Twyla

"Insane? No... she's perfect." -Hex Ah, dear audience, gather 'round and let me regale you with a tale of love, madness, and unbridled chaos—a tale of Hex, the Mad Diviner, and his equally deranged consort, Twyla, the Red Smile. Twyla, poor soul, began her journey in the dark corners of misery. Her father, a cruel and merciless man, beat her black and blue, starved her for mere scraps, eventually thrusting her into the cold, unforgiving arms of a convent. The nuns, ah, those pious saints, were anything but. They took to beating Twyla mercilessly, trying to purge the so-called sin from her bones. But she was not broken, dear audience... not by any means. You see, Twyla bent... and bent... and snapped, painting the walls of the nunnery red before roaming Tya, lost and aimless, until fate, that silly old fiend, brought her to a most fortuitous crossroads. It was a bright night when Twyla first met Hex. Bright, because the town she spotted him in was in uproar, flames licking the sky as anarchy reigned. He was in the midst of it all, laughing maniacally as he orchestrated the bedlam like a conductor, arrows flying, tarot cards scattered like fallen leaves... Twyla, drawn to the pandemonium, caught his eye. Amidst the smoke and screams, their gazes locked—a connection instant and electric. Hex saw the spark of madness within her, the same unquenchable fire that burned within him. He fanned the embers into a roaring blaze until they became consorts in chaos, a tempestuous duo bound by love and lunacy. Their shared affection for performance only added fuel to their fiery bond. They took to the stage to entertain their desire for adulation and to fund their chaotic adventures. Their pièce de résistance? A spectacle that left audiences gasping... The Great Divide. Picture this: a grand circular saw gleaming under the stage lights. Hex, with a flourish as deft as a magician's wand, would seemingly cleave Twyla in twain. Gasps would ripple through the crowd, only to be drowned out by Twyla's manic laughter as she emerged unscathed. One fateful night, as the curtains parted and the lights bathed the stage, Twyla spotted a face in the audience froze her blood— her father, the very man who had destroyed her youth. Her lover, sensing her inner turmoil, saw an opportunity for the ultimate performance. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced with a wicked grin, "tonight, we have a special guest." Her father, just as dumbstruck as she, was coaxed onto the stage. The crowd cheered, ignorant of the grim reality that was about to unfold. Twyla, eyes aglow with sorrow which transcended into beautiful madness, prepared the saw. This time, it was no illusion. As the blade descended, her father's screams mingled with the gasps of the audience. Twyla, with hysterical glee, watched as the saw cut through flesh and bone. The crowd realized in horror that the act was no hoax, their shock mirrored in her father's dying eyes as he recognized his daughter in his final moments. And Twyla's laughter echoed on... And that is the story of the Red Smile as it stands, my dearest audience. Who am I, you ask? Just one who would watch the world burn alongside his greatest love...