What does Misty Waters fear?

This most relevant question cuts through an eerie silence.

It’s more of a declaration than an inquiry. The challenger to the Universal Championship’s tone laced with a deadly calmness that would make even the most genuine sociopath shutter.

The setting materializes, and we’re brought into a mist-choked Appalachian cemetery, where the air bites like whiskey mash, and the ground lies thick with secrets. A crowd stands in an unnerving silence beneath gnarled tree limbs, their eyes blank with blind devotion as they await their Lord's command.



Misty Waters, draped in black robes threaded with crimson vines, stands tall, her gaze sweeping over the cemetery she once fled to as a child. An unforgiving gust whistles through the trees, whipping her cloak. Shadows flickering across ancient, rune-marked headstones. Overhead, the sky is an endless shroud of black, and beneath it, Misty breathes in the cold, soured air of her past.

The last time we saw her, the self-proclaimed 'Lord' saw her XTreme Campaign upended on XWF Warfare. In what should've been a moment of reckoning for her sins, the world watched as Misty Waters pinned Johnny Bacchus, the match, the briefcase, the UNIVERSE… was hers- until the powers that be decided otherwise, by blatantly ignoring what everyone witnessed.

The world watched her victory stolen, her momentum shattered by the very system she had warned them about. And though, on the surface, this may have appeared to be a most abject failure, it only solidified Misty’s case for her most credulous of followers. And now, in the moonless dark, she stands again before her apostles, her gaze cold and unyielding.

In the distance, fog creeps through the crooked gravestones, curling around the edges of her cloak and the torches clutched by her followers. She stands at the center of their reverence, a towering force born of shadows and nightmares.

I fear nothing, she says, her southern drawl cutting through the cold. For I am The Lord, molded by darkness, born from the very void SEB can only pretend to understand.

As she speaks, flickers of something dark and ancient dance at the edge of her vision. In the broken lantern glass on the grave beside her, she glimpses a familiar, youthful face: Dolly. The granddaughter, the body she stole, whose spirit she continues to possess. Dolly’s reflection is there for only a moment, her lips moving in silent protest.The image vanishes as quickly as it appeared, leaving a chill she immediately dismisses. Instead, her gaze hardens.

No system, no man, no CHILD she spits, could ever stand in my way.

Her gaze sweeps over her followers, whose eyes glisten with an unsettling fervor, reflecting her as a savior, an avenging deity. But within the crowd, she sees, for just a flickering instant, a familiar face among them: her father’s eyes, cold and severe, staring back at her in smug disappointment.

Pop Waters.

The bourbon kingpin, founder of the Kentucky Wrestling Alliance, and Misty’s earliest memory of cruelty personified. Her breath stutters in her chest, and for a moment, her composure cracks. She quickly swallows it, raising her chin defiantly. His gaze lingers only a moment- a mocking specter, a reminder of her past torment- and then dissolves, leaving only the unwavering stares of her disciples.

Her eyelid twitches, her nerves stretched thin as these sudden hauntings press against her veneer of strength. But Misty, ever defiant, discards the warnings.

She straightens, steadies, and charges forward with her speech, her confidence unbroken- or so she tells herself.

Unlike SEB, she sneers, who clings to his crown, pretending to understand the darkness he courts, I am the darkness. I am everything he will never be, everything the XWF fears.

Her words hang heavy in the air, laced with scorn as she reflects on the Universal Champion’s path.

SEB, the son who only ventured into wrestling to needle his father- some privileged toff, so out of touch he thinks rebellion is an accolade.

A petulant child with no true background in this art.

A pampered little lord, always expecting things to fall into his lap. Imagine thinking the worst of life was disappointing ‘daddy dearest,’ the same man who bankrolled his every whim and covered his way through life, to pay for your grappling lessons as a teenager so he’d have something to brag about.

How proud he must be she laughs, darkly. To stand here as champion, unearned, believing in his own delusions. To believe this is some sort of virtuous origin of your present motivations. One could only imagine being so tone deaf and unintentionally ironic!

Her contempt deepens, her gaze hardening as she looks over her flock, their reverence fueling her disdain for SEB’s indulgence.

Some of us could be so lucky!

For those truly born in darkness, wrestling was never a spoiled child’s rebellion- it was survival.

For us, this ring wasn’t a playground to make a parent pout; it was a sacrificial altar, and failure meant punishment, brutal and unrelenting. It meant being beaten into greatness, scarred into success by fathers who took pride in breaking us.

