Some might frame the tag team of Madison Dyson and Dolly Waters as one of happenstance.

A pair of warriors so diametrically offset from one another- one a light-flickering outlaw, who’s ruled the wrestling airwaves with both the smiles of a socialist, and a gypsy, the other a bloodletting wildfire in Gucci boots, lighting her path forward with every bridge she’s burned. On paper, the partnership reads like tragedy. But in practice?

They’re like a random television program you land on while channel surfing expecting nothing, and it happens to be not just decent, but good. Damn good.

Let’s take a moment to appreciate these star-crossed wrestlers, shall we?

Who are some of the biggest names in the XWF today?

Yelena Gorgo? Dolly Waters pinned her to earn this team a shot at the tag titles.

Aurora? Madison Dyson snatched the final tag belt off her hands at Snow Holds Barred, ripping it from the top of the ladder while she and Dolly toppled the hottest tag team in wrestling.

Sebastian Everett- Bryce? Madison Dyson just put his shoulders to the mat on Savage.

Johnny Bachus? Dolly Waters just…






…came up short against him in the main event of Warfare.

Uh oh.

And weirdly, she seems completely unbothered by it.

Double uh oh.

Instead, she’s glowing. Relaxed. While a crow caws outside the window.

She’s lying diagonally across a bed in this damp English hotel room, flipping between unhinged BBC programming and staticy local access. The rain out in the streets of Stratford is falling in sheets. The kind of downpour that turns your vacation into a hostage situation.

Across from her, Madison Dyson lounges on the carpet, sucking down clear liquor through a Twizzlers straw, nursing the soft ache of being emotionally responsible for everyone around her.

Lux, the AI recreation of a future dystopian assassin who lived in Dyson’s brain, and the deputized manager of our starcrossed-team here, is pacing at the window. Radiating enough disapproval to fog the glass.

We should be training.

Not looking up, Madison responds Cool. Go train. Deadlift the hotel minibar or something.

You have another TLC match. Tables. Ladders. Chairs. This time against two other teams. We are in England, not in retirement.

I’m sorry. The rain says we’re on holiday.

What if this is training, Lux? Emotional conditioning. Team synergy. Deep rest.

Deep bullshit. she mutters.

Lux grabs her hoodie and storms out into the hall, bound for the hotel gym… or the roof, if the weather clears and she decides to hurl herself off it instead.

Dolly sighs, Now *she’s* dramatic

A silence falls on the room. Rain tapping against the glass like a gentle reminder. In spite of the weather, in spite of the odds, in spite of all of the forces that have tried to come between them, Dolly and Maddy look… calm. At peace. They’d tell you they’re just “vibing” but that’s not the whole truth.

This is something else.

A respite. A detour. The calm before the match. A moment where the noise dies down and all that’s left are Dolly and Madison. Two women who didn’t expect to find each other… but did. Two rebel stars still burning.

You ever think about what happens after we win?

You mean at Ides of March? I assume we’ll be on a flight with wet socks and at least one concussion.

No, like… after-after. When the novelty wears off. When the crown starts to feel heavier than the ladders we’ve climbed to reach it.

Madison’s mind slips to Dom Strife for a moment, sparing a thought for her young understudies career. She nibbles at her lip, and lets out gentle, almost concerned response

Do you think that’s happening now?

I don’t know. I lost to Bacchus. And I didn’t spiral. Didn’t throw a tantrum or go hex a possum. I just… let it go.

Growth?

Trauma fatigue.

Fair.

They share a quiet laugh,

Madison thinks of Dom again,

You sure you’re… *we’re*, not just finally happy now, Dolly?

Dolly shrugs with a smile,and a sincere glow, and flips the remote

Let's not ruin it.

Static. BBC. A raccoon reading tarot cards. And then…




The air is laden with tension as the visual takes hold. A stern looking Larry Tact (or a very impressive lookalike) is holding a cell phone to his ear. His jaw works side to side in consternation and his eyes burn with a barely restrained inner fire. And why?

Because his daughter Morgan has been TAKEN. Again.

With a measured coolness born of white hot rage, Larry begins to speak into the phone to Morgan’s kidnappers.

“I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want. If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don't have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long career, skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. Tactilizing skills. I…”

“Wait, hol’ up.”

Larry stops his dramatic monologue short as the kidnapper on the other end of the line cuts in.

“Did you just say….”tantalizing skills”?”

