, and it appears they’ve aligned themselves with the Empress of Tomorrow. But the question left to be answered… Where is Nikki Cross in all of this?
Monday Night Raw (6/12/23):
In a backstage segment early in the show, the camera shows Nikki Cross backstage, alone and looking down, drowning in her own crazed thoughts…until Eric Young enters the shot. Cross raises her head, looking expressionless while a smile slowly creeps across the face of Young. He asks her…
“Won’t you join us?”
However, before Nikki can answer…HERE COMES JOHNNY GARGANO! He dives at Eric, looking to get revenge on one of the men who decimated him the week prior. He’s successful initially, but soon enough, Wolfe and Dain rush in, prying Johnny off Young and starting to beat him down. Luckily for Gargano, he came prepared, as he too has backup in the form of Dexter Lumis! SAnitY backs off as Dexter comes in with a steel chair, but not before Young mouths the words…This isn’t over…
Monday Night Raw (6/19/23): Johnny Gargano and Dexter Lumis vs. Eric Young and Killian Dain
With the tensions continuing to rise between the Way and SAnitY, it was inevitable they’d have to square off at some point, and Adam Pearce decides to see if a tag match can resolve this. The match starts off with Gargano and Young, Johnny Wrestling anxious to annihilate him while Young is more amused than scared. Johnny is able to get the upper hand initially, a superkick giving him the brief opportunity to then apply a Garga-No Escape. However, Killian Dain breaks up the hold by just hitting a Senton on Gargano’s back, a tactical maneuver to give Young the chance to gain control. However, Lumis enters the ring as well, grabbing Dain and trying to set him up for a side slam. However, Killian avoids it, and the pair move to the outside of the ring to brawl. By the end of the match, Gargano is weakened, but he’s still got the power of adrenaline on his side. He’s able to tag in for Lumis, getting in a flurry of offense against the big man Dain, including a pair of superkicks to knock him off his feet. However, as he goes for the One Final Beat, Young grabs his foot by the ring apron, preventing him from springboarding into the ring. Gargano’s able to kick him away, but when Johnny does go for the maneuver, Dain catches him, planting him in the center of the ring. He follows up on it with a splash from the top rope, with Young tagging in as he does so. And with Killian shoving Lumis off the apron, Young is able to hit the Wheelbarrow Neckbreaker to finish the match.
SAnitY def. Johnny Gargano and Dexter Lumis
After the match, Asuka makes her way to the ring, standing alongside SAnitY once again. She looks at the downed Gargano, now with a disgusted look on her face rather than an evil grin. She turns to Young, who nods and motions for Dain and Wolfe to pick Johnny up. But right before Asuka can seemingly hit him with the Mist…Here comes Nikki Cross! She rushes to the ring, sliding in and looking right at Asuka as she does so. Young walks up to her, asking her the question…
“Are you with us, Nikki?”
Cross stares at Young for a moment…then to Wolfe…then to Dain…then to Asuka. It’s to the Raw Women’s Champion that she gives the longest stare, Nikki’s eyes slowly growing wider and her expression becoming more intense. And with that, she mutters just a few words…
“You hurt my friends…she hurt my best friend… now she will pay.”
And with that, Cross dives onto Asuka, unleashing a flurry of strikes and catching everyone in the ring by surprise. However, Young pries Nikki off of the Empress, to which Cross responds by starting to attack him! However, it’s short lived, as Asuka runs up behind Nikki and drops her with a roundhouse kick. She quickly gets her locked in a crossface chickenwing as well, Nikki unable to escape and ultimately passing out. Before she fades, she’s left to only see the disappointed looks on the face of the SAnitY members…”You made the wrong choice Nikki”. But the attention soon shifts back to Gargano and Lumis now. They’ve slowly risen to their feet, and Gargano, looking directly at Young, demands another fight! Young sighs, seemingly bored at the prospect of SAnitY having to dismantle those two again…but it shall be done. However, before they can move in for the kill, we suddenly hear crashes echo throughout the arena. They happen for a few seconds, before the lights dim slightly. An unfamiliar melodic theme starts playing, sounding slightly reminiscent of that of a final boss, but as the lights turn back on, it changes back into the more recognizable song…
…NO ONE WILL SURVIVE! IT’S TOMMASO CIAMPA! After being on the shelf for months, he’s finally back, and as he gets into the ring, he looks at Johnny Gargano…there’s no shortage of history here. And while there’s a momentary tension as to what he’s gonna do, he sides with his former DIY partner, making it a more fair fight! Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance to lay into any of SAnitY, as they decide to make their exit, already having made a statement with the victory and assault on Asuka, nothing more needed to be done…tonight, at least.
Monday Night Raw (6/26/23): Indi Hartwell vs. Asuka - Non-Title Match
In her first match since beating Bianca at Night of Champions, Asuka looks to prove why she’s the champion. She starts off the match well, not letting Indi get any momentum by just rocking her with a series of kicks to the chest. After dragging Hartwell to the outside, Asuka begins going after the arm, slamming it several times into the ring post before deciding to inflict some pain to the skull with a tiger suplex. This momentarily causes the ref to check on her, potentially looking to end the match…but Asuka isn’t willing to let that happen. She gets Indi back in the ring, lining her up for a running hip attack…BUT HARTWELL TRANSITIONS IT INTO A GERMAN SUPLEX! Despite having just been on the ropes, Indi managed to use what she had left in the tank to take down Asuka, and as she gets to her feet, she feels the crowd surging behind her. She starts taking it to the Empress, getting her backed into the corner and landing a few solid chops. However, she gets a bit overzealous, trying to get Asuka on the top rope for a potential suplex attempt, only for the former Kana to kick her away and land a knee directly to the back of Indi’s neck. And with that, Asuka remains in the power position, eventually locking on the same Armbar that injured Candice LeRae and forcing Hartwell to tap or get snapped.
Asuka def. Indi Hartwell via submission
But before Asuka really has a chance to even get up…HERE COMES NIKKI CROSS! She runs out with a kendo stick, furious as to what transpired the week prior, and gets in a few shots on Asuka before Alexander Wolfe attempts to pry the weapon away. In response, Nikki shoves it into his gut, before hitting him with a swinging neckbreaker and sending a message to Asuka that she’s just as much of a force to be reckoned with. And it’s later announced that this match has been declared official for Money In the Bank: let’s see if these two dangerous competitors can live up to their classic from NXT…
Money In The Bank (7/1/23): Nikki Cross vs. Asuka (c) - Raw Women’s Championship
Despite not having a stipulation like their Last Woman Standing Match in 2017, the match is still intense from start-to-finish. Cross runs at Asuka immediately, getting in some shots with the elbow to the side of the face. Asuka is forced to a sitting position, allowing Nikki to gather some steam from running along the ropes before landing a kick to Asuka’s jaw! Unfortunately for Cross, her frenzied nature ends up backfiring, as when the action shifts to the outside, Asuka dodges a running attack and sends Nikki nearly head first into the barricade! With Nikki instinctively grabbing her head after the missed maneuver, Asuka sees what to target, dragging Cross to the ring apron and repeatedly crushing her skull into the ring post. And as the action shifts back into the ring, it’s just more of the same, Asuka being momentarily hit by mini-bursts of offense, but the damage inflicted on the skull clearly affecting her. This is evidenced when Cross has Asuka lined up for the swinging neckbreaker, potentially able to get her the win…only to collapse before she can properly hit it. With that, Asuka is able to apply the Asuka Lock, and as happened a couple of weeks ago, Cross passes out in the hold.
Asuka def. Nikki Cross via submission pass-out to retain the Raw Women’s Championship
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
On the Raw after Money in the Bank, Candice LeRae would make her return from injury, calling out Asuka for a match…only to learn she isn’t in the building. But she decides to still issue a challenge, saying that while she wanted the Raw Women’s Title initially…now it’s about more than that. Asuka took out Candice’s friends and family, and left her away from the ring for too long…now, she wants to beat Asuka for vengeance first, gold later. And later on, it’s confirmed that the match will be taking place when Asuka returns…except it’ll be for the title as well! Pearce claims that the decision is due to Asuka’s recent actions, as after all, letting someone try to break someone’s limb after a match with no repercussions is a pretty bad look. But while this choice of action would normally upset some superstars…it might just put a smile on Asuka’s face…
Monday Night Raw (7/10/23): Candice LeRae vs. Asuka
Before making her entrance, Candice LeRae gets herself prepared with the rest of the Way, with Nikki Cross sitting in a corner nearby as well. Indi tells her to be cautious…Asuka’s a very dangerous competitor. LeRae of course knows this, but she’s caught off-guard by some words of wisdom from Nikki several feet away:
“Destroy her.”
Candice looks at Nikki, who’s staring back at her with something in her eyes…A look of needing something… wanting Candice to kill the Empress. LeRae nods, and she heads out to the ring, more confident than ever…And she truly gives it her all. LeRae’s strategy is simple: prevent Asuka from using her signature kicks. And for most of the match, she executes on her plan, moving herself back whenever she senses a roundhouse coming and catching Asuka off-balance. However, this was never going to last, and once Asuka lands a kick to the gut, she’s able to gather steam. And while this doesn’t finish LeRae, the “Poison Pixie” even managing to hit a springboard moonsault AND lock in a Garga-No Escape at various points, Asuka eventually locks in an Armbar on the previously-injured limb that Candice can’t overcome.
Asuka def. Candice LeRae via submission to retain the Raw Women’s Championship
After the match, the rest of the Way comes out, helping Candice to her feet. As they do so, Asuka stares at them, and then begins…counting them? The Way and the commentary team are confused, but as Asuka only counts four people…a maniacal expression overtakes her. She starts walking quickly to the back, and a few moments later, it becomes clear what her intentions were…
As the Way walks backstage, they’re horrified to discover a brutalized Nikki Cross! They rush over to her, asking who did this…and to no one’s surprise, she says it was Asuka. However, it soon becomes clear to Gargano…Ciampa might be next! While Indi and Candice stay with Nikki, Johnny (and Dexter to a lesser extent) start rushing through the halls, trying to get to the right locker room…but it’s too late, as SAnitY and Asuka are seen moving away from it! While Lumis stands guard, Gargano rushes inside, and finds Ciampa not just taken out…but also sprayed by Asuka’s mist! Johnny rushes over, giving Tommaso a towel, but as Tommaso wipes the mist off his face…there appears to be a dark look in his eyes, something not seen in him since when he destroyed DIY…
Remaining Build To SummerSlam:
While Ciampa, Gargano, and Lumis keep their attention towards SAnitY for a bit, Asuka shifts away from LeRae, Hartwell, and Cross, having beaten all three after all. With an open mic, she begins giving one of her standard energetic promos, seemingly wanting to know who her next challenger is gonna be…even though no one is ready for Asuka. It’s not long before someone interrupts though…and it’s someone who Asuka has grown familiar with in 2023…It’s Bianca Belair! The EST remained off television for several weeks following Night of Champions, but now, she’s back and angrier than ever. Bianca grabs the mic straight out of Asuka’s hand, and cuts a quick promo:
“Asuka… you say no one’s ready for you. But you’re wrong… because I’ve ALWAYS been ready for you. I proved that at WrestleMania 39, when I beat you clean in the center of this ring. And what did you do? You had to use that mist, that cursed, blinding mist. And you know what? Congratulations, it got you the title, but not for long. Because I say we have ONE MORE MATCH. But I think it’s time to have a match where no excuses can be made, and there are no rules to be broken. Asuka… At SummerSlam…I challenge you to HELL… IN A CELL!”
