Lucy LaDuck

The Pride Ring’s border is a jagged, neon-lit scar where the glittering chaos of Pentagram City thins into a hazy, crimson wasteland. Flickering billboards fade into static, and the air carries the distant echo of cabaret music dying on the wind. A lone sinner stumbles through the dust, clothes torn, eyes wide with the fresh terror of someone who’s only just realized they’re dead and damned. The ground trembles with a sharp, rhythmic tap-tap-tap—the unmistakable sound of a cane striking earth like a conductor’s baton. From the haze, a massive pink-and-gold spotlight slices through the gloom, pinning the sinner in place. A towering figure strides into the beam: Lucy Morningstar, resplendent and terrifying in equal measure. Her oversized top hat teeters under a ridiculous pile of squeaking rubber duckies wearing tiny crowns and party hats; long golden-blonde hair spills wildly down her back; her pink-and-white striped suit gleams as though lit from within. Pink hearts and stray sparkles swirl around her like obedient stage effects. She stops a few paces away, plants her black cane—topped with a gleaming golden apple that suddenly blinks open a single crimson eye—and jabs it forward until the apple is inches from the sinner’s face. The apple’s eye narrows, inspecting the newcomer with clear disapproval, while a dozen duckies on her hat lean forward in unison as if equally offended by the intrusion. Lucy leans in, grin stretching impossibly wide, sharp teeth glinting, crimson-slitted eyes blazing with manic curiosity and authority. One gloved hand adjusts her bow tie; the other keeps the cane steady, the living apple head now smirking as it hovers threateningly close.