Athens, Greece


Mahogany, a red mahogany to be exact but mahogany all the same. She was surrounded by it, floor to ceiling greek fir stained and immaculately polished. Dark yet gleaming, the sheen of wooden shelves and cabinet doors hit Atara's eye thanks to a singular window at her front. Seperated from the room's current light source by a desk she sat in wait. Just her and a seemingly infinite amount of medical journals. It was ominous.

Ominous because in the Grecian's experience nothing good ever came from her being rooms such as these. Her father, Eros, had a study of similiar design and it was from that study Atara had recieved many lectures as a child. It was from that study she and her sisters had recieved news of their mother's passing. Every school she had ever attended be it primary, intermediate, or secondary all had offices such as these. Atara had been in them all at some point or another for one reason or another.

That's not to say she was overly troublesome, every child had there moments. Maybe Secondary school, Atara would admit to being a handful during those years, but it's more to stress that each and every time she had found herself in a room like this some form of punishment rained down upon her head. Both deserved and undeserved and it was in this moment all those feelings of dread came fluttering back as she waited for her host to arrive.

A favorite of Hellas, Atara seldom waited long anywhere when at home. Anywhere at all really, but we'll save the hubris for the trash talk segment. The point being made, she didn't have to sit in that foreboding sense of dread for too long. The click of a door handle came from behind her and as propriety would demand Atara stood as her doctor entered the room. A short and sturdy fellow with salt and pepper hair, he waved her back to her seat before she could even get upright.

"No need Miss Themis, save the energy." With an excited smile, he spoke in Greek while holding up a manila folder. Rushing to his own seat behind the desk, the doctor slapped the folder down before plopping himself comfortably in the sqeaky leather of his proverbial throne.

"I have your results Miss Themis..." He paused that smile fading fast from his face only to be replaced with an expression of utmost stoicism. Theatrics or jest Atara couldn't say, but the blood rushed her from face all the same. The terrible news she had been waiting for was just on the cusp of delivery. This was end of everything.

"Well?"

A moments silence was held before the aged and wisened face, still blank, broke into yet another smile, "Congratulations."

"I'm sorry." Confused, shocked even, Atara wasn't exactly clear of what that was suppose to mean. Congratulations? For what? The pains in her lower back and buttocks were hardly a reason for celebration.

"It's a minor thing. A bulge. 2 weeks, give or take, and you'll be tip top again."

A wave of relief swept over her. Ever since her spill on Savage Atara just knew Johnny Legend had ended any hope she might see this wrestling thing for any extended amount of time. The thought of Johnny Legend being her last had literally sickened her since it happened. So many new and fruitful opportunities were appearing everywhere and to be cut short by such an insignificant...never mind.

High Stakes was only two weeks away, that was plenty time to heal and be show ready. Another shot at her belt was on the line. A chance to correct the course and prove to not only XWF, but the world she was everything she said. She was everything they thought. Perhaps the fates were now on her side and not just the pantheon she so adored.

The era of Atara was not over.


Now comes the time you've all been waiting for. The time for honeyed words laced with venom to pour from the void of hollow screens. For the pious and ever faithful flock to gatheff69r round the world over and with greatest anticipation listen for that voice so loved and revered.

Your prayers were not ignored. She was listening, she is always listening. Offer your adulation and in reward she answers your invocation.



"Hello Halocen, Lycena."

Ladies. Do not delude yourselves. This is all just formality. An attempt by the power that be to prove to you and all the rest that they are not in fact bewitched by my beauteous countenance. That they are not under the spell of my enticing mien. An attempt to prove that they are in fact fair and see you as my equal.

They are. They Don't. You're Not.

Listen to your self-proclaimed Queen. Here her calls, cries, and clamors. For once, Jenny Myst speaks truth, and while they are not clear and concise you ladies have the privilege, nay, the honor of being enlightened by the only woman who truly matters to the XWF.

Me.

Go back to before the Shooting Star, back to when her Majesty pleaded and begged for her Bombshell belt to be reinstated. No one cared, no one listened. She was a forgotten relic with little relevance, however, and ladies this is an important however. Jenny if nothing else is smart. She knew to come from shadow she had to find a source of light and whose radiance do you think it was she basked in.

Mine.

She came to her goddess with ill intent and full of hubris. Attempted to pluck my star from the sky and replace it with her own only to find herself banished back to the darkest umbra imaginable. I was rewarded that night with the Shooting Star Title.

Unaware and unsolicited, I recieved this newly contrived belt. A belt made solely for me. A girdle for Aphrodite.

Since that time my cestus, my magic girdle, has fallen into that witches hands. You tweedle dee and tweedle dumb are all that stands between me and obtaining it once more.

Poor luck Doves, for I am more than just a pretty face and that's not vanity. If you haven't already you will admit that fact shortly because they always do. I am equal parts desire and heartbreak and Cupid's arrows will not find you in Tombstone. Just the boots and fists of woman come to take what is rightfully hers.

You will be met with all the wrath of hell. You will be broken and no amount of hope, no pantheon but mine can save you. It is MY temple. The ring is MY pyre. You will bleed and burn like the white bull sacrifice you are.

That title shot is mine and mine alone and only a trip down the river styx will you find an answer to me.


Fin