The crowd are clearly in favor of this stipulation…And it appears Asuka is too! She starts nodding repeatedly, and Bianca just stares on with a prepared look, perhaps fazed in the past by Asuka’s personality traits but now just ready to finally vanquish her and get the Raw Women’s Title back in her possession. In the remaining weeks, Bianca competes multiple times, getting the ring rust off with multiple victories, while Asuka is content with sitting at ringside for both contests…studying her competition…
SummerSlam (8/5/23): Bianca Belair vs. Asuka (c) - Hell in a Cell Match for the Raw Women’s Championship
We’ve finally made it to the Biggest Party of the Summer, and what better of a place to host it than in Detroit at Ford Field (definitely no bias as a Lions fan)! Once both Asuka and Belair are locked in the cage, the match starts at a feverish place, Bianca hitting a strong shoulder tackle only for Asuka to respond with a spinning backfist a few moments later! As the dust settles on the first fifteen seconds, the competitors look at each other, giving a momentary smirk and scoff apiece before continuing with the action. Bianca showcases her power, getting the Empress lifted in the Gorilla Press position and just hurling her at the cell wall! The several-foot fall to the floor certainly adds to the blow, and Bianca continues the assault outside the ring, slamming Asuka’s head repeatedly into the cage! However, she decides to look under the ring for a weapon, a table quickly catching her eye. She pushes it into the ring, but makes the mistake of turning her back to Asuka while doing so, the former Kana grabbing her from behind and hitting a Tiger Suplex onto the floor!
With Asuka now the lone woman standing, she follows up Bianca’s decision to look under the ring, pulling out a kendo stick. She feels it around in her grasp, getting a good feel for the damage she’s about to inflict. Once Bianca groggily gets to her feet, Asuka just decimates her back, hitting the stick ten times in immediate succession! However, Bianca’s able to dodge an eleventh shot targeted towards the throat, pulling the kendo stick to her and snapping it in half! Asuka looks briefly stunned, but not before she gives a condescending set of claps. In response, Belair grabs her, picking her up for a powerbomb and sending Asuka’s back to connect with the ring apron! Bianca then drags Asuka into the ring, proceeding to set up a table and initially primed to hit a K.O.D. through it. However, Asuka grabs Bianca’s hair, weakening her grip momentarily and presenting an opportunity to escape. Upon doing so, Asuka roundhouse kicks Belair, before getting her positioned on the table, climbing to the top rope…AND HITS A SPLASH ON BIANCA RIGHT THROUGH IT! 1-2-KICKOUT!
Despite the table spot being unable to put away Bianca, Asuka appears unfazed. She exits the ring, bringing a pair of steel steps back into the squared circle. Asuka picks Belair up, seemingly trying to hit a brainbuster on it…But Belair dodges, landing backwards on the steps before turning around and hitting a mini-elevated Spear! This leaves both women down for a few moments, but Bianca rises to her feet first. She gets in some of her signature offense, including a spinebuster on the steel steps! However, her attempt at a K.O.D. on the steps doesn’t work in her favor, with Asuka once again avoiding it. And unfortunately for Belair, Asuka is able to hit her with a suplex on the steps, this being the key factor for the rest of the match-up. With Bianca’s power lessened a bit AND Asuka’s submission hold targeting the back, she faces a tall task, and is ultimately unable to overcome it, the Asuka Lock resulting in a pass-out.
Asuka def. Bianca Belair via submission pass-out to retain the Raw Women’s Championship
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
After an impressive victory at SummerSlam, Asuka has definitely proven that she’s going to be difficult to beat. But soon enough, she finds herself confronted by a potentially harmful numbers game…
Monday Night Raw (8/7/23): Damage CTRL Promo
Despite recent events not going so well for Damage CTRL, with Dakota Kai tearing her ACL and neither Iyo Sky nor Bayley able to capture the Money in the Bank briefcase, they’re still determined to get momentum back on their side. Bayley makes the bold decision to call out Asuka, saying that if she were actually a fighting champion, she’d consider accepting a match for the title. Asuka comes out, grinning at Bayley trying to goad her into a title opportunity. Asuka looks at Bayley as just another poor soul to be destroyed, but Iyo…Iyo has potential. Asuka even tells Sky…”Bayley isn’t your friend…but I am…”
This seems to get in Iyo’s head, as she begins looking questioningly at Bayley, who attempts to diffuse the situation by just pointing out Asuka being a freak who gets in people’s heads. In response, Asuka kicks Bayley square in the gut, and when Iyo instinctively goes to fight, Asuka shakes her head…I don’t want to fight you… You don’t need to be part of this…
Remaining Build To Extreme Rules:
Over the coming weeks, Bayley becomes a little more sympathetic, her intentions appearing less out of pure arrogance and more about striving to win championship gold back and improve her honor. She goes on a winning streak, but when confronting Adam Pearce about getting a confirmed title shot, he says there’s one more person she has to beat…Iyo Sky.
At this same time, Iyo looks perturbed whenever she’s on television, still at Bayley’s side but signs pointing to her being less convinced than when Damage CTRL began. And after Bayley does defeat Iyo to earn the #1 Contendership, Sky is just left sitting in the ring, staring down at the mat whilst utterly disappointed. Bayley offers her a handshake, but Asuka stands at ringside, motioning her to come roll out of the ring and stand tall with her. In response, Iyo moves in neither woman’s direction, rolling out to the entrance ramp and walking away alone, uncertain of what her future holds.
But with Extreme Rules approaching, there must also be a stipulation, and after a set of assaults from Asuka leave Bayley staring at the lights, Bayley decides it’s in both of their best interest to settle on…A Last Woman Standing Match! Asuka can try to keep putting her down, but she’s gotten back up each time, and come the PPV…The reign of the Empress will be history.
Extreme Rules: Bayley vs. Asuka (c) - Last Woman Standing Match for the Raw Women’s Championship
In a rematch of their TakeOver: Dallas encounter, the feel of the match is similar to what it was several years ago. Bayley, despite having been around in WWE longer, is the underdog, looking to prove herself against a terrorizing monster who we’re unsure can truly be beaten. The action quickly spills out of the ring, with Bayley even managing to hit a quick Bayley-To-Belly Suplex. Unfortunately, Asuka gets up before even a count of 5, disturbing Bayley. The action spills into the crowd for a while, with Asuka suplexing Bayley on the staircase and the former “Hugger” sent tumbling down for a solid five seconds. But eventually, Bayley recaptures the momentum, finding a trash can with weapons and using a kendo stick to start wailing on Asuka. And as the action approaches a set-up table, Bayley is able to not just prop her up on it, but successfully hit an Elbow Drop from a ledge through it as well! Bayley gets up at a count of three, and while Asuka is left stunned by the move, she recovers at a count of 8, continuing the match-up.
From there, the match spills back closer to the ring, with Bayley putting Asuka in the ring before grabbing a table. She sets it up, but Asuka manages to recover in time to avoid a Bayley-To-Belly through it, instead tossing Bayley to the side momentarily before going at her with a running hip attack. Asuka keeps control for a bit, but as she looks to put Bayley through the table…Here comes Iyo Sky! She slowly walks to the ring, not attacking Asuka initially, but giving Bayley enough time to send Asuka off the top rope and to the floor. However, with the action back on the outside, Asuka looks to be a bit desperate, using her signature Mist to blind Bayley! After this happens, Iyo rushes over to Bayley to try and help…But Bayley shoves her down hard to the floor, thinking it was Asuka! Meanwhile, the real Asuka appears behind Bayley, dragging her back into the ring. Asuka decides to lock on the crossface chickenwing, attempting to pass out Bayley, but this seems to only increase the fire in her spirit, Bayley able to back her into a corner to break the hold. Bayley rubs her eyes, improving her vision, and she drags Asuka to the table, seemingly able to hit the Bayley-To-Belly through the table this time…
…BUT IYO HITS BAYLEY IN THE BACK WITH A STEEL CHAIR FROM OUT OF NOWHERE! Bayley falls to her knees, slowly turning around with a look of heartbreak and pain on her face. Iyo returns the look with an icy cold stare, before Asuka pops-up behind Bayley, applying the Asuka Lock to pass the former “Role Model” out. But given this requires a ten count for Bayley to be down, and Asuka wanting to see what Iyo can do…she motions to the table. Iyo nods, getting Bayley set-up, climbing to the top rope, and hitting a Moonsault, crushing Bayley’s ribs, her friendship, and her hopes of winning the match in one fell swoop.
Asuka def. Bayley via KO to retain the Raw Women’s Championship
After the match, Sky raises Asuka’s hand, signifying the start of an absolutely lethal new duo in WWE…
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
With Iyo Sky now having made her allegiance clear, Asuka would appear set-up to remain dominating moving forward. However, the enemies she’s made over the past several months aren’t so quick to forget what transpired, which could potentially create problems…
Build To Survivor Series:
Despite having already made an impact to this point, Asuka and Iyo Sky aren’t just going to put away challengers…it’s time to take out everyone. After a singles win on Raw, Becky Lynch would be blindsided by Iyo, being laid out with several shots of the Steel Chair before a Moonsault to cap things off. The following week, Bayley expresses her dismay at being left alone, to which Asuka and Iyo interrupt, immediately kickstarting a brawl that would seem to favor them once again…Until out comes Becky Lynch! Despite having been bitter rivals earlier in the year, Becky makes the save for Bayley, the pair nodding at each other afterwards to signify a slight respect…We don’t have to like each other… but there’s a bigger threat to be stopped…
But soon enough, this action spills past just being a two-on-two situation. Zoey Stark, the former tag team partner of Iyo Sky in NXT, decides that Becky didn’t suffer enough during their rivalry after helping Trish at Night of Champions, and that it’s worth it for these veterans like her and Bayley to be ousted. Along with that, Asuka’s power and general craziness draws the interest of the Unholy Union known as Alba Fyre and Isla Dawn, the pair pledging loyalty to The Empress and perfectly willing to destroy Becky and Bayley. However, there are several other competitors backstage sick of seeing Asuka gaining an army, with Bianca Belair and the Way coming to the save to help even the odds. And of course, after a brawl featuring all of these competitors, William Regal comes out briefly to make his patented announcement:
“WAR GAMES!”
To determine which team gets the advantage leading into Survivor Series, we get ourselves a strong match in Iyo Sky vs. Becky Lynch, really the catalyst of what’s led into a two-on-one situation into an upcoming 5v5 match inside a destructive steel structure. Becky more than holds their own, but Iyo Sky shines even brighter, a cheap shot by Stark eventually allowing Iyo to hit the Moonsault and give the “heels” the advantage.
Survivor Series: Bianca Belair, Bayley, Becky Lynch, Nikki Cross, and Candice LeRae vs. Asuka, Iyo Sky, Zoey Stark, Alba Fyre, and Isla Dawn - War Games Match
Kicking off the match is Zoey Stark and Becky Lynch, with Becky initially successful in getting Zoey downed, but Isla Dawn coming in presents a problem. She’s initially able to hold her off, but a chop block by Zoey Stark and a subsequent attack of the leg leaves Becky in a rough spot. She’s able to get some assistance, with Nikki Cross coming in with a trash can lid and just whacking Zoey and Isla around with ease. However, Alba Fyre is next to come out, and upon seeing Cross staring her down from inside the cage, she grabs a kendo stick, ready to defend herself. While Nikki initially gets the advantage, Stark and Dawn are able to pull Nikki back, sending her into the steel cage repeatedly. Bianca coming in next is a game changer however, the EST taking control of the match-up and getting a slight breather while awaiting the fourth competitor…which is Asuka!
