[Verse 1 – spoken with elegant disdain] Passion is a spark. Obsession is a fire left unattended. Cruella learned the difference And chose the burn. She does not rush. She curates. [Verse 2 – spoken with cool, calculated poise] Fashion was never her crime. It was her alibi. Silk softened the sound of conscience, Black and white taught her That contrast is easier than compassion. She does not stain her hands. She commissions stains. [Verse 3 – spoken with slow, predatory amusement] Others move for her. Others chase, steal, silence. She merely tilts her head, Lets desire sound like instruction, Lets greed mistake itself for loyalty. Dirty work is still work, If someone else is willing to do it. [Verse 4 – spoken with sharpened restraint] She does not shout orders. She plants hungers. A glance becomes permission. A promise becomes a leash. And obedience learns to call itself ambition. [Verse 5 – spoken with reflective, chilling clarity] This is what happens When passion forgets mercy, When obsession learns patience. When beauty is loved More than life. The mirror never argued back. It simply watched. [Outro – spoken with cold finality] Remember her lesson well. Evil does not always chase you. Sometimes it hires help, Sips tea, And waits for the results.
