Underrated

epilogue.

you have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story.

Five years later.

"For decades, women have captivated audiences around the globe by showing what they could do inside the squared circle. Those like Mae Young, the Fabulous Moolah, and Alundra Blayze fought, physically and figuratively, to start a trend generations of women would follow for years to come. Trish Stratus, Lita, Beth Phoenix, Michelle McCool, and Mickie James showed that not only could women be good looking, but they could be powerful as well. Then, came the new generation: the Bella Twins, AJ Lee, Paige, Charlotte Flair, Sasha Banks, Becky Lynch, Bayley. These women not only added to the repitrior of women's wrestling, they rebuilt the landscape. Table matches, Hell in a Cell, and Street Fights galore.

However, none of them could imagine the revolution that would precede them. A little spitfire from Canada that wouldn't let any man or woman stand in her way of going down into the history books. This is her story, her legacy, her revolution. This is the life of Lucille 'Mykie' Moreau."

"Daddy, come on! Ajay started it already." Anney Jones called to her father in the other room.

"Only because Avery put in the disc. Besides, we've been waiting for this for years." The eldest Jones justified, much to the eye roll from the lone sister.

"Alright you two, settle," Allen smiled as Wendy, his wife, and his other boys joined the family on the couch. Anney instantly settled into her father's lap, her favorite spot when it came to movie time.

The Jones' were the family that always felt like the one Lucy never got to have. Allen was the older brother who helped shape her while Wendy was the sister that always seemed to give the best advice. The children reminded her of the slew of foster brothers and sisters she had from her childhood years. The godmother to the youngest Jones helped tied that knot of togetherness that none of them would ever forget.

As clips of a young Lucille, courtesy of her families, flashed across the screen, Allen noticed Anney's eyes focused on something else. The tattoo on the inside of his left wrist.

revolution

Of course he got ink to remember his best friend by. It didn't feel right for him not to. The impact she left on his life wasn't enough for him; she meant so much more to him than just the memories. She was like a sister to him.

Placing a kiss on his daughter's head, his eyes focused back on the film.

"It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things." Allen tried to explain, finding it hard to say the right words to justify how much the woman meant to him and his family.

Fergal laid across the couch with a small form in his arms. A little over a year old, his boy, Westley Pierre Devitt, snuggled into his chest. Fergal was thankful for the blessing of the child, finding it a way to bounce back from the sadness of his heart. He knew the birth helped his wife, Cathy Kelley, rebound from the depression of losing someone as one of a kind as Lucille as well.