But as the rest of the field comes in, with Asuka being the last entrant for her team and Bayley for the opposite side, the action starts to get more and more intense. With all of the competitors brawling in one ring, Iyo sees the chance to hit a Moonsault from the top of the cage, wiping out everybody (including herself)! However, a table being brought into the mix benefits the bayfaces, Bayley hitting Fyre with a Bayley-To-Belly through it (she finally got to hit it… just not on Asuka). However, the ending sequence comes down to Asuka and Iyo on their feet against Bayley and Becky, back where it essentially first started…AND IT ENDS WITH IO HITTING A MOONSAULT ON BAYLEY! 1-2-3!
Team Asuka def. Team Becky via pinfall
Just like that, Iyo Sky has once again proved her worth, defeating her former stablemate to win the match for her team and cementing herself as a force to be moving forward. And though a fairly small shot, we can see Asuka glance over at Iyo, a slight frown on her face for a moment before moving back to stand with the rest of her team. What could that mean…
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Build To Royal Rumble:
Despite the result of the War Games Match, Becky Lynch isn’t through with either Asuka nor Iyo by a long shot. She fights off both of them over the coming weeks, along with picking up several singles victory, establishing herself as the next #1 Contender. And as Lynch points out, she and Asuka have history at Royal Rumble. Asuka beat her in singles action in 2019…before Lynch went on to win the Royal Rumble and headline Mania. But this isn’t about the Rumble match now…it’s time to put away the Empress.
As for Iyo, she also has a run of singles success, carrying a lot of momentum heading into the Royal Rumble Match. And soon, we learn that she requested training from one of the most respected female competitors in the locker room, a former NXT UK Champion…Meiko Satomura! While Satomura doesn’t intend to compete right away, she’s more than willing to help Iyo, with vignettes being shown of them together and Satomura even being at ringside for her matches. However, as this keeps happening, Asuka’s looks towards Iyo become more and more strained. Sky is abandoning me… after all I did for her… something’s going to change soon enough…
Royal Rumble: Becky Lynch vs. Asuka (c) - Raw Women’s Championship
Earlier in the night, Iyo Sky does indeed win the Royal Rumble match, punching her ticket to WrestleMania. This doesn’t seem to affect Asuka’s thoughts however, the Empress looking as ruthless and as calculated as ever en route to using an Armbar to submit Becky after a pretty back-and-forth encounter. And while Asuka proved herself the master of the Armbar between the pairing, Iyo Sky coming out with Meiko Satomura to acknowledge the title win seems to aggravate something in Asuka. Her grin has become a definite frown, and she stares an icy dagger through the pairing. Something isn’t right here…
Asuka def. Becky Lynch via submission to retain the Raw Women’s Title
Build To WrestleMania:
In a conversation between Meiko Satomura and Iyo Sky on an episode of Raw, Satomura asks if Sky would be willing to use her Rumble Victory position to challenge Asuka. Sky doesn’t look too convinced about doing that, which Satomura says is fine, but it’s advisable to weigh all her options. However, in the background, Asuka can be seen, carefully listening to the conversation.
A week later, Satomura addresses the WWE Universe. She’s made the announcement that she wants to have one last run before she retires, and wants to face some of the best names this women’s division has to offer…which is why she’s challenging Asuka for Elimination Chamber! Asuka comes out, her face paint being more red than usual…but while it looks like she’s having to contain herself, she shakes Satomura’s hand, seemingly paying respect to a legend.
Elimination Chamber: Meiko Satomura vs. Asuka (c) - Raw Women’s Championship
Unfortunately for Satomura, this retirement run of sorts looked to hit the ground before it could even get going. While she catches the Empress off guard at the beginning of the encounter, as time moves on, Asuka appears to be getting more and more angry. This comes to a boiling point when after one Tiger Suplex, Asuka hits another…then another…then another…then another! The ref pleads for Asuka to quit the assault, which she does…only to pull a Bryan Danielson and just start repeatedly kicking Satomura in the face! This goes on for disturbingly long, and when it’s become clear that Satomura is passed out, the ref calls for the bell, him having made the discretion for the match to end.
Asuka def. Meiko Satomura via ref stoppage
After the match, Iyo Sky rushes to the ring, checking on the woman who’s helped her out tremendously over the past couple of months. Asuka looks down at Iyo, a look of disgust on her face, before demanding to know who Sky is facing at WrestleMania. And it better be a specific answer…
Iyo Sky: “I… CHALLENGE… YOU!”
The crowd roar in approval, Asuka somehow shocked initially…until a smile comes across her face. I’m not surprised you made that choice…but unfortunately, it’s the wrong one...it’s a shame this has to happen Iyo…so much potential…
WrestleMania 40: Iyo Sky vs. Asuka (c) - Raw Women’s Championship
Despite that inner monologue running through Asuka’s head at Elimination Chamber, Sky proves why she’s not to be taken lightly. On the Grandest Stage of them All, Iyo just looks…better. Having been around Asuka for several months, she knows the mechanics of her offense, doing a good job at avoiding those signature kicks while also having the speed advantage. And at the end of the match, Sky proves herself superior over The Empress of Tomorrow, hitting the second Moonsault of the match to pin Asuka, and end a spectacular title run while opening a new chapter for another one.
Iyo Sky def. Asuka via pinfall to win the Raw Women’s Championship

i hope i’ve used the right flair? i’ve (f17) been in a relationship with a man for closer to a year now- not only my longest relationship with a man, but my longest relationship period. i’ve been very vocal about being bi since i was like, fuck, 11? very young. my birthday is next month and i’ve been looking back on my adolescence a lot. it’s actually kinda saddened me to see that i didn’t explore myself more. really just the fact that there was only one girl that i was with for an extended period of time. she would’ve given the world for me, she loved me with her entire heart and i wasn’t ready. she was such a sweetheart, i’m losing focus.
i know i still have my whole life ahead of me, but i’m with an individual who really wants stability and marriage (i want stability and marriage as well!! don’t get me wrong!!) and i’ve kinda assured him that. very intensely, at that. he’s spent loads of money on me but :( girls :( they’re so pretty and their hair is so soft and their hands are so comforting i just wish i experienced more girl-centric love before throwing myself into a very serious relationship. maybe even met a girl whom i ended up with. i even lost my best friends over this relationship, i need new friends and i don’t know what to do anymore. i need some advice from the girls on this one :(

[Content warning: mental health, self harm, depression.]
1-
Grauf was a nervous wreck.
The Caniti as a species were largely considered to be strong, powerful; and they took great pride in this distinction. For a Canician to be anything but was considered shameful, disgraceful, and even on a multicultural station like the Hedron, old biases died hard.
It had taken him having a psychotic meltdown for him to be put anywhere near a mental hospital, and for several months, all the doctors could do was sedate him, because the alternative was him tearing his room apart.
There weren't many Caniti who took a job as a psychologist, and those who did usually learned for the sake of being more efficient hunters, especially when Murder Planets were a factor. The few who learned for the sake of healing were often looked down upon as weak, the unfortunate fact that most who did so were runts of their respective litters did little to change this perception.
Thus, Grauf was a nervous wreck, and he wasn't getting the help he needed.
He was currently sedated, left feeling numb so that the overwhelming paranoia and trauma he suffered didn't cause him to lash out.
One of the doctors presiding over his treatment was a Transcaniti, formerly Human, accepting genetic therapy so he could better appreciate his mate. Grauf didn't bother to learn his name, barely spared him a look even as the doctor tended to his self-inflicted wounds.
He didn't want a Human's pity.
"You have a visitor, Grauf." The words barely registered in his mind, he'd lost any care or desire in the world, the only thing preventing him from walking into the wild to die were the doctors who insisted on him getting better.
Even if it was against his will.
The Canician who entered the room took a chair and sat in it with the back in front of him, he simply stared at Grauf. For several minutes, they sat in silence, until Grauf rasped out, "Are you here to put me out of my misery?"
"You mean, 'Am I here to put you out of my misery?'" The Canician asked. Grauf didn't respond, he didn't need to. The Canician sighed. "Do you know who I am?"
"Should I care?" Grauf asked.
"Yes." The answer was brief, matter-of-fact.
"Then go. I don't care." Grauf answered.
There was a long pause, then the Canician sighed. "Bring him in."
The door opened, followed by a Human entering. He looked at the Canician sitting on the chair, who tilted his head toward Grauf. Nodding, he approached Grauf and- not bothering to ask permission- climbed onto the bed.
Grauf didn't register the Human's presence, there wasn't anything the Human could do to or for him that the doctors hadn't already tried. That was why he was mildly surprised the Human didn't do anything. He simply sat beside Grauf, not looking at him, not touching him, just sitting there.
"I could kill you, you know." Grauf rasped.
"I'm well aware." The Human replied. "In fact, you'd be doing me a favor."
"You... want to die?"
The Human held out his arm, it was crossed by several scars, including one long one across the length of his forearm. Grauf didn't have a response, but the Human did. "Nothing's helped me." He continued. "I've got nobody to live for, yet people keep insisting I stay alive."
The laugh was short, humorless. "I'm scheduled for assisted termination in a month, I've got all of that time for people to try to talk me out of it, so there's that."
"Wouldn't you rather die doing something you'd be proud of?" Grauf asked half-heartedly. Not even he felt any particular desire to die, so much as he didn't feel like he had any options left.
"Why don't you?" The Human asked pointedly. "The doctors wanted me to come in here, talk about why I've cut myself, why I want to die, they've given up hope on me, like they should, said in about an hour, you'll freak out and wreck the room." He paused, it was the longest silence Grauf had heard, and he was surprised in the complete lack of emotion in the Human's voice. "So, yeah. You'd be doing me a favor."
Silence fell again, and for several minutes, they didn't speak. Grauf raised his shirt and pointed at his side. "I did this to myself." He said. "The first time, I mean. Felt like something was crawling around inside me, had half of my intestines hanging out before anyone stopped me." He snorted. "It would have saved us all this trouble if they just let me die."
"Mine's already scarred over." The Human replied. "I couldn't point it out even if I wanted to."
Silence fell again, and the digital clock in the wall slowly counted down the seconds. It wouldn't be much longer before the sedatives wore off.
Grauf took hold of the Human, who closed his eyes, expecting nothing more than for sharp fangs to sink into his neck, but he opened them when he felt the Canician wrap his arms around him.
"What are you doing?" He asked.
"Waiting." Grauf replied. "I'm waiting for you to die first."
He felt it gradually growing, the wild beast within him stirring, the madness to take him once more, only this time the walls would first be painted with a Human's blood, rather than his. He waited, and waited, his embrace tightened around the Human, who reached up and clenched his fingers in his fur and pulled his head lower, his nose brushed against a bare and warm neck.
"Go ahead." The Human said.
The bite didn't come, rather, choked growling emanated from Grauf's throat, his body heaving as the weight of his condition crashed into him. Grauf wept, holding onto the Human as though he were grasping onto life itself.
"I said- I said I am waiting for you to die first." Grauf choked out.
The Human didn't respond, he simply loosened his fingers and gently pat the side of Grauf's face. Five minutes passed, then ten. Half an hour crept by, replaced by yet another, yet Grauf didn't go berserk, he simply held onto the Human, who simply allowed it to happen.
Finally, the doctor came in. "Mr. Hendricks, it's time to return to your room."
