Author's note and disclaimer : I've sat here, for two days, watching the DVD. I've actually played Magenta before, and so I've decided to write a Magentafic. Please forgive me if it sucks, and… yeah. First attempt at writing Rocky Horror Picture Show fanfic, so be gentle.

Begin fic.

            It was actually a very clean killing; and from what I've been telling myself all night, it was necessary. Riff was absolutely right. We had to. It wasn't as if we liked Frank, and Rocky wasn't the most intelligent of beings, so what kind of life could he have had without his…creator. Columbia's death was an accident, wasn't it? Yes. If she hadn't screamed, if she had thought that she wouldn't deter my brother when his mind was set, then perhaps the unfortunate occurrence wouldn't have happened.

          Frank had sung that he was going home – and though his histrionic ability did nothing but bore the two of us, there is a sense of elation to know that we will be there soon; there, and free of the captivity we had been held in for many years.

Magenta, I am indeed grateful to both you and your brother Riff – Raff…

          Oh, yes, was he not grateful? The flaunting of his power before an audience, the volatile temperament that scarred my beloved brother? Insults, curses flung. Dirty, trash, worthless. That we had to lower ourselves, by far more intelligent creatures than the 'beautiful' prince, to be his servants, fairly disgusts me now. I rant silently, and speak not at all. No words need to be spoken.

          Frank N. Furter had us in a cage, and the bars kept tightening around us, suffocating and causing our hatred to grow. The 'metaphor', a human thing, is what I had been feeling, and there was no surprise that we snapped. How far it went, even I was shocked – at first. I always knew Riff did not have the firmest grip on his temper, and logic dictated we would remain prisoner to Frank on our own planet, this disgusting one, or even one of TransSexual's moons. He had to die! This is his mourning, his epitaph – 'Frank N. Furter, the Bastard that was the cause of his own demise. I hope I don't get caught.'

Oh, certainly, the Queen will miss him – the various lovers might. Then again, they may not. My only concern for them was if they were out quickly, and that they didn't make a big mess. They allowed themselves to be seduced by him, and so they don't matter.

The bodies will be gone by tomorrows' morn, in Earth – time, those candles once used to romanticize the home having an actual use by now. The smell is disgusting, but they'll be gone – Rocky, Frank, Columbia – as if they were never there. Ashes, dust, they aren't evidence for our death enough, and there won't be any. It was a clean killing – no blood on our hands, nor was any spilt. The anti – matter laser left no evidence of destruction. We are much more civilized than Earth – people, at least when it comes to revenge.

          But I must put it out of my mind – the torture, the pain, menial labor, history and guilt, buried forever with the ashes of the now faceless, nameless beings. And as not a drop of blood was spilt, no tears will be shed. We have the prospect of home, of freedom, of advancement to look forward too. We no longer have to live our lives in fear, pain, misery, and conspiracy.

"We are free," Riff whispers to me, curled among the satin sheets of the late princes' bed; confirming my thoughts, as if they were his own. More likely than not, they were – we know each other greater than most siblings do, than most lovers do.

"Free…"

I won't let him own us, even beyond the grave. I won't close my eyes and see the horror on his features as he realized that this was no great story that he starred and was the hero of, that the laser truly worked, that he would die. I refused to let any legacy of his live on. For the first time in years, the taste of freedom was ours, and his reign of cruelty had met it's demise on a fluorescent lit stage.