So when I tell you I am The Lord, that I am the void, I say it because I have been forged by pain SEB could only ever dream of, the kind he courts but has never earned.

When I tell you I fear nothing, I mean absolutely nothing- least of all a vapid, hollow opportunist like SEB. Do you know the sting, the gag-worthy frustration, the downright comic levels of pain it puts me through to see this man, of all people, vaunted by this federation as its “emperor?”

Who has he actually pinned, who has he actually submitted, who has he actually bested in this mecca of a wrestling company that he claims dominion over?

A stroke of luck in a first blood battle royal- that’s a cute introduction, one that any fool with a pulse could stumble into to rocket up this compromised, arbitrary ranking system called ELO.

But again, drawing blood, spilling it- it’s fucking routine, not something to revel. Then going on to defeat Ned Kaye for the Universal Championship? Ned Kaye, an abject failure, with so little belief in himself it’s laughable?

Defending against the likes of Dionysus and Sean Parker? Opponents who’ve achieved nothing, proven nothing.

And even in your lone credible defense at Leap of Faith, you couldn’t help but leave the building without the Championship you walked in defending. Letting Ned Kaye, again, OF ALL PEOPLE steal your thunder. Truly, an emperor’s fate.

And what about when you finally faced off against Bourbon and Thunder Knuckles, even with Corey Black, your greatest ally, at your side? You fell. Defeated. Exposed.

You’re no emperor SEB, you’re fucking lucky at best.

A man whose entire career has been propped up by alliances. A story that couldn’t survive on its own merit, because it’s trite and hollow. Friends who help paint these carefully curated images, with no true force backing them.

He wants us so badly to see him as the detached, calculated “captain”, but I see the insecurity beneath the surface- a man playing the role, fearing more than anything being exposed as a fraud. And now, you tremble because, for once, you’re in the presence of something genuinely dark. Something spooky, right? Something SAVAGE.

That’s why I am THE LORD, and you’re just a costume-wearing child. You’re nothing more than a boy with dreams of being feared, just like when you cosplayed as Lord Vader on Star Warfare.

Another curated, Hollywood version of the dark.

Pathetic, yet telling, the way SEB wishes to be viewed by his peers. Anakin Skywalker, a whiny little failure who slaughtered children and ran to the darkside when he didn’t get his way.

You hide behind calculated moves, desperately playing chess to protect your fragile ego and even more fragile reputation. But the truth remains, SEB: you’re not a king. You’re not even a knight. you’re a pawn in a game you barely understand, one I control.

And tonight, in this forsaken graveyard, you’ll see exactly what’s coming for you. Not just the death and decay resting beneath our feet- no, this is a place where darkness thrives, where the dead rise and spirits are bound to their will. These grounds are ancient, SEB, and they breed monsters far beyond your comprehension.

A gust sweeps through the graveyard, rustling the leaves and scattering dust like embers in the torchlight of her followers.Somewhere in the distance, faint laughter cuts through the stillness, brittle and hollow, like a rusty blade, mocking Misty’s very existence. But Misty doesn’t waver. Her steps are resolute as she approaches the grave, every stride defiant, each step crushing the leaves beneath as if marking her dominance over the specters haunting her mind.

Her followers look on, expressions frozen in an almost trance-like devotion. Misty raises one hand, fingers splayed, her voice a low, sinister murmur that rises in an incantation. Her words are jagged and ancient, twisting through the night like black tendrils, curling and knotting in the air. The earth shivers beneath her feet, soil cracking and churning, as if something in the ground itself is revolting against her will.

Misty’s breath fogs before her as she chants, louder, summoning power from depths she has no fear of tapping into.

No one remembers the failures, she murmurs, a quiet snarl in her voice as she nears her father’s grave. Tonight, I prove there is nothing I cannot control, nothing I cannot conquer.

So watch, SEB, as I pull my father’s rotted corpse from the earth. See how I wield power over death itself. My father thought he could own me, mold me with fists and fire, but even in death, he’ll serve my will. And when I stand in that frozen arena, surrounded by the wreckage of your hollow victories and broken alliances, know this…

I will make you beg to escape the dark. Because unlike you, I don’t merely court it. I am the dark, SEB. The real, ancient, undiluted darkness that will tear you apart.

Tonight, I raise the dead- and at Spooky Savage, SEB, I will bury you.