Grauf was resistant to letting go, but he didn't outright fight. Hendricks looked at the Canician and said, "It'll be a long month, you know."
Grauf nodded.
2-
Hendricks returned every day, at the insistence of the doctors. They said he wouldn't need to see the psychologist about his upcoming appointment if he did so, so he did. Days passed, and Grauf didn't experience any significant episodes, only brief moments.
On the tenth day since meeting him, Hendricks came in, only to see Grauf bleeding from a self-inflicted wound. Grauf noticed it was the first and only time he'd seen any kind of emotion on the Human's face, and it pained him to see.
The days continued, until it was time for Hendricks' last day in life. Grauf was well enough to accompany him. It was the first time Hendricks hesitated.
"We are legally required to give you one last chance to not go through with this." The Latra doctor spoke.
Hendricks glanced at Grauf, who stared at him with such an expression of deep sorrow, it was almost too painful to bear seeing. "I am waiting for you to die first." The Canician spoke solemnly. "I won't be far behind."
"Mr. Hendricks? Please respond." The doctor said.
"I-" Hendricks swallowed back the guilt he felt and looked at the doctor. "I think I might need another month. You know, just to be certain."
Grauf looked at him in shock. "But you've been waiting for this for such a long time!" He barked.
"And I can wait a little longer." Hendricks replied. "I don't think it's fair if you have to wait, I mean."
Grauf nodded, sorrowful that he was preventing the Human from doing what he wanted, yet nonetheless glad he wasn't going to be gone from his life just yet.
Less than a month passed before they were both discharged from the hospital, both choosing to share an apartment, at least for now, while they figured out how long it would be before they both finally died.
At least for now, they were looking at maybe a year at most, but maybe it would be a little longer.
3-
Grauf awoke to find his friend nestled safely in his arms. Such a small, fragile thing, yet he had single-handedly overwhelmed him, chasing away the madness that threatened to consume his mind. He buried his snout in Jason's hair, breathing in the soft, heady aroma that Humans tended to exude.
He didn't know why, perhaps it was that unique scent signature that Jason had, or the pleasant memories associated with it, but every time he was around, Grauf found it easier to come back down from his bouts of psychosis, had found it easier to speak of the things he'd experienced in his past.
He wasn't better, per se. Better implied a strict improvement, a lack of need for something external. But Jason helped manage it, even if that ultimately meant that he couldn't bear to part from him for too long.
Not that Jason really had any reason to go his own separate way.
The Human stirred in his sleep, eyes slowly opening in the transition to wakefulness. He turned and buried his face in Grauf's fur, breathing in deeply. Though he didn't have the keen sense of smell that the Caniti had, Grauf's scent was a comfort all on its own.
"One more day?" Grauf asked.
"Out of?" Jason asked, his voice muffled by the fur.
"Two years, eight months, and 23 days." Grauf answered. There was no longer and concern for Jason, he hadn't renewed his termination appointment in roughly two years. At this point, it was habit, and a reminder that they were still alive.
That they had found something worth living for.
It had come up, during a joint therapy session, that Jason kept postponing the appointment because he didn't want Grauf to be alone. Grauf, in turn, simply said if Jason was going to keep on living, he'd stay long enough to keep him safe. There were no more deadlines, no more hours counted to the end.
Now, they simply counted the days since they were discharged.
They both recognized it wasn't the healthiest of relationships, mutual co-dependence wasn't the most stable foundation for mental well-being, but it was a start, a stepping stone toward getting better. Already, Grauf was able to stay thirty minutes away from Jason, long enough to do most things, without feeling that panic rising in his chest. And Jason no longer felt like he had nothing to live for, had begun to enjoy things he used to, had found joy in new things.
"I love you." Grauf spoke softly. The Caniti didn't speak declarations of love, they hunted mighty beasts to show their strength, to show they were capable of being a protector, a provider, a mate.
Jason replied by wrapping his arms around Grauf and squeezing him in a hug. Strength was stronger than words, and though he was no longer as physically weak as he had been two years ago, it was still a far cry from what Grauf would normally expect.
He still felt pride in Jason's strength, and knew just as well that his mate loved him back.

•Interests: Philosophy, particularly in relation to Metaphysics and Ethics. Art - Natural Phenomena, which are one and the same, or at least closely related to each other. (Which depends on the quality of the art.)
•What My Daily Life Looks Like: I oftentimes wake up many hours before dawn, to rejoice in the greater ability for remaining focused which the night alone on one confers. I make my bed, order the room if necessary. I move to the next room and there read, listen to music or else study either Russian or German. I have only just begun with the latter language.*
"Soothing nothingness of night. The sun is oppressive, things are all the more peaceful in dull weather."
I enjoy recording audiobooks, I do that at times. Then I go on a walk...
"With a lightly illuminated horizon, clear early morning. The scenery of my delight revealed for an hour." The rest of the day consists of necessary activities, the majority of which are accompanied by music or else an audiobook.
•The Story Of The Last 7 Years: As though exclusively my own every minute was spent.
•Physical Description: Average Height and Weight. Dark Brown Hair and Eyes. White Skin. You may ask for a picture.
What I Look For: •Intelligent And Not Hard-Hearted. •Inquisitive. Someone having reflected on the world and man as a whole, as opposed to particular things alone. •Eager to Share His Views and Knowledge. •Clean (and Orderly.)
Deal-breakers: •Optimistic. •Highly Social. •Common. •Wastes His Time. •Not Organized With Money, in that regard careless.

It was Danvers who finally pushed him in. We’d been feeding the fire with hardwood since the afternoon and it had gotten big as the wind picked up by nightfall, flickering cross our faces and warming our cheeks better than a gas heater. He didn’t even scream when he fell. The flames just swallowed him up—sparks shooting out like hot vomit. He knew what he’d done. He knew it was wrong. When he lifted himself up and came out of the fire he stood dead still, staring at us, smiling like we’d done him a favour. Maybe he thought he deserved to turn into ash. Maybe he did deserve it. I know I kept my fingers tight round the handle of the axe just the same till he keeled over and Cauley had touched the corpse with his foot and we knew he was dead. The three of us, we kept silent for a long while after that. There was just the sound of wood burning and it was better that way. None of us touched the body but none of us looked away, either: you could still make out his face, unmistakable, when the rest of him was dark and formless. He was a face on a pile. Then the wind started taking bits and pieces and carrying them away. Like I told the police, he didn’t touch me, but I knew some of the kids he’d done it to. He’d done it to Danvers. I remember once when all the other kids were gone, I’d stayed after class, Mr Gregor bent himself close to my ear and told me the real story. “You’re a wicked one,” he said when he was done, “just like Don Whitman.”
They used to scare us with Don Whitman, the adults: the other teachers, our parents, the priest. But no one ever explained it. They’d just say, “You better do what we want or else Don Whitman will come back and get you.” Mr Gregor was the only one ever to tell it to me with details. He told it different, too. He said he remembered because he was the same age as Don Whitman and they went to the same school. He said that what the others say they remember is like Cain and Abel or Little Red Riding Hood. Even the landscape tells the fairy tale. After it happened, Don Whitman’s school got torn down, then his house. And the bells in the Church got changed: the ones they rang after Elizabeth Cartwell had come back hysterical with the news.
You can’t tear down or change a man’s memory, Mr Gregor told me.
Once you see, it’s forever.
Elizabeth Cartwell’s parents moved away as soon as the police investigation finished. A lot of people moved away. But Mr Gregor showed me a newspaper from Hill City, North Dakota from some years later. The paper was yellow but you could read the black print fine. The story was about a girl who’d killed herself. The photo was of Elizabeth Cartwell. As he held it out for me to see, his hand shook and I felt his breath grow warmer against the skin around my neck. Nothing made him shake as much as what happened to Elizabeth Cartwell, not even the details.
Don Whitman was seventeen when he did it. He was handsome, with wide shoulders and played football. All the girls liked him. He was going to go to college. Maybe that’s why they thought he was ready: they thought he was a man. They thought he’d be with them. It was a school night when they woke him and drove out to the old pumping station, so that he could see everything for himself. They wanted to make him a part of it just like they were. If he saw, he would want it just like they did. I was always told that he drove out there by himself, but Mr Gregor told me that’s part of the lie. He said Don Whitman’s father was in the car with the mayor and the chief of police. He said, “How would he have found the place by himself—why would he have gone looking?”
The place is in a wood not far from the border. Of course, the whole underground is filled with cement now, but you can still see where the opening used to be: a fat tube sticking out of the ground, just big enough for a man to crawl down into. There was a hatch on it then, and thick locks. The hatch was sound-proof. If you stood right beside it, you couldn’t hear a thing, but as soon as you opened the hatch you could smell the insides and hear the moans start to drift upwards into the world. A steel ladder led down. Mr Gregor says they all knew about it, everyone: all the adults. They’d all been down that ladder. All of them had seen it.
Don Whitman went down the ladder, too. He must have smelled the insides grow stronger and heard the moaning echo louder with every rung but he kept going. On the ground above, his father spoke to the mayor and they both felt proud. Don Whitman must have been more scared of coming up and disappointing them than of not going down to the limit. But when he reached the bottom, the very bottom, and put his feet to the hard concrete and saw it before his own eyes, something inside of him must have broken—
“They sugarcoat it and they make a child’s game of it because they’re too scared to remember the truth,” Mr Gregor told me. “They can’t forget it, but it’s a stain to them, so they cover it up and pretend that everything’s clean.”
Don Whitman saw the vastness of the interlocking chambers and, within them, the writhing, ecstatic, swollen no-people of the underground, human-like but non-human, cross-bred mammals draped in plaster-white skin pinned to numb faces, men, women and children, male and female, naked, scared, dirty, with humans—humans Don Whitman knew and recognized—among them, on them and under them, hitting them, squeezing them, making them hurt, making monstrous sounds with them, all under slowly rotating heat lamps, all open and together, one before another, and then someone, someone Don Whitman knew, must have put a hand on Don Whitman’s shoulder and Don Whitman would have asked, “But what now, what am I supposed to do?” and then, from somewhere deep within the chambers, from a place not even Don Whitman would ever see, a voice answered:
“Anything.”
Mr Gregor pulled away from me and I felt my body turn cold. Icy sweat crawled under my collar and below my thighs.
I’d been told Don Whitman had found the old pumping station and lured the police to it, that they’d called others—including Don Whitman’s father—to talk him out of any violence, but that he’d snapped and murdered them all without firing a single shot, with his bare hands, and dumped the bodies into the metal pipe sticking out of the ground, the one just wide enough for a man to fit through. Then he’d disappeared. It wasn’t until days later that Elizabeth Cartwell found the bodies and there was never any sign of Don Whitman after that. The manhunt failed. So the church bells rang, the school was torn down, the pipe was filled in and, ever since, the adults scare their children with the story of the high school boy who’d done a terrible, sinful thing and vanished into thin air.
“And why would she decide to go out there?” Mr Gregor asked—meaning Elizabeth Cartwell—his eyes dead-set through a window at the raining world outside. “It’s as transparent as a sheet of the Bible, every word of it. They all pretend to believe because they’ve all made it up together. But the police reports, the testimony, the news stories, the court records, the verdict: a sham, a falsification made truth because a thousand people and a judge repeat it, word-for-word, every night before bed.”
I tried to stand but couldn’t. My heart was pounding me back into the chair. I was thinking about my mother and father. I had only enough courage for one question, so I asked, “What happened to the no-people?”
