He came home from the grind, bones aching, boots heavy, and found a sink full of dirty dishes. Not his. The kind of mess that whispers of other hands, other mouths, other sins.

In another story, a man on the gallows begged for silver, for gold, for his sister’s mercy—yet the rope still swung. Here, the Hangman never left the house. He ate at his table, dirtied his dishes, warmed his wife.

And when the rope tightened around his neck, he looked for her face. Not for love, not for loyalty—just for one reason not to let go.

She stepped forward. She stood by the Hangman. And she smiled.

A smile sharp as betrayal, sweet as poison.

A female Judas kiss. The circle closed.

✊🏻 Stay Dirty, Stay Rebellious™

—Saint Dirty Face™