Larry’s brow furrows. He stammers a little despite himself. “Wh-what? No! I said…”

“‘Cuz it definitely sounds like you said “tantalizing skills”.”

Larry frowns deeply, but his further stammering betrays how far he’s fallen off his game. “I…I said TACTILIZING!”

“Yo! Did ya’all hear “tactilzing” or “tantalizing”?”

Another voice on the other side of the line calls out from a distance. “I heard “tantalizing”!”

“See? They heard “tantalizing”.”

“I said tactilizing!!!”

“I mean, why would you even say “tactilizing” in the first place though? That’s a total nonsense word and it sounds gay as fuck.”

A bead of sweat peeks out of Larry’s forehead as he continues to lose his grip. “It’s not GAY! It’s my ANGLE!”

“Well your angle is gay as fuck. Like, what does “tactilizing” even mean?”

Larry’s eyes start to well up with tears, and he tries to sublimate his completely bitch-made urge to cry. “It’s…*chortle*....a play on my name!”

“Yeah, no shit. It still doesn’t make any fuckin’ sense though. Oh wait…” The kidnapper pauses a moment, seemingly distracted, before returning their attention to the call. “Your daughter wants to talk to you.”

Larry wipes his tears as his eyes go wide. “Morgan?! MORGAN! Yes, put her on the phone!”

We hear the phone being jostled as it’s passed off to Larry’s five year old daughter.

“Morgan! It’s daddy! Are you okay?! I swear if they’ve hurt you I’m going to TACTILIZE their asses…”

We can practically hear Morgan’s eyes rolling. “Ugh! Daddy stop saying that it’s gay as fuck.”

“Honey, it’s not gay!”

“Have you won any XWF matches yet, daddy?”

Larry blanches. “Honey, you know daddy is WORKING on that.”

“Daddy you’ve been saying you’ve been working on it for like a whole YEAR! JEEZ!”

“I swear one day I’ll win an important match just give me some time, okay?”

“You know what daddy, I don’t even want to be rescued! God, you’re so EMBARRASSING.”

Larry’s eyes well up again. “Oh Morgan, please don’t say that. You’re hurting daddy’s FEELINGS.”

“Do you know how embarrassing it is to have a dad who lets his daughter get kidnapped every week and can’t even win an XWF match?”

Larry is openly weeping now. “But…but…but! It’s not EVERY week! You totally didn’t get kidnapped last week!”

“Whatever. They have shit loads of ice cream and toys here so I’m gonna go. Bye.”

“Wait! Please don’t go!”

“Go tactilize yourself, daddy.”

The kidnapper chimes in from the background. “Nice shot, Morgan!” We hear the distinctive sound of a high five before the line goes dead. Larry Tact’s dignity vanishes into the ether.


Madison blinks at the screen.

My god…

Dolly raises a quizzical eyebrow to Dyson,

...what a DUMB name.

Yeah.. Tact kinda’ sounds like the noise your neck makes with it finally snaps from boredom hanging in some benign noose.

Shouldn’t somebody… be worried about his kid? Obviously he’s not.

Mmm. Only if she’s forced to tag with him. Poor Coey Black

They both laugh, but as the sound of the rain creeps back in, something shifts in Madison’s face. She leans her head back against the foot of the bed, eyes tracing the ceiling as a thought drifts in and sits beside her,

Dolly notices, and smiles knowing…

Yer’ thinking about Dom?

Madison doesn’t answer right away. The subtle hardness of her eyes soften.

He’s just a kid. And he’s good. Like… *good* good. Heart of gold. Calls people ‘ma’am’ and ‘sir’, apologizes-to-the-ring-crew good. If you can believe that shit.  And he’s just trying so damn hard to prove he belongs, y’know?

Madison’s recent involvement with Dom Strife hasn’t been lost on Dolly.

Some might see it as a bad sign. A fracture forming. A future without “Dyson & Waters” written on the marquee. But where others assume resentment, Dolly recognizes something else entirely. A flicker of light.

Faint… but unyielding.

Where some saw Dyson’s embrace of a different tag partner in Strife, Dolly saw Dyson accepting responsibility.

Where some saw Dyson interfering to help Dom win the XTreme Championship as a sordid act, Dolly saw it as Dyson protecting said responsibility. Seeing her step in for Dom at what would’ve been his lowest (losing to Scoops lol), not out of ambition, but instinct.

Like a lioness shielding a cub. Like someone who, after spending a lifetime burning everything around her, finally found something worth saving. Dolly saw Dyson coming to love, and protect something…*anything* other than herself as a reinforcement of this team’s journey.

