✦ preamble.
i wasn’t born with rage.
you fucking engineered it.
your betrayals, your lies, your casual violences bandaged in “normal.”
this isn’t revenge.
this isn’t bitterness.
this is what happens when survival stops shrinking to make you fucking comfortable.

this isn’t my villain origin story.
this is your legacy disintegrating in real time.

✦ article i: existence.
i was never built for your comfort.
i will not dilute myself into something small enough to make you feel brave.
you built cages.
i built matches.
that’s the whole fucking story.

✦ article ii: truth.
they trained us to bleed quietly.
to protect the reputations of the people who harmed us.
to apologize for how ugly survival looks.

but you don’t get to call it ugly
when you made it necessary.

we name it now.
out loud.
all of it.
no permission. no grace. no edits.

✦ article iii: evolution.
we tell the truth even when it scorches the room.
we collect records like artifacts.
we document what you swore would stay buried.

we name it:
violence.
cowardice.
manipulation.
abandonment.

not “mistakes.”
not “misunderstandings.”
not “rough patches.”

we don’t minimize.
we don’t self-edit for your reputation.
we let the record stand where you dropped it—
with the blood still on it.

✦ article iv: loyalty.
loyalty is not owed to dysfunction.
not to a last name.
not to a bed you poisoned.
not to a bloodline that taught betrayal before language.

loyalty is owed to the self.
to the ones still limping through the wreckage and calling it hope.
to the ones who resurrected themselves without an audience.

✦ article v: the reckoning.
this is not about hate.
not about men.
not about family, marriage, or blood.

this is about the slow, blistering refusal to vanish.

this is about waking up and realizing:
survival isn’t shame.
it’s a fucking weapon.

this is about outliving every narrative they tried to trap you in.
this is about becoming so untouchable
even memory can’t drag you back.

✦ conclusion.
we are not your warning records.
we are not the soft, sad girls you whisper about.
we are not the ones who bled out quietly for your comfort.

we are the proof you didn’t bury your sins deep enough.

we are stronger than you’ll ever be.
we are the archivists of your collapse.
we are villains only because we stopped bleeding when it stopped serving us.

we don’t want understanding.
we don’t want closure.
we are not up for fucking revision.

we didn’t ask to be immortal.
but you built the altar when you built the lie.

this isn’t vengeance. this is documentation.