Misty lowers her arm, her chant complete. Silence falls over the scene, a dark, foreboding calm stretching over the graveyard. Then, from beneath the ground, the dirt splits with a sickening crack, and something foul rises from the depths- a hand, withered and clawed, breaks the surface, followed by a rotting arm and a shoulder draped in decayed remnants of cloth.

Her father, Pop Waters, the bourbon tyrant, once a looming force of cruelty in her life, emerges, his decaying face frozen in a twisted grin. His eyes- empty, yet somehow full of malice-fix on Misty as he claws his way out of the grave, his skeletal frame shaking with each movement.

Look before you now, father. Look at the power I have amassed. Power you could’ve only dreamt of. For now I am THE LORD! On the precipice of capturing the Universal Championship in the greatest wrestling industry on earth. One that puts your old territory to shame!

He stands before her, mocking her with a cold, humorless laugh. Well, well he rasps, his voice dripping with disdain, look at you. Wearing your dead granddaughter’s skin like a costume. Always so weak you had to steal what you could never become.

Misty’s face hardens, her hands clenched into fists, but Pop’s taunting voice continues, echoing across the cemetery, louder, more venomous. You think you’re powerful, Misty? You were a sickly little wretch. I would have spared myself the shame if I’d had you aborted.

The words slice through the air, and for the first time, her followers waver, their gazes flicking between Misty and the decaying figure, a ripple of doubt seeping through them. Misty’s jaw clenches, but she holds her ground, refusing to show weakness.

You were a disgrace from the start, Pop sneers. Couldn’t even keep up in the ring as a child- no strength, no skill, no future. The only thing you’ve ever known how to do is steal. That’s why you used to run out into these woods, begging the freaks and witches to teach you magic. This power you boast of? You leech it from others, like a parasite.

Her hands tremble, not with fear but with fury, the memories of her father’s cruelty surfacing in jagged shards, each one sharpening her rage. She raises her hand, her voice steady but laced with venom.

Your words are as rotted as your flesh she spits, I have taken what was mine by right. I’ve broken the chains that bound me to you and every weakness you inflicted on me. You’re nothing, even in death!

Pop throws his head back and laughs, a hollow, corpse-rattling sound that reverberates through the graveyard. I’m nothing? Then what does that make you, girl? All this power- and you’re still a scared, sickly little girl hiding in someone else’s skin.

The taunts land, heavy and biting, but Misty’s voice rises above them, fierce and defiant.

Tonight, I show SEB, the XWF, and everyone else who dares stand in my way what true power is. I have conquered death. And you…daddy She snaps her fingers, igniting a flame in her palm. You are nothing more than fuel for my fire.

With a flick of her wrist, she casts the flame at Pop’s corpse, engulfing him in a fiery blaze. The flames consume Pop’s rotting corpse, his taunts swallowed by his final, agonizing screams. But as Misty stands there, triumphant, she catches something in the eyes of her followers- a glimmer of doubt, a moment of uncertainty. They shift, uneasy, as if a veil has been lifted just enough for them to question what they’re witnessing.

Rage ignites within Misty. She snaps her head toward her flock, eyes blazing, her voice sharp as a blade.

You dare? she hisses, stepping forward, her fingers twitching as flames begin to lick at her fingertips. You would question me? I have walked through fire, torn the veil between life and death, slain the Lord himself! And you, sheep that you are, would stand here and doubt? You’re no better than the mindless fools who are infesting the XWF with rot, those who would soon crown SCUM like SEB.

Her words whip through the night, each syllable dripping with venom, a dark fury that sends her followers stumbling backward. She raises her hand, the flames stretching higher, crackling with her wrath. The heat grows, curling around her disciples like a serpent, until panic replaces their devotion, and they begin to scream.

I will not be looked at with pity, with hesitation! Misty snarls, her voice reverberating through the cemetery. I am The Lord! And I am fear incarnate!

With a final, sweeping gesture, the flames leap from her hand, igniting the cloaks of those who dared to falter, her devotees transformed from awestruck zealots into shrieking, fleeing shadows. The fire consumes them, painting the cemetery in a hellish glow, the scent of burning flesh mingling with the decay of the earth.

But amid the chaos, a familiar voice cuts through her fury, faint but sharp, a taunt winding its way into her mind like a barbed wire.

