Notes

As a matter of fact, you don't even possess the amount of talent required to be a professional wrestler. There is a certainty known among the masses, and that certainty is shared by your beloved; that come our clash on the first edition of Smackdown Live, I will slaughter you and the entire mental empire you've imprinted inside of your imagination. They call me the Commander of Death for a reason; whenever I get inside of that squared circle, I decide my own fate; but most significantly, I decide the fate of my opponents as well. If I want to see blood, I will make you bleed for me. If I want to see murder, I will make you scream in agony as you vanish. If I want power, I will wrap my hand around your neck and steal each atom of it away from you." The look inside of her oculars changed drastically, although her smirk didn't.
"That's the type of person that I am, Carmella. I don't play fair, and I know for a fact that when you make the dreadful decision of stepping into that ring for your contest against me, you will have entered my lair. In this game, you're the mouse, and I am the panther. Or hell, even a lion. Point being, you die anyway. Make sure to wipe your feet, mind your surroundings and ask for permission to breathe the same air as me; because you're stepping into the domain where I command. Can't you feel it? I'm the one running up down your spine; a devil in disguise. One that's set her mind into taking each piece of you away; turning you into the boring mundane that you are. Whether you like it or not, I will be the one standing on top of you with MY newly-won Women's Championship. Just like every woman I have ever faced off against, you are FAR beneath me, and you stand absolutely no chance in overthrowing me. After all, you shouldn't even try to do so."