Bray Wyatt

Ah, Mr Wyatt, you had so much potential. The cult leader with the golden tongue. The man who begged us to follow the buzzards to salvation. In you, we saw a new Phenom. A new figure of dread to reign supreme over the world, or should we say Universe?

Yet, it was all just words, wasn’t it? When we unpacked what you said there was nothing there but empty promises and tongue twisters. You’re a shadow, always lurking but never actually that important. Destroyed by a passing cloud.

And it’s not all your fault, Bray. They’ve treated you badly. Oh, so badly. Those WrestleMania loses stole your power, and the hocus pocus was a step too far. A cult leader we can respect but a man obsessed with bugs? That doesn’t do much for me. Those words would which turn to ash in our ears mean even less when you don’t win. When your followers fall no matter who they face. What’s the point of the leader without power?

Is it too late now, Bray? We don’t want it to be, but it certainly feels like it. The fireflies still come to your call, but there’s no passion anymore. You might walk into a House of Horrors, but none of us knows what that means! It’s just more gimmickry for you to hide behind Bray. You’re the wizard behind the curtain, and the curtain is on fire.

But there’s still so much that could be done! We never met your sister, and there’s a darkness in you that appeals to the darkness in us. We want to see you perched on a throne, lording it over your victims with your army at your side. We want to see you banish the Demon and end the Kingslayer and show us that you truly are the Eater of Worlds.

Yet we can’t help but feel like you are lost, Bray. That you are set to meander in the desert, preaching to the crows. The crazy old man who reflects on what could have been. Don’t get me wrong Mr Wyatt, it’s not what we want, but it feels more inevitable each passing day. The New Face of Fear you may be, but for us, you feel so very old.