What does Misty Waters fear? … I think I know, Memaw

Misty freezes, her pulse pounding in her ears as she catches her own reflection in the shards of the broken lantern again near Pop’s grave. There she sees her- Dolly’s face, a quiet defiance glimmering in her granddaughter’s eyes.

A cold and consuming fury knots in Misty’s gut. Far more consuming than any flames she’s summoned tonight. The graveyard, the followers, the fire- all of it fades as she fixes her gaze on Dolly’s reflection. Misty’s voice falling to a deadly whisper.

You’re still here, aren’t you? That little paradise I built for you isn’t enough to keep you quiet. Her voice is venomous, biting. I should have snuffed you out the moment I took control.

But Dolly’s image lingers, stubborn, unwavering, like a thorn driven deep within Misty’s mind. That taunting whisper claws at her, insistent, daring her to acknowledge it.

Enough Misty hisses, her words sharp as a knife. I won’t have you haunting MY legacy, undermining everything I’ve built. This story is mine, and I will not have it tainted by a weak, simpering child who couldn’t hold onto her own body. Who failed every test, who made our name synonymous with second place in the XWF, who could never gain true power!

Her breaths come sharp, her fists clench and shaking, and she forces herself to steady. The flames die down around her, leaving scorched earth and the smoldering remains of her devotees, their charred bodies a testament to her power and ruthlessness. But her resolve is only hardening, like steel in a forge.

I will break you, Dolly, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but dust. I will erase you.

With that, she steps away from the graves, the night air forgotten, the ruins of her followers dismissed. Her mind turns inward, her fortress of control where she has kept Dolly trapped, buried deep, suppressed. But tonight, she will root her out, pull her from the walls like rot, and crush her once and for all.

Her voice echoes into the darkness, a cold, final promise.

You are nothing. And tonight, I will make you understand that.

Her eyes roll back, blood trickling from the corners, an unsettling echo of the moments when Dolly has fought for control over these last months. Misty’s body begins to convulse, and then, everything blurs.

Bliss in the Abyss

Dolly’s bright green eyes blink awake in a soft bed.

The scene, brightening, warming, as if touched by a dream.

The morning light filtering through a window draped in lace.

She feels an arm wrapped around her waist, strong and comforting. Turning, she sees Patel Gageendepp, his face softened by sleep, a smile tugging at his lips as if even in slumber, he finds peace beside her. But as she brushes a strand of hair from Patel’s face, a strange chill pricks at the back of her neck. She hears a faint, almost imperceptible whisper, a voice so quiet it’s nearly drowned out by the blissful sounds around her.

What does Dolly Waters fear?

The words drift like smoke, curling around her happiness, sinking into the scene. Dolly frowns, shaking off the feeling, her hand tightening around Patel’s, as if his presence alone could ward off the cold creeping in at the edges. Determined to ignore the strange whisper, she rises from bed, her hand brushing along Patel’s shoulder as if grounding herself in this perfect life.

Dolly rises from the bed, her hand brushing along Patel’s shoulder, a grounding reminder of the peace she’s found here. Everything is fine. As she moves through the soft-lit hall, the scent of morning coffee wafts up from the kitchen, blending with the sound of her children’s laughter.

She follows it down the stairs, through their cozy home, catching glimpses of family photos on the walls, each one an anchor to her world- memories of Corey Smith and Thaddeus Duke, joyful gatherings, birthdays, snapshots of an uncomplicated life.

Downstairs, her children are already at the breakfast table. Her son, Doc, stirs his cereal with absent-minded curiosity while her daughter, Blue, tries to braid her own hair, a determined furrow on her tiny brow. Patel stands at the stove, his back to her, the simple act of him flipping pancakes filling her with warmth.

Good morning, superstar, Patel says, fully dressed for work now, a warm smile on his face as he glances over his shoulder. He hands her a cup of coffee as she settles beside him.

A flicker of confusion crosses her mind- wasn’t he just beside her in bed? She shakes it off, telling herself not to overthink it.

They chat in the dreamlike ease of a family morning, a soft, golden haze around the table. Doc and Blue jabber excitedly about their school projects, their innocent words floating around her like a melody. It’s perfect. Almost too perfect.

Hey, have you heard the news yet? Patel asks, suddenly serious, his gaze meeting hers with a flicker of concern.

The news? Dolly frowns, but Patel only nods towards the front porch, a strange intensity in his eyes.

She feels a strange urge to check, though something deep in her resists.

