Sarah Selena Grey-Lacklan stands in a dark room in all of her glory. Dressed in a gown of black and red lace that shines with diamond dust along its skirts, the albino’s platinum hair is pulled up into a braided bun, the length of it lined with silver thread, and firedrops are woven into her hair to seem a crown. A translucent black veil is clipped just underneath the jewels, the light material falling down to obscure her pale face. But the veil cannot hide the stark makeup adorning her, with lips painted red to match her odd red irises, the most rare of her condition, and black eyeliner wings which call focus to those eyes.

“The world is an interesting place, Mister Blackwater.”

Sarah’s voice is a soprano, high-pitched an airy, with a Londoner accent which provides a soft ahhh in Blackwater. Hers is a voice which seems on the verge of song, as if a choir of angels would come down from the Heavens above to find themselves in concert with her.

“We live in a world full of wonder. Of strange happenings. Of mystery.”

Her veil lifts itself off her face, regardless of her body staying still, and we see the icy beauty of Sarah in full, a beauty which speaks and calls of far-off mountains capped in the snow of a brutal yet serene winter.

“There are those among us who can do things that no one else can do. Who can lift the world, and its trappings, from place to place with but a thought.”

She raises one of her arms and turns her gloved hand so that the palm may face upward, the black lace of the glove matching that of the veil floating above her face. From out of the view of the camera comes a ball, shining a red that matches her eyes, which comes to rest in her hand.

“Children of the world look at us in wonder, Sir. They cry out, to God above, ‘My Lord! My Creator! What is this creature before me?’ And as Jesus and his Disciples performed miracles to prove His power, so do we, us special beings.”

She twirls her fingers and the ball of shining red raises into the air. She turns her hand over once...twice...thrice...and the all spins obediently, matching her speed.

“And we, those special beings, are like the genie removed from his chains: All powerful. All controlling.”

One half of the ruby lips rise into a smirk, and a sharp flick of her wrist sends the ball careening away, flying fast enough to seem to create a silent scream in our ears. But it stops suddenly as Sarah pulls her fingers into a fist, and the ball halts, suspended above the ground.

“Are we merciful? Are we benevolent? Are we...monsters? Are we...gods?”

The ball falls to the ground as Sarah raises her arms to her sides. She throws her head back, her mouth opening wide, her bright teeth shining against the darkness as the Solstice moon against the winter sky.

“ARE WE GODS?!”

Her voice fills the room with a boom, exploding into the space, rolling into the darkness as if water from pitcher to bowl, coating the dark with her sound. She then rises off the ground, slippered feet arching as she lifts, until her toes are pointed down in a clean line, as a ballet dancer flying into the sky without the strong arms of her partner. The skirts of her dress wave as she rises into the air, the diamond dust sparkling with its tiny cleavage, catching and reflecting what little light the camera can offer.

“THAT BEGS BUT ONE QUESTION, SIR BLACKWATER!”

She turns her head back down, and her eyes fill with the flames of Mount Doom itself, eyes of red which would burn away ring, hobbit, and gollum alike. The light pushes out of her eyes, light which seeks to consume all, and her angular face sharpens as if she was Galadriel prophesying her own destruction by being stronger than the foundations of the Earth with the Ring on her slender finger.

“How fucking STUPID is this shit?!”

Suddenly, Sarah’s eyes are not the encroaching inferno of Mount Doom’s flames. They are just the odd red irises of the albino forever doomed to shade herself from the sun. Her voice no longer fills the room, no longer threatens to burst the drums of ears nor tear down the walls of Jericho with a trumpet’s blast.

“I mean...sweet baby JESUS...you are SO FUCKING TOTES LAME!”

“CUT!”

The call rings through the air and Sarah lowers back down to the ground, first stiffly-pointed toe and then heel.

“Lights, babe!”

Sarah raises her arm up and covers her face, shielding herself, as lights suddenly fill the room. Our own eyes are blinded for a moment, not given the warning that the albino received, and it takes us a moment to see what we can, though making sense of what we see is not yet a reality.

Several young women, each shapely and clothed in all black, their faces obscured by black masks, surround Sarah. Two have their hands upon her waist, gently placing her back upon the ground, while another holds her veil off her face and out straight from her hair. Behind them, a boom mic raises away from them and up into the sky. Off to the side, another curvaceous woman in black picks up the red ball and walks out of the camera shot. And as our own camera pulls away and new bodies begin to flood the scene, we fully understand what we are seeing:

A sound stage.

