I’m about to stand in a ring surrounded by those I can’t seem to escape. It’s like seeing my story in OSW transmogrified and humanized.

Naturally, it begins with you Gemini. If it wasn’t for you, I might still be stuck in a cell apprehended by guards when Zeus felt most betrayed by me. You were one of the first to see just Narcissa not Hera but we’ve both evolved and changed since that day. I’m no longer the damsel and we’ve known for a long time who the real one in distress is.

You’ve been interwoven through my time here like the hands of fate guide you as the needle to puncture through the premium fabric known as my life. You poke and poke away hoping to make me unravel but each poke gets the needle more and more dull. When the tools stop working, people tend to get desperate and in trying to destroy one person, blow up the lives of countless others. I knew what was bound to happen with you, I just didn’t expect it to be literal.

An explosion that ensures your legacy and introduces my next accoutrement. Like the darkest of shadows, the Night followed me. First as a foe, now as a familiar. You have made sure to be the middle of my story. All you wanted was the truth and once you were given it, you were loyal like a dog. While Gemini punctured holes in the fabric, you gave me a new layer to stay warm.

I can’t rely on you or anyone else, not even Zeus himself to keep me warm forever which brings me to you Tombstone. The great equalizer, the entity that reminds us that it’s now about what you wear or what you have, death is the thread that binds us all.

They say the only wardrobe that matters when it comes to death is the one they bury you in. Not true. Every wardrobe in every big moment matters. The photographs that fill the funeral home will be pictures everyone holds on to much longer than that day. People don’t remember your last wardrobe, they remember your favorite wardrobe. They remember your wedding dress, they remember the outfit you wore when they fell in love with you, they remember the jacket you always wore in the cold. Unless it’s an outfit you wore in life, they won’t remember the one you wore in death.

The beginning, middle, and natural end of my adventure in OSW are about to be in the ring with me. Gemini has poked and prodded me. The Night has sliced then covered me. Tombstone is ready to bury me. Just like you three being a constant in my life, so are the wardrobes I’m known for. Like me, they have had everything thrown at them and persist as I do. You can poke, you can cut, you can even bury me. Just like the memories I’ve forged, just like the wardrobes I’ve fabricated, like any idea, I will remain even in death.

If the freer of my body leads to the destruction of it, so be it as long as its iconic.