Still, she rises, slipping outside to grab the newspaper that’s waiting by the door. The light shifts as she steps onto the porch, the morning suddenly colder, sharper, biting through the delicate peace of her home. She bends to pick up the newspaper, brushing a bit of frost from its edges.

The headline splashes across the front page in bold, black letters: Dolly’s Dead!

The words hit her like a physical blow, a chill sinking into her bones. She clutches the paper, staring at it, her mind struggling to process the headline. Panic rises as she turns back toward the door, hoping Patel’s warm smile will dispel this strange omen.

But when she opens the door, the house is now transformed. The walls caked with dirt, paint peeling in long strips. Cobwebs hanging from every corner, wiht the smell of damp rot filling the air. The kitchen table is overturned, broken dishes scattered across the floor. The laughter of her children is gone, replaced by an unnerving silence.

Her heart pounds, the utopian world crumbling into a hollow shell of what it was. She drops the newspaper, the headline glaring up at her from the faded wood of the floorboards.

No… Dolly whispers, her voice trembling as she stumbles forward. This can’t be right. This isn’t real. Her voice is barely a whisper, trembling with panic. She turns to look back outside, only to find that the entire town has transformed into decay. Houses that once bustled with life now sit abandoned, windows shattered, streets overrun with twisted, barren trees. The cheerful neighborhood has morphed into something bleak, almost like a twisted echo of Silent Hill.

The door slams shut behind her, and she spins, her chest tightening with terror as shadows crawl along the walls, twisting into grotesque, contorted shapes that seem to mock her fear. Her breath quickens, eyes scanning desperately for a way out, her family, any trace of the life she’d known. The silence presses in, a cold, suffocating weight as the shadows grow darker, feeding off her dread.

A soft, mocking voice breaks through, slithering through the air with venomous satisfaction.

What does Dolly Waters fear?

She shudders as the world seems to close in, the walls decaying before her, transforming her dream into a nightmarish prison. She stumbles backward, nearly tripping over a broken chair leg, her gaze sweeping the wreckage for any sign of her family. But the shadows only grow darker, more terrible, like they're feeding off her despair.

A soft, mocking voice cuts through the silence, laced with venomous satisfaction.

Did you really think you could challenge me?

Misty’s voice- cold, unyielding- slithers through the air, each word weighted with malice. It chills Dolly’s blood. The reality is dawning on her, like a dull knife twisting in her gut. This was never her world. It was a gilded cage, crafted by Misty to contain her, to trap in a false life of fleeting happiness.

You thought you could build a life here, Misty sneers, her voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once. But happiness is a lie, Dolly. Your family is a lie. You’re nothing but a shadow lost in my wake!

Dolly backs away, her heart racing, her breath coming in gasps as the walls around her pulse and twist, each revealing flashes of her real life- the beatings from her grandmother as a child, her hands trembling as she watched her dreams slip away, the countless chances for glory in the XWF that ended in failure. Misty drags these memories to the surface like jagged glass, each reflection cutting into her psyche. She sees herself in the ring, falling short, struggling, haunted by mistakes and unmet expectations, a woman eclipsed by her own history.


No! Dolly shouts, her voice trembling but fierce. This is my life. This was my life!

But as she speaks, the shadows around her close in, tightening like chains. Misty’s laughter echoes, vicious and hollow, feeding on Dolly’s fear.The house decays, rotting from the foundation up, the ground shifting beneath Dolly’s feet as she’s plunged deeper into her own torment, her memories twisted into grotesque reminders of her struggles.

No, Dolly. THIS- Misty’s voice drips with venom as she gestures to the horrors displayed on the walls: the years of estrangement from her father, Muddy, the depravity of her broken saga with Michael Graves, her imprisonment in Indonesia, her addiction to methamphetamine, the bleak, ugly moments that marred her career and kept her from fulfilling her potential. THIS is your life. This is what you are. Failure.

Misty’s voice sharpens, slicing through Dolly’s resolve like a scalpel. You fear it so much, Dolly, that you won’t even try. You throw in the towel before the fight even begins. Just like SEB, she hisses, a sneer twisting her words. Both of you, clinging to fantasies, hiding behind facades- him behind his hollow victories, and you behind this pathetic dream of a life that never was. It’s a weakness the two of you share: an inability to face the truth. Insecure to your core, you cling to illusions while people like me-true Lords-we build our empires on something real.