“Isn’t it all a bit ridiculous?”

Sarah’s voice is muffled behind her arm, but after a moment she pulls her head away and slowly opens her eyes, clearly trying to adjust to the bright lights. After a few blinks, she smiles and then gestures to the women in black.

“Say hello to the Legion, Fucktard #2! Girls! Take a bow!”

The women surrounding Sarah remove their masks, revealing faces young and smooth like her own in a variety of complexions, and they do indeed give a deep bow to the camera before straightening and walking away. Sarah giggles, a high-pitched sound which beckons thoughts of windchimes on a summer’s day, and faces the camera fully.

“Probably wondering what all is going on, huh? Welp, before I get to that, and the meat of this whole dealio, I’ll let you in on a few secrets. First…”

She gestures to the women walking away.

“Those wonderful girls are members of the Legion. See, at some point last year, I realized that I was SO BUSY being this badass world-beating role model that I just didn’t have time for things that normal people like YOU have to deal with. Things like tweeting, or emails, or shopping, or any of that stuff. So, I created the Legion of Interns! They take care of LOTS of those things for me, which allows ME to keep being the awesomo princess that I am! Now, I DO pay them...because my Beloved insisted...but mostly they just do stuff because they love me. And I AM doing more things on my own...like becoming a KILLER driver...but, still, its pretty coolio, ya know?”

Sarah smiles at the conveniently beautiful women before turning back to the camera.

“I mean, sure, I’ve still got my personal assistant, Ashley, and she makes a TON of money off me, plus she has killer perks like her SWEET Windows Phone, but TODAY they are here to help me point out to the world how fucking stupid your whole bit is! But more on that in a bit! Because...dude! Check this out!”

Sarah twirls on her toe, the perfect three-sixty sending her skirts flying with the grace of a practiced dancer, her arms outstretched to encourage us to take in the room around us. The sound stage she stands upon has several tall lights, each with bright bulbs atop their stands, and several thick layers of padding for sound control. The ground she stands upon is white linoleum that gives way to dark wood, and a dozen men and women stand behind cameras or sit in chairs.

“This, dear Fucktard #2, is Dark Goddess Productions! The brainchild of Team Kickass, DGP is all about bringing fresh content and media to a tired and worn world, and of blending our unique take on wrestling, team sports, movies, and television shows. And while I play my own role as Executive Producer and-”

She makes the motion to fip back her hair, though it is still up in its intricate braided bun, and puts her hands on her hips as she juts them out, then flashes her Billion $$$ smile.

“-Marketing Genius, the REAL magic of this place, the REAL brains AND brawn behind it all, is that hunk of ebony wonder over there, the owner of the SWEETEST booty in ALL the land, Kenzi!”

Sarah gestures back toward the group of workers and we center on a caramel-skinned woman sitting in a chair clearly marked “DIRECTOR” on the back. With long and thin braids pulled back into a large tail, and an LFL Hitgirls hat atop her head, Kenzi Grey-Lacklan has three clipboards sitting across her lap, her iPhone in the crook of her shoulder, and seems to be holding three different conversations at once. Standing to her side is a pale woman with a swollen chest who is typing feverishly onto a tablet, taking dictation for the director.

“Say hello, Beloved!”

Kenzi looks up, her dark brown eyes catching the light, and she smiles widely at Sarah. Her face seems to split in two with the smile, a smile of pure affection, but then she goes back to the mountain of paperwork upon her lap. Sarah gives one of her patented Eye Rolls of Doom as the camera returns from her. She then gives a shrug of her shoulders and nods her head in the opposite direction.

“C’mon, Fucktard #2. Apparently Mrs. SweetBooty is too busy making Ax write twenty-seven pages of notes on this small production to do more than get me all hot and bothered with her smolder. So, instead, let me show you the whole point of this thing.”

The camera follows the albino as she walks over to the boom mic, the soft swish of her skirts filling the air as the stage continues to empty of people. She stops before the mic and raises one of her arms and points at it with a gloved hand.

“See that up there? That amplified my voice so that I was all Demon Witch Elf, right? And that?”

