With head held high, coat floating in from the New York breeze, our young heroine steps out of her jet. She offers her gloved hand to the pilot, who kisses it lightly across the back of the palm before helping her down the stairs. She’s clad in a simple off-white dress, her flaming red hair cascading down and falling right over her shoulder. Using her free hand, she lifts a lock of hair off her face simultaneously lifting her head and flashing a stunning smile at the XWF camera forced into her way.



Her expression is well-practiced, not even a hint of the annoyance she felt flashed across it. Bar the involuntary squeeze she offered the pilot, she was only a teenager after all… Her composure isn’t quite perfect yet. Regardless, she stops at the foot of the stairs to address the cameraman politely.

“My my, I’ve warranted quite the welcome, haven’t I?”

Sarcasm dripping from her sentence a stark contrast to her innocent smile. She gives the area a quick glance, nobody else is there, nothing special had been planned for her evidently. After all, she was just some no-name new female superstar. The cameraman chuckles, appreciating her joke but reading it completely wrongly.

“I wasn’t trying to be funny. If you’re going to send anyone, send them all. Go all out. Lights, carpet, press conference. Next time your sweet boss sends you to come see me, you best tell him I want the works. And if he’s not willing to give me that, I’d rather not be disturbed at all.”

She expresses sharply. Her voice is clear, with just enough intonation to keep her from sounding like a robot. Refined was the word most commonly used to describe it, eloquent.

The cameraman is taken aback quite visibly by the curtness of her statement, his brows furrow for a second before he allows himself yet another laugh. This seventeen-year-old looking girl was clearly disillusioned, he thinks to himself.

“That’s cute an’ all, young lady, but I’m just here to ask ye’ a few questions. If ya don’ mi-”

The middle-aged man says, an amused expression on his face. He glances down to the notepad he had in his hand, balancing the camera on his shoulder as he does so. Abruptly, our red-headed sweetheart cuts him off.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think you heard me. I most definitely mind.”

She emphasizes her last sentence with a slight head tilt, confused as to how this man could be so dense. To her further surprise, not only does he not get it, he doesn’t even acknowledge her statement.

“So, how’s it like being in the United States for the first time?”



“You’re an idiot.”

She mutters under her breath and stares at the cameraman for a few more seconds. Realizing that he wasn’t going to take the hint anytime soon, she lets out a sigh before responding.

“Well, contrary to your statement, I’ve been here before. Actually, I was born here.”

She flashes a smile as she recalls her childhood here, a smile that quickly washes away as she notices the deadpan expression on the man’s face. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting that, and hadn’t quite prepared for it. Rather than broach the topic further, he moves on to his next one.

“Uh, so why did you decide to come to XWF?”

“Hm, well you see. I was going to come earlier because someone I… Knew, needed some help. But that little situation evaporated and they went and got themselves taken out of the equation. Now I’m here to show your federation what wrestling’s about. I was going to come for someone else, now I’m here for me. Doesn’t quite seem like people here respect the art nearly as much as they should.”

The cameraman’s mouth hangs open, boredom clearly etched onto his face. He snaps into consciousness a second after she stops talking. Our protagonist squeezes her hand into a fist tightly, perfectly manicured nails digging into the soft skin of her palm. She can feel her resolve melting away, but she wasn’t going to let some eight-dollar an hour nobody break her.

“Well unless you had any other riveting questions to ask me, I’d like to make my way to my hotel, thank you.”

She goes to make a move away from the cameraman, who has a confused look on his face, trying to figure out if he truly is done. A thought pops into her head before she can make a second step, turning abruptly on her heel, she sticks a finger into the chest of the man, without touching him.

“Actually, there’s something you can do for me, sugar plum. Get that camera up, I might as well try and sell this.”

The cameraman doesn’t react much, kind of just staying in the same position with as blank a look on his face as ever. He does however take a full up and down of her and her dress, he suddenly seems to realize that there was this ridiculously beautiful woman right in front of him. Realizing this is leverage, she twirls once in her dress.



“So, I’ve never wrestled in the United States before. But we all know this is where the best of the worlds wrestlers ends up at some point or the other. This is where the countless Americans will throw money at a sport where men and women throw themselves at each other and put their bodies on the line regularly.

In a country fueled by consumerism and capitalism, how does an art flourish, you ask? It doesn’t. It reaches its peak, gets choked out by the apparent need to replicate prior successes and becomes a Ford Assembly Line of identical products, churning out the exact same bullshit to appease the same few people.”

The cameraman seems to have picked up on the fact that he might actually have some content to show for his efforts today. He zooms in closer to the perfect face, focusing perfectly on the freckles sprinkles across it.

“I mean, you see it don’t you? When I watch shows here, I see the need on your faces clear as day. I see the desire all of you have, to see actual ring work. To be entertained by someone who enjoys the art and wants to share it with you.

Sure, there are some of you content with the nipslips, the sexy blown kisses and the jiggling butts in the ring. If there weren’t, we wouldn’t have talentless ladies come on to entertain the masses week in and week out. If you can call what they do… Entertaining, that is. Those of you that bought hundreds of dollars’ worth of wrestling show tickets for what you could get on a 9.99 subscription of PornHub, I might suggest you find another outlet to incinerate your money.