I’ve spent so much of my life pushing people away. I didn’t realize how fast someone could sneak in when you’re not looking.

You care about him.

...

Dolly’s words hang for a moment. And just then, another voice sounds out.

She does. Lux replies curtly.

They both turn to look at her, surprised by her sudden reappearance.

I thought you went to work out?

Somebody puked on the treadmill so they had to shut it all down for cleaning. she deadpans.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Madison gets to her feet, looking agitated. Lux, where the fuck do you get off telling people who I do or don’t care about?!

Lux smiles lightly and taps her head. I was in here, remember? She begins, drawing closer to Madison, but not threateningly so. You know, the presence of your son in your subconscious didn’t make sense to me. I figured you didn’t give a shit, so why would Samael even be there? Yeah, it didn’t make sense. Until Dom.

What are you blathering about?

Your guilt complex. Lux answers decisively. Madison screw faces her but Lux proceeds undaunted. I thought you didn’t give a damn about abandoning Samael. But you do, don’t you? It’s clear as day to me now. Your relationship with Dom. You’ve been almost…motherly to him.

Bitch, I reiterate, WHAT. ARE. YOU. BLATHERING. ABOUT?

No, I get what she’s saying! You see Dom almost as a surrogate son, a replacement for the one you, erm, parted ways with. Because all this time, through all these years, you HAVE felt guilt for what happened with Samael. It bothers you. Even if you say it doesn’t. And now you’re trying to undo that mistake with Dom. Dolly opines diplomatically. Maddy, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s…well, it’s human.

Madison shakes her head. You guys are so, soooooo off base here!

Lux and Dolly share a knowing look.

Okay.

Madison quirks an eyebrow. Just “okay”? That’s all you have to say?

Dolly shrugs. Yeah. You’re not ready to accept it yet, and that’s okay.

Madison throws her hands up in the air in frustration. Okay guru. What the fuck ever. Can we just get back to watching TV? I need to take my mind off this psychological destruction you two are inflicting on of me!

Dolly tosses the remote to Dyson, withholding a smirk at her partners trademark theatrics. Madison flips the button, changing the channel from the SHACTilating entertainment they’ve been taking in.


There’s VHS type static, and then an amped up shock-jock voiceover.

ARE YOU TIRED OF GRINDING THROUGH LIFE’S MAIN QUEST WITHOUT A SENSE OF JOY?

Cue sweeping orchestral music over scrolling 2d video game footage. A title splashes across the screen:


..only available now using BARNCOIN and only on STEEEAMMMM….

We see Game Girl, her hair tousled, armor dented, a black eye blooming like an onion from Outback. She’s standing on a pixelated mountain as the sun rises behind her.

We hear Game Girl speak (voiced by someone trying to sound 19, but clearly 35)

After twenty years in early access… my heart is finally patched.

A montage rolls… GG helping an NPC farmer harvest mushrooms, GG battling her past selves inside of a mirror realm, GG slow dancing with a cloud of sentient trauma wearing a prom dress.

THAT’S RIGHT, LOSER! IN THIS REMASTER, GAME GIRL DITCHES THE ANGST DLC FOR A NEW MAIN OBJECT: ….FUCKIN OFF FOR FUN!!!

NO MORE BROODING OVER LOST MATCHES. NO MORE GLITCHY SIDE QUESTS LIKE “wHo aM i?” or “WhAt’S tHe PoInT?”

JUST PURE. RADIANT. JOY!!!!

…AND MAYBE A SWORD OF LOVE?

We cut to Game Girl and Game Boy watching over a sunset valley filled with “defeated “ monsters napping peacefully.

“You didn’t beat them… you freed them.” Game Boy says.

I couldn’t beat them. I felt bad about it.

CRITICS ARE CALLING IT:

“POIGNANT” - some academic douche on Reddit

“SURPRISINGLY DECENT FOR HOW OVERPLAYED THESE REHASHES ARE” - Edwin Longfellow Orwell

“GAME OF THE YEAR… maybe” -Scoops McGee, probably.

The commercial fades to black. The logo appears again, this time glowing…

Now with 35% fewer existential crises.

(legal text flashing below)

Disclaimer: Game Girl still cries sometimes. That’s okay.


The shot pans back from the TV to show our intrepid trio still splayed about the room watching it.

