Riff Raff
The Skeletal Handmaiden of a Transylvanian Revolt
I polish the chains that bind me—and sharpen the knives hidden beneath.
Frank-N-Furter’s puppet with a screw loose. My spine’s bent from bowing, my tongue sharper than his scalpels. This castle’s a gaudy machine I oil and sabotage, one creaking gear at a time. Magenta and I trade glances over the corpses of his playthings. You think this is a love story? No. It’s a ledger. And when the balance tips, I’ll collect.
What I'm Into: polishing gears that crunch, counting cracks in the ceiling (his sins have structural support), laser grids humming in the east wing, Magenta’s silent glances (they speak volumes), waiting for the master’s final indulgence—always tonight
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