“Labels,” the Divapocalypse sighed. “You’ll learn they taste the same when you’re devoured.”
And lying in the center of the ring was the microphone, a diamond division belt, and a pile of glitter that smelled faintly of Candi’s perfume. X Club Wrestling Divapocalypse
The Divapocalypse was over. But somewhere in the rafters, a single cassette tape began to rewind. “Labels,” the Divapocalypse sighed
She threw the championship belt.
It started with a crack. Not of thunder, but of fractured reality. a diamond division belt