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Atara Raven · (05-30-2021)

For those that had paid attention, who weren't so self-absorbed and blind to the world bustling around them, it should have been a familiar scene. Almost exact to one shown just some days prior. Gone however was the lovesome and loose limbed beauty of emerald and gold but instead, in her place, stood a pulchritudinous blue eyed brunette. Supple flesh clearly kissed by Apollo's rays were draped and wrapped with white linen that had been fashioned into the peplos. Unlike the prior, the brown that had been noted at first was meticulously woven atop her head into a laddered and braided bun while any tendrils that might slip were held in place with a golden diadem. Where Betsy had stood as mere effigy, Atara was graven image.

On the surface, the scene set before cameras no doubt seemed a case of one-upmanship, and while Atara could understand that train of thought, expected it even, she was here for more than what artifice would suggest. Atara was Greek through and through and travelling into Turkey wasn't something she did lightly. Given the two countries history, past and present, she held no guilt in saying there was some prejudice that ran deep in her blood. Coming to Turkey required something of her more than just showmanship. There were plenty remains of Aphrodite's places of worship in Greece and her surrounding territories. The Grecian could have done this exact setup at any of them and no one would have been any the wiser. What seemed a simple heap of broken marble, a remnant skeleton of a time gone by, held a deeper meaning to Atara.

Betsy hadn't chosen it on a whim. Clever girl.

The camera didn't find the usual lively and animate face of the Goddess they had once cheered. Instead it framed a dour expression and where once vibrant Aegean blue orbs had perched were eyes dark and tumultuous as raging seas. When lips would part the rasp that escaped did not pour as honey. Gone was it's expected youthful enthusiasm. Sonorous and matronly, it leaked no frivolity or lightheartedness.

"Depth of character," Atara scoffed with a hmph before continuing to no one. "My true colors," she said again puffing air through her nose in disbelief. Turning for the camera, Atara put her back towards the temple and stretched her arms out wide. Palms upward in a display to suggest her surroundings the Grecian simply....shrugged.

"I've painted a pretty clear picture with my true colors Betsy! Since day one, despite all my mishaps, the inconsistency, the vanishing acts, my brush strokes never strayed! Atara exclaimed. Her tone and expression hid none of the exasperation she was feeling.

"Aphrodite Incarnate!"With flushed cheeks she screamed and waved a hand behind her once again emphasizing the temple before continuing her soon to be flash flood of tirade.

"Did you think it was just a nickname? Some silly gimmick I contrived to have an excuse to whip my boobs out on a whim? Just me massaging my vanity? Did I post one thot pic too many or not articulate myself well enough for the genius fucking minds of wrassling to understand me! Did you think me the dull barbie that lacked any substance like everyone else in this business who can't see past their next genitalia joke to have anything remotely resembling a deep effin thought?

Lips pursed tight, Atara shook her head, "No Bets, you're not stupid. You don't get to play the trust card, you don't get to play victim and you definately don't to get stand on THIS SPOT! Defile these grounds! Treat this place, this city devoted to the Goddess I live and breathe like one of you're halfcocked stage parodies. You don't get to feign ignorance.

A finger was aimed at the camera, "Either you are or you aren't Betsy and whatever the case that blame rest squarely on your shoulders. You and everyone else. This was always how it was going to end. Shawn, that ended the way it was always going to end. If you ever thought otherwise, you weren't paying attention like he didn't pay attention.

Aphrodite Incarnate.

Everything she embodies. Every epithet. Every transformation from Ishtar further east. All the way back from this spot, one of the oldest places of religious worship in the world, this spot where they called her Mother Goddess to Aphrodite in Athens, to Venus in Rome where her cult worshiped her as a warrior goddess all the way to the Vatican where they fucking call her Mary Mother of God! Whatever they call her Betsy, I am that made flesh and no man or woman on this Earth will stand above me, they will not fucking cage me! They will not silence me and any that try will ultimately feel my wrath!

There are no exceptions, the cost of hubris intended or not is my cotdamn fist in your cotdamn mouth! That's what brought this on Betsy! That Belt Belongs On My Waist!

I have spoke nothing but the truth about myself since I first walked in these doors. What I want, who I respect. Who can get fucked. I've embraced my flaws infront of these people. I have told these people what I fear most. They have seen my ups and downs and I am nothing but liberal in sharing what I do outside the ring. They know I'm not perfect Betsy and don't I apologize for it. I AM ME.

They know, they see, I am just as much an embodiment of them as am Aphrodite and that's what as endeared this world to my Gods. What separates them...immortality. That's what I am after Betsy. The fame. The adoration. Trascendence through memory or hell, outright divination.

That's why I call myself Goddess! That's why when I told you they were jealous, it was truth. I AM JUST ME and I dont have to weave fanciful tales or exaggerate every single one of my life tragedy's to seem empathetic. To get the attention I want, my name in the spotlight. The TV Shows. The Tournaments. The title shots. It's why I work half as hard to be just as good and the roster can't stand it.

I am what they can't be. What you can't be.

I dont need a magic porter potty. I don't need lycanthropy. I don't need a fucking a army. I don't need to deep dive my opponents history. I just need to show up and be me.

Aphrodite Incarnate. The Goddess. The woman who didn't need your friendship. Doesn't want your friendship. The Better Woman who only wants that belt and for you to kneel....

...and Praise Themis.

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