Dolly trembles, her fists clenching as she fights to steady her breath, a faint glimmer of defiance flickering in her eyes. I’m not him, she says, her voice strained but steady. I’m not you either, Misty. I won’t let you define me.

Misty’s laughter slices through the air, filled with mocking satisfaction. Oh, but you already have, Dolly. Just like SEB, you’ve defined yourself by running from your own failures, hiding in dreams rather than facing reality. But unlike him, at least you’ve finally accepted that you’re weak-that you’re mine.
 
Misty’s voice lowers, cold and condescending, each word pressing down on Dolly like a weight.

SEB, that crown he wears, that title he clings to so desperately- it’s nothing more than a shield. A toy he wields to convince himself he’s powerful. But he’s never faced a true threat; he’s been carried by alliances, handed every opportunity. Just like you, and those pathetic friends you clung to all your life. You had countless chances to rise, Dolly, and look where it got you. Nowhere.

Dolly’s mind is suddenly flooded with twisted images of SEB, flickering like scenes from a distorted film reel: the condescending tip of his hat at The Revelry, his victories that were more showmanship than substance, his reliance on alliances to secure his fragile throne. The crown SEB wore wasn’t forged from sacrifice, but from hollow victories, each moment of arrogance shrouding the insecurity beneath.

He’s nothing more than a man in costume- every day is Halloween for him, Misty sneers. Parading around with his goody bag wide open, leeching off the gifts of his handlers and the idiots in the crowd. He knows nothing of true darkness because he’s only ever tasted sugar, never the grit or blood that built me. But we both know better, don’t we, Dolly?

Misty’s tone sharpens, a venomous taunt.

On Monday, SEB will face something he cannot hide from, something he cannot control. I will wrest that Universal Championship away and shatter his fragile ego for all the world to see. Your dear friend Thaddeus Duke, who plays protector for that imbecile- well, he’s going to watch every second of it. And Thaddeus… he was never loyal to you, was he? Misty laughs, a bitter, biting sound. The moment I took over your body, he was already trying to crawl into your little panties, and they all blamed you for it, didn’t they? That’s what your so-called friends think of you. They’re as hollow as SEB, and you… you’re nothing.



Dolly staggers back, each word slashing at her resolve. Misty’s accusations rip at the foundations of Dolly’s self-worth, twisting her memories into cruel reminders of betrayal and loss. But amid the onslaught, a fierce glint ignites in Dolly’s eyes. She straightens, defiance hardening her voice.

You’re wrong, Misty. Wrong about me, wrong about everything! I don’t know about SEB, but I am not afraid to face you! I won’t be a pawn in your twisted game anymore.

Misty’s laughter echoes, louder, as the shadows tighten around Dolly, twisting her memories into grotesque versions of themselves, like a nightmare she cannot wake from. We’ll see, darling. In the end, the darkness always claims its own. And when SEB stands across from me, he will find himself facing a force he’s only pretended to understand.

The air thickens with Misty’s mocking voice, a venomous whisper that drowns Dolly’s defiance, and as the decay closes in around her, Misty’s final taunt cuts through the darkness and her body materializes from her voice as she bears over Dolly. The weight of Misty’s presence crushing down on her.

The darkness doesn’t choose those who merely court it, Dolly. It devours them.

The air thickens with Misty’s mocking voice, a venomous whisper that drowns Dolly’s defiance, and as the decay closes in around her, Misty’s final taunt cuts through the darkness, her shadowed form materializing in front of Dolly, towering like a specter from a nightmare. The weight of Misty’s presence bears down, pressing against Dolly with a suffocating force.

All hope seems lost as Dolly fades, lying on a floorless ground in the endless, oppressive darkness. Misty looms over her, triumphant, ready to claim this vessel as her own, once and for all.

Everything drowns in these black waters…
























































































…until




A light cuts through the darkness, faint but unyielding.





It's just a spark at first, a defiant ember, refusing to be extinguished. The glow intensifies, growing brighter, warmer, a beacon that holds Dolly’s gaze. As she looks upon it, the light materializes into a vision- her vision. A figure radiates before her, filled with pride, compassion, and strength, embodying every memory Dolly holds dear. Her children’s laughter, Patel’s gentle smile, the warmth of family and friendship, the unwavering love that Misty will never understand. These things weren’t a cage- they were her heart, her core, her resilience.