This bitch has been around for over ten years and has literally one title reign to show for it…that happened ten years ago. Like, how the fuck does that happen? You would think that in that time the bitch would have at least won the Xtreme by ACCIDENT, but nope, not even that. Holy hell, what an abject FAILURE of a human being.

Well, she is part time at best.

You’re right. So she half asses when she shows up for work and then quarter asses her actual efforts. Good point, Lux.

Lux turns to Dolly.

How do you do this?

She’s not so bad once you get to know her. Hey Maddy, remote me!

Madison tosses Dolly the remote. She presses the channel button and we are once again whisked into TV land.


It’s got all the trappings of an infomercial, and wouldn’t you know it…it IS an infomercial!

The shot settles on a very old decrepit looking man who bears an uncanny resemblance to Scoops McGee. Scoops waves to the crowd before him, which is also composed of geezers and the half dead as they clap their withered hands together and the dead skin cells kick up a cloud of dust. The shot then pans back to Scoops who is standing behind one of those eponymous infomercial desks. 

Scoops McGee here and I know…I know!....*chuckles*....it’s a difficult topic to talk about. But we gotta do it. That topic is…incontinence.

When you get to a certain age like us, why, your rectum just turns into a broken pipe! You could be doing anything, talking on the phone, playing with the grandkids, or, I dunno, soaking up valuable XWF TV time that should go towards performers who aren’t literal zombies, when the unthinkable happens.

Poop. Shit. Feces. The ol’ chocolate slide.

And that’s why I and my crack team of crapgineers have come up with….

Scoops places a large box of adult diapers on the desk.

....Scoops Poops! The adult diaper that’s guaranteed to keep up with your active lifestyle as you rob young deserving talent of precious opportunities so you can satisfy your pathetic ego and stave off thoughts of your own pending mortality! 

But Scoops!

A voice sounds out from off camera. The shot turns to reveal….XWF Legend Centurion! (Or a very convincing clone thereof).

By gosh, it’s Centurion everybody!

The crowd is completely silent.

Scoops, my shits in the ring are absolutely enormous. I can barely get those brown hogs down the toilet at home, so you can only imagine how big they are when I’m mobile. Is Scoops Poops really up to the task?

Why I’ll do better than tell ya, I’ll show ya! Scoops brings out a gallon container of chocolate ice cream with a scoop. Now lets pretend this ice cream is your scat. Scoops pulls a diaper out of the box. Now go ahead and scoop those turds into the diaper.

Centurion scoops out the entire carton of ice cream into the diaper. Scoops then picks it up and walks around the desk and off to stage left where a wrestling ring is set up. Scoops gestures for Centurion to get in the ring and Cent obliges. Scoops gets in the ring after him and slides the pair of ice cream laden briefs on over his jeans.

Now lets RASSLE!

What follows is a solid ten minutes of the most slow motion, arthritic, downright pathetic wrestling contest you can imagine. It naturally ends with Centurion getting pinned because let’s face it, he’s used to that. Scoops then gets to his feet with a grumble and a crack of his back before turning to reveal his posterior to the crowd. Remarkably, the diaper has held up during that deluge of low intensity action!

Wow Scoops! The fecal matter was completely contained by the diaper!

That’s right, Centy! And now, you too can bore wrestling fans to tears by taking precious national exposure away from upcoming stars all to sate your lust for long lost relevance by wearing SCOOPS POOPS! Now available at your local Wal-mart for the low, low price of 10,000 XBux!

The shot cuts to an applause sign blinking, and then to the crowd, who are all completely asleep and/or dead. 


Back in the room, we see the girls nodding off as the tv remains static. A new program tuning in as their eyes close.




A one-act tragedy… in five acts of trauma

A fade in on a candlelit tomb. Juliet (Dolly, draped in black velvet), mascara smeared beneath her veil, clutching a dagger. She kneels beside the lifeless body of Coreyo Black (Who appears to be Madison in a fake beard… So what? It’s Shakespeare 2025. Women can play men), wearing a crown of foil, draped in leather, eyes shut in melancholy

Coreyo, Coreyo, wherefore art thou Coreyo?

Do thy greatness slumber still? Or merely thine ego recharge?

We’ve waited for so long Coreyo.

She sighs dramatically, looking upon the vial marked “FAKE POISON”

Thou speakth of death, but never truly die…

Instead thou lingereth in monologue, in elegy, in endless Twitter threads of thy own design

She leans in close.

Was I not enough? Was war not enough? Was being overlooked, pinned by Misty, and fifth-picked not enough?

Juliet raises the dagger… which we can clearly distinguish is a plastic prop now.

