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X-treme Wrestling Federation » Anarchy Boards » Anarchy RP Board
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Season of the Witch
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Roxy Cotton Offline
Head of XWF Shooting Star Division
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#1
10-21-2020, 04:56 PM





Roxy Cotton sits in her bedroom, alone. Her reflection is cast from a large vanity mirror, one that’s been repaired and restored, by the looks of its uneven paint and subtle cracks. Roxy’s face sips from a large goblet filled with dark red wine, her lips painted a matching hue. She looks fuzzy, as if barely there, or as if she were in a hazy, smoke-filled room.

Upon further focus it becomes apparent that the issue at hand is a sheer black veil hung over the face of the mirror, impossibly light, impossible frail, as if spun from spider’s web and dusted with soot.

Her green eyes blink, and she sets down her glass, complete with a stained set of kissing lips on the rim.



“Not long enough ago, women like myself were deemed wives of Satan. Even the lightest hint of immodesty or self-sufficiency could have us branded with a scarlet letter or thrown into stocks, bent over, helpless, to remind us as well as the rest of the town exactly what worth we really held. Women were a tool of famous men, a cup for them to drink from when they were thirsty, a fruit for them to tear into with gnashing teeth when they were hungry, and a hole for them to fuck when they felt so inclined. We were saddled with childbirth, weighed down with pregnancy after pregnancy until our bodies broke down and we were anchored to the Earth. The ones who dared to fly were snared in nets and burned alive at the stake. Even our stories of heraldry are sculpted to make our men look strong and handsome. Helen set the world at war and was never heard from again, while the inferior man’s exploits were carved into eternity. Phillipa inspired Harrison Bergeron to shed his handicaps and fly, but she never earned a last name…”


Roxy sips another wave of sapphire from her glass. Her lips glisten, even in the muted reflection.


“Laurel Ulrich explained it best. She warned the soft, flaccid men who’d been gripping the spoils of humanity’s reign at the top of the food chain that their time was shorter than their embarrassing cocks. Well-behaved women seldom make history, she said. And that’s held true throughout time. In Salem, women were rounded up and burned… and for what? For simply existing. For not standing in line properly enough. But something funny happened… we remembered the witches. We forgot the lighters of the fires.”


A hint of a grin curls Roxy’s mouth upward momentarily, before disappearing so quickly it could be argued it was never there.

“Sarah Lacklan was a firestarter in the XWF. She arrived, at my invitation, and strapped this company onto the pyre. She sunk her fangs into veins barely pulsing, and breathed life into them not by giving herself away but by taking. She took the Queen of the Ring and drove the Dukes and Engineers mad. She drank the blood this company was wasting and demanded more. Anarchy. More. Tag tournaments. More. Leap of Faith. More. The Universal Championship… more. And what did she get in return from those around her? She got forced to deal with hooded men and to dirty herself against bumfighters like Charlie Nickles and then get scheduled against barely literate sex offender registry occupants like Chris Chaos. And then, she got insulted by a man who wanted to impose history all over again at her expense.”


A slight chuckle, then a dip of a manicured index finger into the wine before being sucked clean. Light flickers behind her, gently.


“I hate to break it to you, Vinnie, but you crossed a line at Warfare. You violated me, my trust, my respect, and my cooperation. You hurt my friend, and you therefore hurt me. I think it’s high time, Vinnie, that I hurt you in the one way you can’t control. By damaging the thing that you covet most. Myself.”


Roxy pauses, letting the words hang like humidity in the air as orange reflects in the glass.


“When you put together this atrocity of a match, this ridiculous, sensationalized public exercise in humiliation and control, you thought you were teaching your champion a lesson by using her wife against her. You thought you were exercising power by clenching your fist on love, but now, it’s my fingers that are squeezing that fist around the throat of your limitations. If you want to watch a witch burn, you’re going to have to risk your own Helen. You’ll have to stand back and see if I burn or if I melt. I may very well blister up and burst right in front of your very eyes, Vinnie, even if I try my very best not to. Because… just like you wielded eternal love like a sword, I’m wielding it back at you.”


She sneers, and her wine-stained teeth show that this is far from the first glass of the night. From somewhere to her side, Roxy finds a handmaid’s headdress and sets it over her striking platinum blonde locks. Tightening a plain white bow just under her chin, she continues.


“At the end of the night on Thursday, the witching hour will smell of smoke and burning leaves. If the meat cooked on your fire is mine or if it’s Kenzi Grey’s, no one will win a thing. Neither of us has anything to lose… but you do.”


Roxy pulls the dressing from her hair, and the veil from the mirror. The light dancing across the glass is brighter, nearly glowing, as she turns away from it and tosses the fabric into the fire burning in the middle of her bedroom.


“Goody Cotton wouldn’t make history, Vinnie, curtseying like a good girl by her man’s side. But Roxy… Roxy sets the narrative on fire. Because, frankly Vinnie, you already struck the match. Now all you’ll have left to do after Anarchy is light a candle. In our memory, bb.”

[Image: pdAMRjn.png]
Hey there daddy...

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