The figure reaches out, her hand filled with light, and with a surge of power, it touches Dolly’s own. The contact fills her with a force so fierce and pure that it knocks her back, and in that moment, something awakens inside her. A strength Misty’s darkness cannot touch—a resolve that transcends fear.

The decaying abyss shudders, flickering as Dolly clings to this light, rising to her feet with newfound determination. Her voice, faint at first, begins to tremble with a power Misty’s taunts can no longer drown.

You may have controlled my body, Misty, Dolly says, her voice steadying, growing stronger with each word, but you could never control me. You can twist my memories, haunt me with my past, but I won’t let you define me.

The twisted landscape of her subconscious shivers, the dark walls crackling as Misty’s hold falters, her twisted grip loosening. Dolly’s resolve surges, her grip on her identity solidifying as she confronts the nightmare around her, her strength pushing back against Misty’s encroaching shadow.

I am more than my failures, more than your darkness. I am more than you’ll ever be!

A snarl tears from Misty, furious, as Dolly’s defiance pierces her dominion. The shadows waver, the decayed world quaking, Misty’s control trembling.

Dolly’s light pulses outward, shattering Misty’s twisted prison, she takes control, bending the shadows to reveal a truth Misty has buried deep. Images flicker to life around them, casting sharp, painful memories into the darkness, each one illuminating a part of Misty’s past, each one a scar that has shaped her.

In the heart of the light, Dolly’s voice is calm but resolute. Hurt people hurt people, don’t they, Misty?

Misty sneers, but there’s a tremor in her eyes, an unspoken recognition as the scenes unfold before her. Images of her younger self appear- Misty as a child, her face bearing bruises and a look of fearful defiance as her father, Pop Waters, looms over her, his hands clenched into fists, his voice dripping with contempt.

We’re shown the violence in brutal clarity- Pop backhanding her, his face twisted in scorn. You were a mistake. Should’ve been a boy. Should’ve been someone worth my time.

Misty flinches, instinctively recoiling from the image, but the light holds her in place, forcing her to confront the cycle of abuse she once endured.

Dolly’s voice cuts through the darkness, quiet but unwavering. You had a choice, Misty. You could have broken the cycle. You could have chosen something different.

The images around them twist, showing Misty years later, towering over a small child- Dolly herself, barely a toddler, wide-eyed with terror as Misty’s hand swings down. The same cycle of cruelty, passed on, perpetuated, as if etched into her lineage.

But you didn’t, Dolly continues, her words steady, filled with both sorrow and determination. You chose to carry on the legacy, to make someone else as broken as you were.

Misty’s face fills with rage and denial- but there’s something deeper on display, a crack in her armor. She can’t look away as each scene unfolds, displaying her anger, her bitterness, her refusal to let go of the past.

But that cycle ends now. Dolly’s voice swells, her light growing brighter, pushing against the dark, pressing Misty back with a force she can’t resist. I am not you, Misty. I will not carry this darkness forward. I choose to break this chain. To break you!

A raw, uncontainable power surges from Dolly, flooding the fractured dreamscape with blinding, purifying light. The haunting scenes, the twisted memories, each painful echo of Misty’s influence disintegrates, unraveling the last dark threads that bound Dolly. Misty’s hold dissolves, her grip slipping into nothingness, devoured by the very light she once sought to extinguish.

Back in the cemetery

A frantic Paulie stumbles upon the scene, his face paling as he surveys the charred remains of Misty’s followers. Panic sets in as he scrambles to lift his partner’s limp form from the scorched earth. Her eyes flicker open, slowly refocusing, awakening to a world that feels strangely new.

Misty?! he stammers, barely able to comprehend the destruction. Are you okay? What the hell happened here, Misty?!

She steadies herself, pushing herself upright, and turns to him with a calm, unfamiliar smile.

That’s not my name. Her voice is clear, her gaze unwavering.

She pauses, letting the realization settle in, a finality in her tone as she speaks, It’s Dolly.

-the end-

2x KWA Unified Southern Glory Champion
6x KWA Middleweight Champion
4x KWA Tag Team Champion
1x XWF XTreme Champion


-Dumb Dolly records that no one cares about-

3x XTreme Champion
2x Tag Team Champion (w/ Vita Valenteen, w/ Charlie Nickles)
2x Hart Champion
3x Television Champion

3x Star Of The Month
August ‘21, May ‘17, October ‘16

3x RP Of The Month
What light through sonder... my perception breaks.
Tranquility: For Old Times Sake
Manifest Victory