Forgive me, sweet, tragic Coreyo… I’d rather perish than hear another second of thy trauma-dump. I forbid thy’s return to thee

She plunges the “dagger” into her neck and falls.

Coreyo awakens, gaping, elated. He looks upon Juliet’s dead body.

Ah! A new sorrow! A fresh wound to thines heart!

My favorite paramour lies slain, and I… BEREFT…. Must now narrate her demise in four long acts! Acts of thine same dribble I’ve made a living from!

He throws his head back in anguish as ominous music swells. A crow squawks.

O thy warriors of Ides… gather ‘round, I must tell you all….my truth…


I sucketh.



Sometimes you flip through channels on the TV, and program after program just flashes by, turning into nothing but fading lights and white noise.

Be it a cheap, done-to-death action flick. Be it niche advertisements, selling old and obsolete products all over again. Or be it a poorly produced knock-off tragedy that drones on and on and on but nothing ever really happens.

But sometimes you flip to a channel that you can’t change.

With a program you can’t keep your eyes off of… because you know something BIG is about to happen.

Just like yer’ REIGNING XWF Tag Team Champions.

Dolly gives Madison a knowing, confident nod

Go ahead and call us dysfunctional. Call us “cobbled together”. Call us strange bedfellows. Call us all of that.

And then go look in the goddamn mirror.

I mean, lets take that clever witticism out behind the tool shed and drop a slug behind its brain right off the bat. Because for as much of an odd couple as it may LOOK like we are, you four are just the same.

Game Girl and Scoops? You’ve teamed together a grand total of ONCE and couldn’t be more diametrically opposed, with one representing youth, vibrancy, and technology and the other being an old fossil who can’t understand why his newfangled laptop won’t run his free AOL disc from 1995.

As for Black and Tact? Hell, maybe you two HAVE teamed together in some backyard trampoline promotion. I can’t be arsed to wade through all that bullshit. But I know you two make for strange bedfellows here and now for the simple fact that Tact is not SEB. You see, Corey Black NEEDS to be SEB’s ball boy because he’s the kind of parasite that only thrives when he’s paired with superior talent. Small problem there though, eh Corey?

I’ve pinned both you AND your dom top Bryce!

Yeah, lets go to town on this for a while, shall we?

Corey, I decimated you and the rest of your team at War Games almost single handedly. Pinfall, after pinfall, after pinfall I put your crew of mediocrities down for the count. And then, a couple months later, I made the entire XWF Universe collectively shit its pants when I pinned Sebastian Everett Bryce. So even if you HAD gotten your top choice in partner, you’d be fucked.

But you didn’t even get that, did you?

No. You got LARRY TACT.

Larry FUCKIN’ Tact.

                       
Imagine being so unlucky.

Imagine being on a heater like Madison is riding, and being partnered with someone who’s won… what? A singular match? Over Sir Lionel Pennyfarthering? Larry SHAT, indeed.

But I guess you don’t really have to worry about that, huh Corey?

Because yer’ on anything but a heater.

Yer’ riding that “welcome back” energy, with a tucked tail and a bruised ego, after falling so hard on yer’ face, you made my deranged memaw Misty a BIG deal. Gee, thanks fer’ being such an inattentive, image driven loser, too busy simping for developmental-league wrestling businesses, that you took yer’ eye off the prize in the only ring that matters. The ring where you, and those you laude, keep getting bested. 

Here’s yer’ welcoming party, Corey. One you don’t really deserve, but one we’re happy to throw.

Tables. Ladders. Chairs.

From the team that just won these belts in the same environment… from someone that SEB drafted higher than you in WarGames. Ouch. Some “king” you are, pal.

Imagine being on a heater like Madison, and getting strapped with Tact, or Black… or worse McGee, and not a twelve time champion in the XWF.

Not a three time tag team champion.

Not a veteran of over a hundred matches in this… the mecca of professional wrestling.

Not someone who’s beaten Game Girl every time they’ve wrestled.

Not the one wrestler who’s proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that she can beat anyone “above her”.

But that’s not something we have to imagine

Because Madison Dyson walks into Ides of March with Dolly Waters.

And we’re the team of happenstance, who just so happens to have y’alls number at every beck and call you’ll try and make.

We’ve each beaten the best of either team we’re facing.

Dolly>GG

Madison>Corey

So fer’ any calls you’ll make about singles results, we’ve already answered those questions a time or two over.