You see with my arrival, a lot of the things you’re used to seeing in the ring are going to go up in flames. I’ll make it easy for you lot and list them down. How about this, the second you hear something you’re going to miss when it’s turned to ash, go throw that ticket you’ve bought up on craigslist for sale.

First, you know all those talentless, moralless, passionless lil’ bellends you see day in and day out? Those who dare call themselves wrestlers, but haven’t won a match clean for as long as they can remember? They’re going to get a wake-up call soon enough. Be it if they need their girlfriends to get in the way of their matches, or form little coalitions to keep their abused little rumps from harm and especially those that would strike an official during a match… This is a sport that has no place for cheats and cowards. They’re all going to be set alight. ”



A kiss is blown towards the camera.

“Secondly, all those big mouthed, classless specks of dirt that only know how to talk about how much male ejaculation one can guzzle down, or how hard they’re going to sodomize their enemies. This is a sport for the regal and the honorable. Uncouth Neanderthals like yourselves can go find a dive bar to throw yourselves at. I’m going bring them through fiery tribulation like they’ve never experienced.

And thirdly. Thirdly I’m going back to that assembly line I mentioned earlier. The one that churns out the exact same type of wrestler according to a blueprint of what attracts the most low-life’s, with the most spending money? I’m talking about the one that saw the senseless domination of a whole division in Jenny Myst, took that, choked up and sputtered out two half-bit wannabees.

I probably have to actually call you out personally for this to get through to you girls, possibly have to @ tag you and throw in some hashtags so your bubblegum brains can decipher that I’m talking about you. My opponents for this Saturday, The Sugay Twins.

I was going to come out, be real nice, be real sweet. Maybe even offer to take you two out for a treat, like a true Welsh lady. But no. You had to come out, and start spewing your nonsense. Who scripts you guys? I’m pretty sure I’ve seen better inter-personal dialogue between adult film stars. The two of your really spend the better half of two decades talking to each other like that? You seem more like actresses Tommy from down the street hired to pretend he just had his first twin-threesome. Are you sure the two of you aren’t just some summer joke?

And then you can on some rant about me like you’d misconstrued something I’d said earlier. Mixing up my intentions might have been acceptable if I’d actually acknowledged the two of yours’ existence before this.

Sure, I wanted to match up with Anderson, because I thought she was spitting on the honour of fighting a champion. I wanted to face her to prove to her sorry little self that it takes a little more gall than that to be THE gal in this business. I thought the higher ups would be lacking sense if they didn’t let me face her. But I was wrong, instead of facing one arrogant, misinformed child, I get to beat my fists into the perfect faces of two. That thrown in with the privilege of seeing a fourth debutant’s work in the ring? I’m not mad at all.

That’s one thing you ladies need to learn before you start pushing what little weight you have around, don’t start assuming things before you’ve seen anything. Like how I’m not going to assume that you two lack talent. I can ascertain that you two lack commonsense, character and a relevant speech writer, but I’ve never seen your work in the ring. I can’t comment.

But for some reason, I’m the deadweight? I don’t need to be carried across the ring because if you’d done your research on me before making any such assumptions, you’d know that I fly through the ring. You’d have to actually keep my feet glued to that mat to even pose a threat to me, Chica. You don’t need to worry about me crying, or screaming. You can however worry about me running circles around two girls who think they’ve got it all sorted out before they’ve even gotten here.

Yes, it took me three months to make my debut. Life’s hard for young girls like me, nobody really wants to send you across the world to fight professionally. It doesn’t mean that I spent the last three years of my life sitting on my, perfect if I might say so myself, butt wishing to the stars that I was as prettily tanned as you two are. I’ve spent every single day in the last three months training for this moment, so unlike you, I’m prepared to step into that ring on Friday. Unlike you, I’m not taking anything for granted. Unlike you, I don’t have an annoying mirror image echoing the last few words I just said.”



A sharp inhale, and a slow exhale afterwards, she continues.

“You see, this Saturday I’m going to take both of you through a clinic, be it with the help of my partner Rose or not. I could face you two in a tag match and I could face you two in a handicap match, either ways, I know I can teach you a thing or two.

If I’m going to come to XWF to clean it up of scum like you, if I’m going to put the whole federation through my cleansing flames, I might as well start now. And what better way to start, than with the brightest spark of all. Be prepared but more importantly be honored to be that spark, the spark, that sets alight the entire wrestling world.

You already seem to know my name, but let me reiterate that once more for you. I’m Rhiannon. I’ve come back to my birthplace specifically to beat the likes of you. I’m the Sacred Flame that’s going to reduce you to ashes, and there’s nothing that you could do to extinguish that.”

Rhiannon gives the camera a quick wink before masking her pointed expression with a wide child-like smile. Running a hand through her hair once more, she turns away from the cameraman and walks off down the tarmac, her wait-staff in tow with her bags.

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