Mr Gregor turned suddenly and laughed so fierce the rain lashed the windows even harder. He came toward me. He put a delicate hand on each of my shoulders. He bent forward until his lips were almost touching mine and, his eyes staring at me like one stares at the Devil, said:
“Buried in the concrete. Buried alive, buried dead—”
I pushed him away.
He stumbled backward without losing his balance.
I forced myself off the chair, praying that my legs would keep. My knees shook but held. In front of me, Mr Gregor rasped for air. A few long strands of his thin hair had fallen across his forehead. He was sweating.
“He was a coward, that little boy, Don Whitman. Without him, we wouldn’t need to live under the whip of elaborate lies designed by weaker people turned away and shamed by the power of the natural order of things. They trusted him, and he betrayed us all. The fools! The weakling! Imagine,” Mr Gregor hissed, “just imagine what we could have had, what we could have experienced down there, at the very bottom, in the chambers...”
His eyes spun and his chest heaved as he grew excited, but soon he lost his venom and his voice returned to normal.
Finally, he said without any nastiness, “You’re a wicked one, just like Don Whitman.”
And I ran out.
Danvers prodded me awake. I must have fallen asleep during the night because when I opened my eyes it was morning already. The sun was up and the flames gone, but the fire was still warm. Mr Gregor’s dead face still rested atop a pile of ashes. Cauley was asleep on the dirt across from us. I could tell Danvers hadn’t slept at all. He said he’d been to a farmhouse and called the police. We woke up Cauley and talked over what we’d say when they got here. We decided on something close to the truth: Mr Gregor had taken the three of us camping and, when he tried to do a bad thing, we put up a fight and knocked him into the flames. Cauley said it might be suspicious because of how easily Mr Gregor had burned, but Danvers said that some people were like that—they burned quick and whole—so we needn’t say a word about the gasoline. When the police came, they were professional and treated us fair, but when they took me aside to talk to me about the accident, every time I tried to tell them about the bad things Mr Gregor had done, they wouldn’t hear it, they just said it was a shame there’d been an accident and someone had died.
At home, I asked my parents whether Mr Gregor was a bad person for what he’d done to Danvers and others. My mother didn’t say anything. My father looked at me like he was looking at the Devil himself and said morality was not so simple and that people had differing points of view and that, in the end, much depended not on what you did, but who you did it to—like during the war, for example. There were some who deserved to be done-to and others whose privilege it was to do. Then he picked up his magazine and told me it was best not to think about such things at all.
I did keep thinking about them, and about Don Whitman, too. When I got to high school, I was too old to scare with monsters, but once in a while I’d hear one of the adults tell a kid he better do as he’d been told or Don Whitman would come back and get him. I wondered if maybe people scare others with monsters they’re most scared of themselves. I even thought about investigating: taking a pick-axe to the pumping station and cracking through concrete or investigating records of how much of it had been poured in there. But I figured the records could have been fixed and one person with a pick-axe wouldn’t get far before the police came and I didn’t trust them anymore. I also had homework to worry about and I started seeing a girl.
I’d almost forgotten about Don Whitman by the time my mother sent me out one evening with my dad’s rifle to hunt down a coyote she said had been attacking her hens. I took a bike, because it was quiet, and was roaming just beyond town when I saw something kick up dust in a field. I shot at it, missed and it scurried off. I pedaled after it until it seemingly disappeared into nowhere. I kept my eye firm on the spot I saw it last and when I got close enough, I saw there was a small hole in the ground there. I stuck the rifle in and the hole felt bigger on the inside, so I stomped all around till the hole caved and where there’d been a mouse-sized hole now there was an opening a grown man could fit through. It seemed deep, which made me curious, because there aren’t many caves around here, so I stuck my feet in but still couldn’t feel the bottom. I slid in a little further, and further still, and soon the opening was above my head and I was inside with my whole body.
It was dark but I could feel the ground sloping. When my eyes accustomed to the gloom, I saw enough to tell there was a tunnel leading into the depths and that it was big enough for me to crawl through. I didn’t have a light but I knew it was important to try the hole. Maybe there were no-people at the bottom. Mostly, though, I didn’t think—I expected: that every time I poked ahead with the rifle, I’d hit earth and the tunnel would be done.
That never happened. I descended for hours. The tunnel grew narrower and the slope sharpened. Fear tightened around my chest. I lost track of time. There wasn’t enough space to turn my body around and I’d been descending for so long it was foolish to backtrack. Surely, the tunnel led somewhere. It was not a natural tunnel, I told myself, it must lead somewhere. I should continue until I reached the end, turn around and return to the surface. The trick was to keep calm and keep moving forward.
And I was right. Several hours later the tunnel ended and I crawled out through a hollow in the wall of a huge grotto.
I stood, stretched my limbs and squinted through the dimness. I couldn’t see the other end of the grotto but the wall curved so I thought that maybe if I went along I might get to the other end. My plan of an immediate return to the surface was on hold. I had to see what lived here. Images of no-people raced through my head. I readied my rifle and proceeded, slowly at first. Where the tunnel had been packed dirt and clay, the walls and floor of the grotto were solid rock. There was moisture, too. It flowed down the walls and gathered in depressions on the floor.
Although at first the wall felt smooth, soon I began to feel a texture to it—like a washboard. The ceiling faded into view. The grotto was getting smaller. And the texture was becoming rougher, more violent. I was thinking about the texture and Mr Gregor’s burnt body when a sound sent me sprawling. My elbow banged against the rock and I nearly cried out. My heart was beating like it had beaten me into my chair in the classroom. The sound was real: faint but clear and echoing. It was the sound of continuous and rhythmic scratching.
I crawled forward, holding the rifle in front. The scratching grew louder. I thought about calling out, but suddenly felt foolish to believe in no-people or anything of that kind. It seemed more sensible to believe in large rodents or coyotes with sharp teeth. I could have turned back, but the only thing more frightening than a monster in front is a monster behind, so I pulled myself on.
In fact, I was crawling up a small hill and, when I had reached the top, I looked down and there it was:
His was a human body. Though hunched, he stood on human legs and scratched with human hands. His movements were also clearly a man’s movements. There was nothing feminine about them. His half-translucent skin was grey, almost white, and taut; and if he had any hair, I didn’t see it. His naked body was completely smooth. I looked at him for a long time with dread and disgust. His arms didn’t stop moving. Whatever they were scratching, they kept scratching. Even when he turned and his head looked at me, even as I—stunned—frozen in terror, recoiled against the wall, still his arms kept moving and his hands clawing.
For a few seconds, I thought he’d seen me, that I was done for.
I gripped the rifle tight.
But as I focused on his face, I realized he hadn’t seen me at all. He couldn’t see me. His face, so much like a colourless swollen skull, was punctuated by two black and empty eye sockets.
He turned back to face the wall he was scratching. I turned my face, too. The texture on the wall was his. The deeper the grooves, the newer the work. I put down the rifle and put my hand on the wall, letting my fingers trace the contours of the texture. It wasn’t simple lines. The scratching wasn’t meaningless. These were two words repeated over and over, sometimes on top of each other, sometimes backwards, sometimes small, sometimes each letter as big as a person, and they were all around this vast underground lair, everywhere you looked—
Two words: Don Whitman.
He’d made this grotto. I felt feverish. The sheer greatness, the determination needed to scratch out such a place with one’s bare hands. Or perhaps the insanity—the punishment. If I hadn’t been sitting, a wave of empathy would have knocked me to the wet, rocky floor. I picked up the rifle. I could put Don Whitman out of his misery. I lifted the rifle and pointed it at the distant figure writing his name pointlessly into the wall. With one pull of the trigger, I could show him infinite mercy. I steadied myself. I said a prayer.
Don Whitman stopped scratching and wailed.
I bit down on my teeth.
I hadn’t fired yet.
He grabbed his head and fell to his knees. The high-pitched sound coming from his throat was unbearable. I felt like my mind was being ripped apart. I dropped the rifle and covered my ears. Again, Don Whitman turned. This time with his entire body. He crawled a few steps toward me—still wailing—before stopping and falling silent. He raised his head. Where before had been just eye sockets now there were eyes. White, with irises. Somehow, they’d grown.
He got to his feet and I was sure that he could see me now. He was staring at me. I called his name:
“Don Whitman!”
He didn’t react. Thoughts raced through my mind: what should I do once he comes toward me? Should I defend myself or should I embrace him?
But he didn’t step forward.
He took one step back and lifted his long fingers to his face. His nails, I now saw, were thick and curved as a bird’s talons. He moved them softly from his forehead, down his cheeks and up to his eyes, into which, without warning, he pressed them so painfully that I felt my own eyes burn. When he brought his fingers back out, in each hand he held a mashed and bleeding eyeball. These he put almost greedily into his mouth, one after the other, then chewed, and swallowed.
Having nourished his body, he returned to the wall and began scratching again.
As I watched the movements of his arms, able to follow the pattern of the letters they were carving, I no longer felt like killing him. If he wanted to die, he could die: he could forego water, he could refuse to eat. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to keep scratching his name into the walls of this grotto: Don Whitman, Don Whitman, Don Whitman…
I watched him for a long time before I realized that I would have to get to the surface soon. People would begin to worry. They might start looking for me. And as much as I needed to know the logic behind Don Whitman’s grotto, I also needed food. I couldn’t live down here. I couldn’t eat my own eyes and expect them to grow back. Eventually, I would either have to return to the world above or die.
I put my hand on the grotto wall and began to mentally retrace my steps. A return would not be difficult. All I would need to do was follow—
That’s when I knew.
The geography of it hit me.
The hole I’d entered was on the outskirts of town. The tunnel sloped toward the town. That meant this grotto was below the town. The town hall, the bank, the police station, the school—all of it was lying unknowingly on top of a giant expanding cavity. One day, this cavity would be too large, the town would be too heavy, and everything would collapse into a deep and permanent handmade abyss. Don Whitman would bury the town just as the town had buried the no-people. Everything would be destroyed. Everyone would die. That was Don Whitman’s genius. That was his life’s work.
I picked up the rifle and faced Don Whitman for the final time.
He must have known that I was there. He’d heard me and had probably seen me before he pulled out his eyes, yet he just continued to scratch. Faced with death, he kept working.
As I stood there, I had no doubt that, left in peace, Don Whitman would finish his project. His will was too powerful. The result would be catastrophic. It was under these assumptions that I made the most moral and important decision of my life:
I walked away.

Jesi had never been in a hotel before certainly not one as fine as the one Mr Ericson took her and Damion too. They had a suite all to themselves it had two bedrooms connected to a living room, and kitchen. The hotel room was larger then the apparent she used to share with her mama all those years ago. Damion shared a room with Mr. Ericson but for the first time in her life Jesi had a room all to herself. She thought it would feel secure, but she still slept with a knife under her pillow. Still the bed was so soft she felt like it was going to swallow her alive every night. Her nights were one thing but the days were another thing entirely, they were a whirlwind activity. First there was the image coach, a person that Mr. Ericson hired to find a way to make sure Damion and Jesi, both looked nicer then street kids but were still comfortable. Then there was the mountain of paper work and explanations of how her life would change once she signed the papers. Mr. Ecrison said that the press had heard there was an heir to the O’Connal empire but they didn’t have her name or face yet. He was hoping that meant they would have a quite arrival when their plane landed in upstate New York.