She points to two red lights in the rigging in the ceiling, the camera finding them after tracking her lithe fingers.

“Made my eyes glow like I was a hound in that Sherlock book. Not the shitty show with that overrated Cumberbatch dude, mind you, but the actual book. Because the book is ALWAYS better than the movie. Oh! And check THIS out!”

The camera follows her as she walks forward and stands at the edge separating the white linoleum and the dark hardwood. Various members of the Legion sit in chairs, enjoying their break, and due to the dim lighting in the break area, the drinks and tiny snacks seem to float in the air as they hold them.

“Raising in the air? Controlling the ball and my veil? All tricks of the movie trade. Now, why does all this matter?”

She turns away from her employees and walks back towards the center of the room.

“Because it’s all a lie. Just like you.”

She comes to a halt in the center of the room, her red-hued eyes looking up into the rafters and then back down to be level with the camera.

“All this master jedi shit of yours? Listen, I GET that there are some dipshits in the XWF who THINK you can actually do shit like push off them with the power of your mind, but I know better. Like, I FULLY expect my Number One Fanboy, Drezdin, to stare at your ‘powers’ with his mouth agape and drool pouring down his chin. I FULLY expect that, if he could stop salivating over my tits, Sebasstian Dyke would be bowled over your ability to scale the top rope without using your hands. Hell, I bet that if people could stop slobbering on Dolly’s knob long enough to look at you that they’d fall down straight up DEAD over your amazeballs skills! But, unfortunately for you, there is a new force in this company, there is a new FACE of this company, and I see right through your shit.

“See, I’m not just a wrestler of TODAY, ya know? I mean, I totes AM a GREAT example of a modern day wrestler. Us kids today? We travel across the world, not caring about putting down roots or ruffling feathers, and fight every style in every land. And we rejoice in how the fans flock to us, the competitors fear us, and the owners pay us. Hell, you don’t EVEN want to know about the contract I got from Vinnie! I’m now officially his favorite wrestler...and he doesn’t even have a choice in the matter until my contract ends!

“But apart from being a modern wrestler? I’m also a student. While a LOT of people I see these days...that would be the carbon-copy douchebags I compared you to the other day...are just here for the pin-me-and-pay-me part of the business, I have a LOVE for it that is both nature and nurture. My father was a wrestler...and I literally grew up in a town that considers wrestling a religion...don’t ask...legit, don’t ask...and he raised me to love what he did. And I DID love it. I travelled the world with him as a child. I learned to navigate the politics of the business as a valet. I learned the importance of promotion, of selling tickets, and of bringing home the winner’s paycheck. And as an extension of that, I have embroiled myself in the business tenfold as an adult. My wife? Wrestler. My best friends Roxy and Angie? Wrestlers. Hell, even my GREATEST NEMESIS WHO I HATE AND WISH WOULD DIE A THOUSAND DEATHS? A wrestler. I live and BREATHE this business, Fucktard #2, and that also feeds into my love of history.

“See, I’m the historian of my little group. I know things about people that you couldn’t even comprehend. And that’s not a dig on your intelligence or anything; sers, ask Roxy about how much research I do! And part of that research is that I don’t JUST know about modern wrestling...I don’t JUST know about wrestling in the 90’s like Daddy did...I don’t JUST know about wrestling in the golden age of television and the regional boom of the 50’s to 80’s...but I ALSO know about the very beginnings of the sport, back when it was held in carnivals and festivals, back before we had a square to go with the circle. And it is because of THAT knowledge that I, and perhaps I alone, know just how full of shit you are.”

Sarah raises her hands and makes a complicated series of gestures with her fingers, and begins to lower herself at the waist.

“See-”

Dashing in from the side come two members of the Legion, each a pretty girl with shapely hips, who unfold a chair and place it below Sarah’s surprisingly plump bottom just in time for her to sit in the chair.

“-back in the day? And I mean WAY back in the day? Wrestling wasn’t commissioned. Neither was boxing, for that matter. And promoters had to do a LOT of bullshit tricks to get people through the door. See! The family swinging from the flying trapeze! See! The bearded lady! See! The man swallowing swords and breathing fire. See! The strong man lifting weights beyond imagination! And in that, in all of that circus horseshit, were charlatans like you. Wrestlers who used sleight of hand and mirrors to wow and amaze a clueless audience. Wrestlers who would flip and fly, as if they themselves were above the safety nets, in order to confuse the audience with spectacle. Wrestlers who would employ magic in order to keep their crowd riveted. And mostly, because lets face it, they didn’t have the skill to otherwise stay employed as successful combat sports competitors.

