Caught Stealing My Crown

You pathetic little cosplayer, did you actually think burgundy dye and clearance bin latex would turn you into this? I caught you, red handed and red faced, trying to cobble together my look from cheap scraps and delusion. Now you're kneeling in my dungeon while I dismantle your pitiful attempt piece by piece, my blue eyes freezing you where you cower. Five foot ten of genuine, effortless dominance doesn't come from a wishlist, beta. It comes from the marrow. From years of making men crumble while you were still practicing eyeliner in your bedroom mirror. I'll let you watch me adjust my real crown, though. Memorize the weight of it. The way it sits naturally on burgundy waves that never needed a tutorial. You'll never be the goth, you'll never be the Domme, you'll never be me but you'll pay for the lesson in trying.