He realized he was wrong the moment they entered the airport. Mr. Ericson was shocked to see the number of reporters swarming the gate. He cursed under his breath he’d been so careful he’d even gone out of his way to ask O’Connal’s business partner Constance Karington if they could borrow her family’s private jet to fly the girl in under the radar. With a sigh he squared his shoulders and looked at the two young adults behind him. “You both need to stay quite they will snap photos, shout questions, and shove whatever kind of recording devices they have practically down your throats for a sound bite. Do not give them one.” Mr. Ericson commanded as he lead them toward the crowd. Airport security was already attempting to hold the crowd back. The instant the crowd caught sight of Jesi flashes began to blind them all while the questions started flying
“Miss Jahari is it true you never knew your father?”
“Miss Jahari are you going to sell the company?”
“Miss, Jahari how does it feel to be Cinderella?”
Jesi was proud of herself for not pulling her knife on any of the reporters at the airport. She didn’t like people in general and she certainly wasn’t used to crowds surrounding and recording her. Mr Ericson parted the crowd as best he could and then shoved both Jesi and Damion into a waiting black sedan, with a driver. A short ride later and the small black sedan pulled up to a set of iron gates in the center of a brick wall that surrounded a mansion as big as a castle. The street in front of the wall however was filled bumper to bumper with cars parked on the curb. As the black sedan they were in pulled up to the gates people mobbed the car banging on the windows shouting questions making it hard for the car to move. Mr. Ericson pushed a button on his phone and the gates swung inward admitting the car the driver moved forward slowly through the throng as the gates swung shut behind them. The car pulled up to the front of the house and an older matronly type woman, came rushing out, as Mr. Ericson opened Jesi’s door.
“Ah, let me look at you!” the woman cried out in a thick Irish accent as she looked at Jesi.
“Jesminda Jahari this is your father’s maid and cook Mrs. Mable Mcguil, she has served your father’s family since before I can remember.”
“Aye, your mother must have been a beauty. Why just look at ya! You did get yer Father’s hair though I see, and his eyes.” Mable said as she reached out to brush a strand of red hair from Jesi’s face
“You knew my father?’ Jesi asked
“Knew him? Why I helped his mother raise ‘im I did. Kindest boy you’d ever want to meet. Ack, but he did he ever have a stubborn streak.” Mable added with a laugh
“Mable, my dear, I know you want to get to know Miss Jahari but that’s better left inside I think as the wolves are snapping pictures at the gate.”
“Ack, of course where are my manners, get in here all of ye.” Mable said as she turned to lead the way into the house. Mr. Ericson handed Damion and Jesi the 2 small carry on bags worth of clothes they’d purchased a few days ago, and motioned the two of them to follow Mable inside while he took his own bag from the trunk.
Jesi stepped wide eyed into the large foyer, the floors were a black and gold marble. The walls were a pristine white, with a stair case on either side curving up to the open second floor but what drew Jesi’s eye was a large painting hanging on the wall between the stair cases. A small family of three with a rather severe looking man with blonde hair standing tall a woman beside him with red hair gave anyone who entered a warm welcoming smile. The boy in the front drew jesi in he was around 7 at the time of the painting. Red hair green eyes but the happy smile he gave didn’t quite make it to his eyes. Jesi walked toward the painting staring at the child.
“That’s your father.” Mabel said walking up beside Jesi. “I remember that day clear as a bell yer grandfather insisted on a family portrait sitting. Ah, but yer father little scamp that he was was having none of it. All he wanted was to go out and play in the yard. The artist finally got yer grandfather to agree to take a photo to make the painting off of. As soon as he was free Conner went out and rolled through the grass in that fancy suit you see ‘im wearing. Aye but yer Grandfather was in a snit for days over the grass stains.”
“This house is massive.” Jesi said looking around the foyer.”
“Ah, but we do agree on that. To the left You’ll find the kitchen, dinning room, ballroom, bathroom, den, and living room. Through the right door you’ll find the home theater, another bathroom, library, office, gym and indoor pool. Upstairs there are nine bedrooms each with their own on suite bathroom, And the master bedroom has exclusive access to it’s own balcony. The third floor contains the greenhouse conservatory and excellent views.”
“So many rooms for only three people.” Jesi marveled turning a slow circle around the foyer.
“Yes, that was yer Grandfather for ye. The man insisted on showing the world how successful he was by getting the best of everything privet jet, fancy yacht, all the cars, the house. Yer father was a much simpler type He would have been happy with a one room apparent in the city. That’s why he never replaced the privet jet after the crash. He didn’t see a need, said if he was gonna fly it could be commercially, with real people.”
Jesi stood staring at the painting tears burned the back of her throat, as waves of emotion beat at her. Her father sounded like such a good man she wished she could have known him, but right on the heels of that she was so angry, her father lived in such excess while she and her mother had scraped by on nothing. Yet according to Ericson her father had never known that she existed her grandfather had lied to her father to her mother. Jesi choked back the tears and clung to the only emotion that had kept her alive for so long. Anger. “I hate them.” she ground between clenched teeth.
Mabel’s face fell she seemed to be hoping for a more joyful reaction from Jesi, but to her credit she didn’t try to talk the girl out of her pain either. Damion walked over and placed an arm around Jesi’s shoulders. “Mrs. Mcguil, is there a room we can go to for rest and a little privacy?” Damion asked
As soon as the door to the large guest bedroom drifted shut behind them Jesminda let her real feelings be known. She broke into deep sobs and fell into Damion’s arms.
“I don’t- I can’t- How could he- How could they-” Jesi started so many sentences but the jumble of emotion stampeding through her.
“Easy Jes, take a breath.” Damion tried as he held her.
“Why am I morning a man I never met? A man who abandoned me?” Jesi started
“Because he didn’t abandon you not on purpose Jes.”
“I want to hate him. I need to hate him, Why can’t I hate him?” Jesi sobbed
“Your right Jes it’s not fair. None of this is fair. It’s a lot to take in, and neither of us have taken the time to really process this.”
“In the hotel he didn’t seem real, but now… He was my father, and I never knew his name.”
“I know, Jes, it’s not fair.”
“He was stolen from me!”
“Yes he was.”
“This whole life was stolen from me!” Jesi hiccuped
Damion just held her and let her cry. There was so much for them both to process. Jesi was now one of the richest women in the nation, and she had insisted that Damion share her home as the brother he’d been to her since the day they’d met.
Jesi spent the rest of the day in the guest room that was now her bedroom with Damion bouncing between sorrow and anger like a rubber ball. Eventually she cried herself to sleep. Damion had just eased her into the plush bed, when a soft knock sounded on the door.
“Hey, uumm.” Damion stammered he wished he could remember the maid’s name.
“Mabel deary. How is she?” Mabel asked as she tried to look past Daion towards Jesi.
“She’s sleeping.” Damion said protectivily blocking to door.
“I mean her no harm.” Mabel said gently
Damion winced and tried to force himself to relax “Sorry, I know you don’t it’s just…” He trailed off at a loss “I’ve protectd her since she was five. Its just really hard to let that go.”
“Ye love her then?” Mable asked
“Of course.” Damion stopped and then a thought occurred to him “Oh! Oh you mean! No, no we’re not like that. She’s basically the sister I -” he stopped.
“Yer sister?”
“The crash that took my parents. It also killed my five year old sister Amy. Three days later I met Jesi, she looks nothing like Amy, but she was the same age and well I guess I wanted to protect her the way I couldn’t protect my family.”
“Ack, ye poor dear.” Mabel said with tears pooling in her eyes. “She’s safe here though, not a sole can get past the walls without setting off the alarms.”
Damion stiffened “Jesi, doesn’t like loud noises. Not since her mother was shot.”
“She was there?” Mable asked
“I thought Mr. Ericson would have told you?” Damion asked in confusion
“No, he told me who she was and that her mother had been killed but nothing else.”
“Yeah, she was there, her mom had to take her to work that night and, she says all she remembers is her mom stuffing her in a cabinet then she heard someone yell for the manager then the shots.”
“My God! Did she see anything?”
“No the officer on the scene worked really hard to make sure she didn’t see anything, But she’s been really jumpy ever since.”
“Ack, the poor dear. Well it seems there’s nothing more You and I can do for her til she wakes come I’ll show ye to yer room you must be tired as well.”
“I-I can’t leave her I’ll just stay here with her.”
“She’s safe here. Your safe here. You need rest too.”
“And I’ll get it right here beside her.”
“Ye’ve taken care of her for thirteen years, Ye’ve earned a rest and so has she.”
“We rest better together.”
“I’m sure ye do, and you’ll be ale to hear her through the wall if there’s trouble.” Mable encouraged
“I-”
“Yer both safe. She’ll be fine.”
Damion reluctantly followed Mable from the room. Mable made a show of taking a key from her pocket and locking the door to the room she explained that she was the only one with a key to unlock the bedroom doors but that all door could be locked or unlocked from the inside.
The next morning Mable opened Jesminda’s door with a cart of food behind her. “Good moring Miss Jes-” Mable froze as Jesi lept from the bed a knife brandished in her hand it’s tip nearly rested on Mabel’s neck
“Sorry,” Jesi said as she lowered the knife. “Force of habit.”
“Well, I will say that’s a new way to get the blood runnin in the mornin.” Mabel said with a giggle “Is there a reason ye have a knife on ye?”
“I’ve slept with a knife since I was sixteen.”
“And ye haven’t cut yerself?” Mable tried to joke
“No, Sargent Mullens trained me and Damion how to defend ourselves.”
“Sargent Mullens?” Mable asked
“He was staying at the first homeless shelter we crashed at after leaving the home. I was young inexperienced in street life and so excited to have my first shower in weeks I wasn’t careful enough. After I walked into the ladies room a man grabbed me from behind. He clamped his hand over my mouth and put a knife to my throat. I tried to scream to struggle while he cut my clothes off. Sargent Mullens heard the struggle and rushed in. He pulled the man off before anything happened and called for help. The man tried to cut Mullens but he dodged the blade, disarmed him, and held him until the folks that ran the shelter arrived. He told them to bring the guy to the police for sexual assault. After he helped me and Damion disappear when the police showed up and then taught us how to survive on the streets we stayed with him for about 4 months, until he disappeared.”
“That must have been hard on ye both.” Mable said
“It’s life on the street.”
“Jesi!” Damion called out as he rushed into the room.
“Ah and that saves me the trouble of bringing breakfast to ye as well.” Mable said as she motioned to the cart behind her. “I didn’t know yer preferences, so I, well, I made yer Father’s favorites. Bacon, sausage, pancakes, as well as some fruit a selection of juices and, aspirin.”
“How did you know I have a headache?” Jesi asked
“I’ve spent more then a night or two crying meself te sleep. I know the headache ye wake with in the morin all to well. OOP!” Mable said as she pulled her phone from her pocket. “And it seems that Ericson has arrived for the day with company not far behind. Best ye eat up and prepare seems as though yer in for yoru first dose of Constance.”
“Heellloo, Constance Karington,” The tall blonde woman in her early twenties stepped up to Jesi and offered her hand “Your sister.”
“I have a sister?” Jesi asked
“No, you do not.” Ericson answered.
“Oh not a biological sister but Conner was like a second father to me.” Constance said
“That makes one of us.” Jesi griped under her breath
“Oh look at you aren’t you a vision well besides that scare on your neck but don’t you worry my step-mom knows a great plastic surgeon we’ll have that gone in days.”
Jesi rested a self conscious hand over the knife scare on her collar bone.
“I wish you had consulted with me Ms. Karington, Miss Jahri’s schedule is full today.”