“And that’s where you come in, man. All that parlor trick bullshit you do? Nothing more than the guys fighting in smoke-filled tents from a hundred years ago. Might as well grow out some shitty curled mustache like some lame hipster, wear black and white striped long underwear, and put up your dukes, ya know what I’m saying? And for all I know, YOU may even BELIEVE your own horse shit of fake levitation and ginormous leaps and bounds into the air! YOU may even BELIEVE that the world DOES do your bidding by communicating with your blinks! Hell, YOU may EVEN BELIEVE that you’re FREAKIN’ WOLVERINE and that NOTHING can harm you!”

Sarah’s hands wave wildly in the air as she yells, but then she suddenly stops and her pale face takes on a curious expression.

“Ya know…”

She chews on her lips for a moment, the movement causing the dimples to rise, and places one of her fingers on her chin.

“You MAY have something there. Like, this one time? Josh Kennedy hit me with a Flaming Dragon Uppercut, right? And I mean, like, literally flaming. Like, his entire arm was on fire, right? Because I set it on fire? And he was all WAAAAA! DRAGON UPPERCUT and knocked my squat booty right out of the NGIW tourney last year, right? And, like, two days later, I didn’t even have a freakin’ SCAR to show for it! I asked Lisa Seldon why that was, since she’s a legit deathmatch master, but she just kinda shrugged her shoulders and told me not to ask too many questions. So maybe some of us DO have cray-cray healing factors?”

She shrugs her shoulders.

“N-E-Ways…”

Sarah rises to her feet and the two Legionettes slip in behind her, one to grab the chair and take it away and the other to smooth out the silks of her dress.

“I keep talking about this whole ‘reality’ thing, which I am VERY aware you know fuck-all about, and unfortunately for you, I’m going to keep harping on it. Because this is NOT a work of fantasy. This is NOT a world of magic and levitation.”

She waves her arms around the room, inviting us to again take in the boom mic that amplified her voice, the lights in the rig which made her eyes seem to blaze, and the interns who were dressed to make things seem to float on their own accord.

“The reality is that, yes, YOU may be at home in the carnivals of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. YOU may be a leftover vestige of when wrestling had to survive as a sideshow act in the company of trained elephants, clowns stuffed in undersized cars, and a ground covered in popcorn and peanut shells, but I am not. I was bred, raised, and trained to fight in arenas. I AM the person that entire companies fight over so that I can be their face, their media star, their main event. YOU may be the person who finds himself fighting in avenues where the stench of funnel cake permeate the air, but I am the person who gets plastered on billboards so that the all-important sell-out happens. And while by no means do I always find myself in the winner’s circle, champions and members of halls of fame have found that the nature and nurture of wrestling in me has created an opponent with shockingly effective skills.

“I am QUITE aware that you think of yourself as the intellectual mastermind of the world, a person who pulls the strings of the puppets to watch them dance. I am QUITE aware that you delight in seeing your shenanigans cause changes both in your own house and the world at large. But, dear Fucktard #2, allow me to give you a small spoiler, something to which will cause you to clutch your pearls and be in need of pulling out a wedgie:”

Sarah looks around, her eyes shifting with the spirit of conspiracy, and leans forward.

“...I’m smarter than you…”

The potentially psychotic albino giggles and claps her hands with glee after her whisper.

“Final dose of reality for you, Donovan: I’m faster. Slicker. Smarter. I have more talent, drive, and pedigree. And when you stand next to me? When you help create the visual of the man a full foot taller than his opponent? The entire world will realize that, yes, whereas I am the glittering diamond meant to characterize and represent this business, whereas I am the future role model of an entire generation of women wrestlers, you really are just the bearded lady, or the contortionist, or even just the clown making balloon animals before slipping on his banana peel.

“So bring all of your tricks, Fucktard #2. Bring your magic. Bring your sleight of hand. You will need ALL of it.

“Mind the flames.

Sarah gives a final smile and, spreading her skirts wide, dips herself down into a well-practiced curtsy.