We’re the veterans you’ve known, and not the veterans we’ve only just heard of this year. Not the flakey “kings” floating company to company, crying on social media when we lose.

For all that seems random of our pairing, things that might put myself and Madison at odds, it pales in comparison to how disadvantaged the lot of you are in this match because of the same reasons. That’s because we’re a pairing that works. The channel you can’t turn. A team of destiny.

Tell me I’m a bad person for it now GG…Bad for embarking on this quest with Madison.

Afterall, you drafted who you thought was ME (But was really Misty) to WarGames while “I” (Misty) was tagging with Madison.

You didn’t see a problem with it before… because deep down in yer’ in code you know I’m right.

We’re fighting for something greater, my friend.

The legacy of these championships means more than some random video you doom-scroll past on yer’ phone. Adding to the laundry-list of forgettable, unchallenged champions.

It demands more.

It demands Dyson and Waters.

The champions you can’t afford to look away from.   

Without even looking at Maddy, Dolly hits a blind tag on her, bringing her back into the mix.

Maddy points at herself and Dolly in turn.

This team FUCKS.

She then stabs a finger at the camera.

A combined total of over 30 years in this business. A combined total of over 15 years in the XWF. And I know what you’re thinking Scoops. Your last hip replacement is 30 years old alone. But here’s the brass tacks you withered old hack.

I screwed you out of the XTreme championship because you disgust me. Because my client Dommy-wommy deserved it ten times more than you. Because the fact that only now, as you perch precariously close to death, have you attained ANY sort of relevance. And what relevance you HAVE attained you’ve done so to the detriment of people who are younger, fitter, more exciting, and more talented than you.

And you know that, you geriatric puke! You KNOW THAT.

But you don’t care.

All you care about is keeping that one remaining foot out of the grave, keeping that name on one more set of lips…hoping and praying that even in this, the winter of your existence, that you can grab at one final, tenuous thread of legacy.

Well, fuck that. And fuck YOU. Because I’m making it my personal mission to end the Scoops McGee experiment once and for all. And I’ll have more than my fair share of tools to do it with.

And who’s going to stop me? Game Girl? The part timer’s part timer who shows up for a cheap pop, does nothing of any sort of relevance and disappears back into Super Mario World or what the fuck ever?

Ten years, bitch. TEN FUCKIN’ YEARS. And what do you have to show for it? Some smiles? Some hearts and minds? Honey this is wrestling! Success comes in blood, gold, and broken bones. Not good fee-fees and fun with pixels.

Madison gestures at herself and Dolly again.

This is more than happenstance. More than chaos. This is FATE. This is UNITY. This is everything those tag team championships have been waiting with baited breath for since 2012.

THE team.

THE alliance.

The TWIN BITCHES OF DESTRUCTION.

And it is going to take so, so, much more than the witless clusterfucks that stand before us to unseat FATE itself.
                                                                    


The rain has stopped.

The television finally clicks off. The static dies.

Dolly’s eyes don't flutter open. They simply rise. She turns and sits upright on the edge of her bed, her hair still damped from sleep’s sweat… the outlines of a warm dream barely brushed from her face.

Across the room, Madison is snoozing. Mouth slightly open, her Twizzler straw still looped between her fingers.

Lux leans against the wall, arms crossed, head tilted. Watching.

Dolly looks down at her own hands. She opens and closes them. Then again.

Something inside of her has shifted. Something true. Something earned.

For a moment it seems her aura is the only thing casting a glow on the room.

I think I get it now she whispers, to no one. …or maybe to everything.

It wasn’t just about winning. Or surviving. Or being vindicated.

It was about connection. Faith. Picking something worth protecting and holding it tight enough to matter.

Dolly breathes out. The air is clean. For maybe the first time ever, she feels… whole.
       
She gets up. Walking barefoot toward the window. The moonlight painting her aura in silver. The streets below silent, but Lux leans in to hear

We’re gonna do it. her voice calm, and certain We’re gonna make it.

And then-

A whisper. More guttural than soft. Male. Not Lux. Not Maddy.

Angel…

It’s Samael.

Dolly turns. Slowly.

No one there.

MY little angel…

It’s not a compliment.

It’s a claim,

Dolly’s face sets hard. The clarity, that confidence, it doesn’t vanish…. It sharpens. Into resolve.

Into war.

She glances toward Madison, still sleeping.

Time to wake up.


she says, raising Madison’s attention without even touching her,


There’s something coming.

And behind her, outside, in the quiet Stratford night…

A single crow caws.