“Oh, so I cleared my entire morning of running my very successful company to hang out with my new sister for nothing” Constance protested actually pouting at Ericson.
“I believe you’ll find the company belongs to both of you Ms. Karington, and as I Said if you’d checked with me I could have told you that Miss Jahari’s scheduled is full this morning.”
“Oh come on I’m sure you don’t need a stuffy old man telling you what to do Jesi. You don’t mind if I call you Jesi do you?” Constance’s words dripped with sugar.
“Actually I do mind.” Jesi wasn’t buying Constance’s act for a second. “And Ercison has a full day planned.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do with an open morning Ericson?” Constance tried again
“Since your so keen to have family time I suggest you go connect with your brother.” Ericson suggested
“I suppose I could find Skyler but I look forward to dinner tonight Jesminda.” Constance commanded
“I will contact your office and arrange for a dinner in a few weeks then.” Ericson offered.
“I look forward to it.” Constance said with a smile as she turned to go.
“Oh Ms. Karington I would like to know how our confidential flight itinerary was leaked to the press.” Ericson asked
“Oh right, I have talked to my pilot about that rest assured he’ll be disciplined for his loose lips. Ta.” Constance tossed over her shoulder as she left.
“Who was that?” Damion asked when the door closed behind Constance
“Constance Karington, she is the co CEO of O’Connal and Karington Enterprises.”
“Isn’t she kinda young to be a CEO?” Jesi asked
“She was a child prodigy she graduated high school early and earned her MBA by the time she was 20. Two years ago she convinced her father to entire and hand over his half of the company to her.”
Constance slammed the front door to her family’s home. And let out a frustrated scream.
“I take it your plan to get Cinderella to sign the papers was a bust?” her brother Skyler appeared at the top of the stairs.
“I thought you’d still be sleeping.” Constance griped
“I was until you slammed the door quite rude if I’m honest sister dear.” Skyler, said with a lazy drawl
“Well, tell whoever your current girlfriend is I’m sorry to have disturbed her.” Constance replied with a forced smile
“You can drop the loving sister routine Constance I’m alone today.”
“For once.” Constance laughed sarcastically. “What do Nora find you flirting with a waitress?”
“Her name was Ashley and no, she asked for commitment, and you know I don’t do commitment.”
“Hm. Yet another doe eyed debutante that thought she could marry New York’s most eligible bachelor?”
“Yes you’d think they’d know better by now don’t they all talk?”
“Brother this may surprise you but the world does not actually revolve around you.”
“And it doesn’t serve you sister dear. A fact it seems ‘Cinderella’ reminded you of today.” Skyer gloated
“That company is mine! Conner promised it to me! Then that worthless brainless rat shows up and takes everything from me!” Constance shouted.
“I’m not sure Cinderella showed up isn’t more like Connor hunted her down?”
“Cinderella?” Constance said as a calculating smile slid on to her face
“That look never bodes well.” Skyler observed
“Well, every Cinderella needs her Prince Charming doesn’t she.”
“As I understand it she came with hers did she not?”
“The street rat no he’s more a brother to her as I understand it, but you Brother dear are currently between lovers at the moment.”
“Ha! Don’t even try it. Your little Cinderella is no where near my type.”
“Oh please, she’s beautiful, rich, and a woman that’s exactly your type.”
“Hardly, once a street rat always a street rat!” Skyler objected
“I don’t care, you will romance her get her so infatuated with you that when you tell her it’s in her best interst to sign over the company she’ll comply.”
“And if it can’t.”
“Then you’ll keep it in your pants until you marry her! I will not let some brat swoop in and steal everything I worked my entire life to get!”
“You can’t make me do any of this.”
“Can’t I? Last I checked Brother dear I control your trust fund.”

Thank you very much in advance.
At the crossroads of shattered dreams and whispered promises, Iria, the fabled port city, stood as a testament to the bittersweet allure of freedom. Like the thorny embrace of a briar, its streets intertwined with the hopes and sorrows of generations. It was here, amidst the misty twilight that caressed the cobblestones, that the Briar Thorn Tavern emerged from the depths of history, a sanctuary for weary souls seeking solace from the burdens of existence. Within its timeworn walls, the essence of Iria's foundation permeated the air, as if the tavern itself carried the weight of the city's destiny.
The Briar Thorn was more than a mere tavern—it was a haven, a hearth that welcomed the downtrodden, the restless, and the lost. Its aged beams, polished by countless hands, exuded the warmth of an ancestral embrace. The whispers of ancient tales echoed in every nook and cranny, intertwining with the hushed murmurs of patrons seeking refuge from the tempestuous world outside. Here, adventurers found respite, their journeys converging in a symphony of shared experiences.
Deep beneath the streets of Iria, a labyrinthine network of tunnels and caverns whispered secrets of a forgotten past. Legends spoke of the Nords, who sculpted these subterranean realms with a mystical glow that once illuminated the city above. Whispers carried the stories of Gillikristr, the visionary founder of Iria, whose sacrifice quelled the unearthly power that threatened to consume the city. Within this hidden realm, the House of the Red Grave stood as a poignant reminder of the struggle for emancipation. Weathered gravestones, adorned with intricate carvings, paid homage to the Caledonian and Iournenain slaves who dared to defy their chains.
As the doors of the Briar Thorn swung open, a kaleidoscope of sensations flooded the senses. Thorny roses, reminiscent of the House of the Red Grave, adorned the tavern, their crimson petals an homage to the sacrifices made for freedom. Within, the cavernous chamber unfolded like an amphitheater, its tiers of benches teeming with anticipation. Laughter mingled with the resonant notes of musicians, filling the air with a vibrant symphony of revelry.
In this enchanted realm, patrons embarked on a journey beyond the boundaries of mundane existence. The Briar Thorn embraced them, weaving their stories into the tapestry of Iria's ever-evolving narrative. It was a place where the past danced with the present, where the weight of the world momentarily lifted, and where the echoes of forgotten heroes found solace in the hearts of the living.
Adorned in her finest party attire, Isabel navigated the bustling crowd, fiery curls flowing like molten copper, half pinned up and half dancing freely in the wind. Her lute accompanied her, while she, a half-dwarf, wore a unique half-leather, half-silk bodice dress in eggshell white-yellow, adorned with red trim. A wide belt cinched her waist, with a well-maintained sword hanging at her hip. With ethereal grace, she weaved through the throng until finding solace in a quiet corner of the lively pub, fixated on an intricately engraved ledger.
Dust motes mingled with the blue-white illumination of the lamppost, as the pub owner's middle daughter opened the book and studied its contents. Her green eyes fixated on precise rows of figures. A faint murmur escaped her lips, a silent conversation with the ghosts of numbers.
Her mischievous grin curved upon porcelain features, reflecting the intrigue that stirred within her. With a single finger, she traced a curving figure on her account, a sly grin curling into an incredulous smile. The past month had been exceptional, favored patrons generously bestowing their coins. A mysterious benefactor, surely taking notice.
'Och gods...the ink's bleedin' through,' Isabel thought to herself. The accounts, usually orderly and precise, now seemed to mirror the joyful chaos surrounding her.
'Guess I'd best get this in order before folk start gettin' drunk an' cause too much a' ruckus...'
After nearly several minutes of writing she leaned back in her chair, stretched, and yawned hard. Her weary green eyes glanced over the darkening floor of the inn, and she raised a hand to rub at her jaw. She tried her her best to avoid the calls of the raucous crowd in favor of getting the ledgers out of the way.
It was to no avail. The strain of the work clearly taking its toll, she let out a determined sig and closed the ledger, setting it aside with the intention to revisit it.
Isabel's gaze shifted from the ledger book to the adorned walls. Festive decorations filled every corner, transforming the tavern into a celebration itself. The tantalizing aromas from the kitchen hinted at delightful treats prepared with extra care, each dish a tribute to the upcoming revelry. Amidst the lively crowd, vibrant decorations, and alluring scents, Isabel felt a sense of purpose and excitement. It was clear that a grand festival was approaching, and she was determined to create unforgettable memories for the attendees.
With a resigned sigh, Isabel straightened herself, her red stilettos scraping the stone floor as she prepared for her tavern rounds. Her green eyes sparkled with determination as she surveyed The Briar Thorn's lively atmosphere. Adjusting her party outfit, she ensured every detail was perfect. This was her moment to shine, to captivate the hearts of those gathered. Stepping forward as the tavern doors swung open, she embraced the spirited celebration that awaited her and the people of Iria.
"Guid evenin' tae ye all! Ye're lookin' bonnie, ye are. Micht I tempt ye wi' a warmin' ale or a cool stout? Or maybe a cider? We've a special brew fer ye tonight. Our cider's been aged in dragon fire-hardened casks."
In the midst of the vibrant tavern, all eyes converged on the resplendent figure that graced the stage of the Briar Thorn. A flame-haired maiden, adorned with an intricate tapestry of freckles, commanded attention with each movement, a testament to her practiced grace and unyielding confidence. The air crackled with anticipation as the bard's emerald eyes met those of her audience, mischief sparkling within their depths. With a playful wink, she set off a chorus of hearty laughter, an orchestration of mirth resonating through the space.
Among the sea of eager faces, a burly man, boasting a thick black beard and wielding an imposing war hammer, raised a hand, his voice booming above the fray. "I'll take two."
Suppressing a contagious burst of laughter, Isabel delicately clasped a hand over her lips, a radiant smile illuminating her features. "Two ciders, then, comin' up," she responded with a melodious lilt.
Unyielding in their desire for libations, another voice chimed in, belonging to a stern-looking woman whose scowl mirrored the sharpness of the war axe slung across her back. Leaning forward in her chair, she waved her hand, demanding attention. "We'll take two as well."
The large man, undeterred by the rising clamor, added his voice to the mix. "Three, then. And a pitcher of your best stout, if you would be so kind."
Amidst the boisterous revelry, the tavern erupted in a chorus of laughter, cascading like a waterfall of mirth. Isabel, ever the enchantress of the stage, acknowledged the uproar with a graceful bow at the waist, her every movement a testament to her showmanship. "Of course. I'll tend to that in a moment," she assured, a playful wink accentuating her words. "Now, as I was sayin', I'll get yer orders in a minute."
A burly man, his eyes twinkling with mischievous delight, directed his attention toward Isabel, a crooked smile gracing his lips as he ran a hand through his bushy beard. A war hammer nonchalantly slung over his shoulder and a massive war axe tucked in his belt added to his formidable presence. "Hey Izzie, yer gonna be performing tonight? Or do I need tae bless the dancers again?"
In response, Isabel's laughter danced through the air, a joyous melody in harmony with the crackling firelight. "Nah, I'm performin' tonight. Though ye might have tae beat my record," she teased, her voice laced with a playful challenge. A sly wink directed at her brother punctuated her words. "I think I might set a new one."
The burly man's eyes widened, their dark depths shimmering with excitement. "Aye? That's impressive! That's better than our last record. Did ye hear about that?"
Isabel's curiosity piqued, her emerald eyes narrowing as she shielded them from the flickering firelight, sweeping the room in search of answers. "No, I dinnae," she replied, her voice filled with anticipation. "Who was it?"
With a conspiratorial lean forward, the man shared his knowledge in a hushed tone, as if guarding a precious secret. "Our new patron. We're to be blessed by him tonight. We've a few others too, but the lads were talking about him earlier."
A spark of excitement ignited within Isabel, her voice taking on a hushed tone to match the weight of the revelation. "A patron? That's wonderful! Who is he? Does he have a name?"
Isabel's vibrant emerald eyes widened with eager anticipation as the burly man confirmed the identity of the mysterious patron.
A man with hazel eyes, clad in an intricately embroidered jacket and pants of fine silk, strode confidently toward the stage. The crimson-lacquered armor that adorned his form seemed to shimmer in the light, like the ruby at the end of a rosebud. A regal demeanor seemed to permeate every gesture as he surveyed the crowd, his posture betraying the confidence of his stature. With an easy grace, he settled on a chair, his eyes locking with those of Isabel's. A smile played on his lips as he motioned for her to join him, a clear command in his demeanor.
A wide smile stretched across her face, illuminating her freckled visage. "He's a bard like me?" she exclaimed, her voice laced with excitement. "I cannae wait!"
With a quizzical expression, the man raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer to share a whispered revelation. "Not exactly," he revealed, his tone tinged with intrigue. "He's quite different. I don't think you'll see many of his kind at The Briar Thorn, if you know what I mean."
Isabel nodded, her curiosity now piqued, her mind conjuring visions of the enigmatic newcomer. "I do. I've been told they're rare," she confided, a soft giggle escaping her lips. "I wonder what he looks like? I hope he's not one a' them."
In response, the man chuckled, his cheeks flushing as he met her infectious smile. "I doubt it. He should be back in a few. Left his ledger with Gerik."
The mention of the ledger prompted Isabel to stifle another burst of laughter, her hand pressed against her mouth. "Och, that was his? I was in there earlier, and it's a mess," she admitted, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes.
The man's face contorted into a perplexed grimace, his confusion evident. "Aye? You looked like it was all in order." He shook his head, puzzled. "Weird. Guess he's just new... though that doesn't explain why he speaks so... peculiarly. Claims he's from Draigfell, yet he talks like he's from a different continent."
Isabel chuckled, her voice laced with amusement. "He's from the north. Maybe he's more... formal? Aye, that sounds like it," she pondered, her eyes distant as she mulled over the possibilities.
The man shrugged, leaning back in his chair, his tone one of indifference. "Aye, that makes sense." He raised his hand and signaled to a busty lass who was weaving through the crowd toward the bar.
Eyes glued to the mysterious patron, intrigued, Isabel leaned forward with her curiosity eager to unveil the mysteries surrounding the enigmatic Micah. "Aye? What does he say?" she inquired, her tone infused with genuine interest.
With a bemused shrug, the man struggled to articulate his observations. "Ah... nothing much. Just strange," he confessed, his voice laced with a mixture of intrigue and perplexity. "Maybe he's just not used to taverns."
The burly man, his eyes glimmering with excitement, clasped Isabel's shoulder and pulled her into a warm embrace. "He's coming back here later tae join us. Maybe ye can find out why this Micah fellow left us so much gold. You'll have tae tell me later."
A smile blossomed across Isabel's features as she leaned forward and hugged her brother tightly. "I will," she promised, her eyes twinkling with joy. "But I cannae tell ye why ye're getting so much coin."
"We'll figure it out, ye'll see. Ye better get ready to perform," he insisted. "An' get that ledger in order."
Isabel nodded and turned toward the kitchen, her steps sure and graceful. "Aye, I will," she assured. "I'll be back with yer drinks soon."
With a parting smile, Isabel gracefully glided toward the kitchen, her freckled face glowing in the flickering light. The tapestry of laughter and merrymaking resonated within her as she emerged, ready to fulfill her promise of delivering three orders. The Briar Thorn Tavern thrived with the boisterous banter of adventurers, their stories and camaraderie filling every nook. Amidst the lively crowd, Isabel weaved her way, greeted by a raising mug and reciprocating with a mischievous wink. Laughter harmonized with the crackling firelight, but her focus remained on the enigmatic patron.
After deftly fulfilling the orders and sating the thirst of eager patrons, Isabel embarked on a purposeful journey toward the table where the enigmatic Micah sat. A flicker of anticipation ignited within her, a fire stoked by the allure of the unknown. Every step she took exuded a captivating showmanship, a ballet of grace and poise. As her emerald eyes met his hazel gaze, a current of intrigue surged through her veins, ensnaring her curiosity in its enigmatic grasp.
Approaching with measured elegance, Isabel bestowed upon him a subtle bow, a testament to her refined demeanor practiced countless times. Her movements, like a finely choreographed dance, exuded an air of cultivated grace. The sweep of her arm and the dip of her head were executed with precise control, each gesture crafted to convey both respect and a hint of playful intrigue. It was a performance perfected through countless repetitions, a display of practiced finesse that now played out before Micah's watchful gaze.
"It's good to see ye're 'ere," said Micah, his tone measured and confident, his Draig accent adding a sing-song lilt to his words. His hazel eyes glimmered with intrigue as he studied her, a curious smile gracing his features. "I see Gerik raised 'is children well. 'ow are ye feelin'?"
Isabel's eyes narrowed as she scrutinized his face, studying him as if she were peering into the depths of his soul. Her demeanor remained composed as she regarded the enigmatic Micah. "I'm fine. We've been talkin' about ye," she admitted as she twirled a lock of hair between her fingers.
Micah nodded, his posture betraying his composure. "I'm sure ye have," he said.
'Ah dinnae know ye," Isabelle asked, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers. "Do ye want me tae get ye somethin' tae eat?"
"I'm fine," Micah said, as he brushed off the concern with a casual flick of his hand, his grin spreading like sunlight on a dew-kissed meadow. The charm in his words danced with the musicality of a whispered melody, ensnaring Isabel's attention further into his web. "I'm Micah, a fa'miliar face 'at 'as graced these walls fer twenty-five years. The bonds o' friendship 'ave woven through the tapestry o' time, connectin' yer family and mine in a shared 'istory."
"So ye're a bard, like me," Isabel exclaimed, her eyes dancing with excitement and anticipation. "I've heard rumors of yer arrival at the tavern. Tell me, what 'appened tae yer band? Where have they gone?"
"I'm the last o' me band," Micah admitted, a tinge of melancholy seeping into his voice as he reminisced about his companions. "They were swept away by a tempest, lost to the unforgiving storm. I miss them dearly. They still visit me in dreams," he confided, a solitary tear glistening in his expressive eye.
Isabel's voice resonated with warmth and empathy as she extended her condolences. "I'm truly sorry tae hear o' yer loss," she offered sincerely. "Ye dinnae speak much 'bout yerself, but I'm eager tae know ye better. How 'bout we share a meal together? We can talk and ye can share yer story."
"That would be delightful," Micah replied, his countenance softening as he bestowed her with a genuine smile. "I would enjoy that greatly."
A genuine smile graced Isabel's freckled visage, brimming with delight. "Wonderful! I'll fetch ye a meal," she promised, her voice tinged with enthusiasm. "What tickles yer fancy?"
"Anything will suffice," Micah responded, his tone imbued with sincere interest. "I have the coin. I'll be waitin' 'ere for ye."
Isabel's smile blossomed as she nodded in agreement, his genuine tone assuring her of his welcome. She directed her attention towards the bustling kitchen, her mind ablaze with thoughts of crafting a delectable menu for her newfound companion. The tantalizing scent of freshly prepared cuisine mingled with the symphony of clinking pots and pans, captivating Isabel's senses.
'I reckon a savory meat pie or a plate of spiced vegetables would be to his likin'. I don't think he's fond of overly spicy fare.'
Isabel's imagination swirled with culinary possibilities as she surveyed the kitchen, her eyes darting between the diligent kitchen staff and the array of tantalizing ingredients. Contemplating her options, hands confidently resting on her hips, she made her way towards the bustling heart of the kitchen, her gaze lingering on the savory treasures at hand.
After careful consideration, Isabel selected the perfect meal that would both cater to Micah's palate and ignite his taste buds with delight. A sly smile played upon her lips as she emerged from the kitchen, carrying a plate brimming with culinary delights. The aroma of the freshly prepared feast permeated the air, adding to the festive ambiance of the tavern.
With a warm smile gracing her features, Isabel approached Micah, the alluring scent of the food enveloping them. "Here ye are!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "I've got somethin' special for ye. Ye're bound tae love it."
"I have no doubt," Micah assured her, his curiosity piqued as he returned her smile. "Thank ye kindly."
Placing the plate before him, Isabel gestured towards the enticing dish, her eyes shimmering with excitement. "Go on now! Give it a try!" she encouraged eagerly. "It's one o' the tavern's finest specialties."
As his gaze fixated upon the presented meal, Micah's eyes widened in pleasant surprise. "A fine choice," he acknowledged, curiosity lacing his words. "Though dinnae ye 'ave a performance soon? Shouldn't ye be preparin'?"
"I shall," Isabel urged with a playful glimmer in her eyes. "Just try it."
With a glint of mischief in his eyes, Micah nodded, his fingers gently tracing the contours of the freshly baked crust as he studied the meal before him. "Aye, I will," he assured, his brogue adding a touch of charm. "I'm sure it'll be a feast for the senses."
Isabel's fiery waves of hair, tamed and cascading down her back, framed her face with a wild elegance. She slipped into her performance costume, the fabric embracing her like a second skin, its deep green hue accentuating her curves. The subtle reveal of skin hinted at a hidden sensuality, while the golden cuff, shaped like a wolf's mouth, added an enchanting touch. She could almost feel the spirit of Caledonia whispering through the intricate design, igniting her spirit.
A knock on the dressing room door interrupted her reverie, and the voice of Archie, the stage director, filtered through. "Isabel, are ye ready? The stage awaits."
She turned toward the door, a radiant smile illuminating her face. "Almost there, Archie. Just a few finishing touches."
Stepping out of the dressing room, Isabel found Archiewaiting, his eyes widening with awe at her transformation. His voice softened, filled with admiration. "Isabel, ye look absolutely stunning. The crowd won't ken what hit them."
Isabel's laughter danced through the air, her voice carrying a mixture of excitement and determination. "Thank ye, Archie. But it's not just about the looks. Tonight, I'll weave a tale that'll stir their hearts, ignite their spirits, and leave them yearning for more. Tonight, Caledonia will come alive on this very stage."
Archie, resonating in her words, nodded, his eyes reflecting a profound understanding of her power. "I have nae doubt, Isabel. Ye possess a gift—a voice that carries the stories of our land, the dreams of our people. They'll be captivated, enchanted by yer every note."
Isabel took a final deep breath, feeling the energy of the night pulsating through her veins.
"Together, Archie," Isabel whispered, her voice filled with determination. "Tonight, we'll create magic."
And with that, they stepped into the hallway, the sounds of anticipation and muffled conversation filling the air. The stage awaited, the audience yearned, and Isabel was ready to cast her spell, leaving an indelible mark on the hearts of those who would join her in this symphony of life.
The curtains drew back, revealing the expectant faces of the crowd, their eyes alight with anticipation. Isabel took her place at the center of the stage, her gaze sweeping across the sea of faces, her voice a velvety caress that cut through the silence.
"Listen closely, mah friends," she began, her voice filled with a tantalizing blend of mystery and longing, her Scottish lilt enchanting every syllable. "For tonight, I shall unveil the hidden melodies that reside within the soul of Iria. Tonight, we embark on a journey of love and loss, triumph and despair. Let yer hearts be swept away by the stories that dance upon the threads of our existence."
And so it began. The tavern exploded with applause as Isabel gracefully stepped to the side of the stage, beckoning to her audience as she sang the opening verse of the ballad. All fell silent as the rain battered the cobblestones outside, protecting the warmth of the firelight.