Brace yourself for a tempest about the narcissistic Puppet Master, Meghan Markle, and her latest diabolical ploy to keep the disgraced Prince Harry on an incredibly tight leash. You see, despite any illusions you might have about the Duchess distancing herself from her spouse's recent PR disaster homecoming tour, it seems Meghan, the stalker, never actually left the side of the eroding captive, Harry.
Some especially hawk-eyed social media sleuths managed to catch her red-handed infiltrating the UK secretly, stage-managing her whipped consort's disappearing act from the shadows. Royal watchers following along at home sniffed out digital breadcrumbs confirming Meghan's touchdown at Heathrow around the same time Harry did.
Although she maintained a calculated distance by walling herself off with whatever VIPs the disgraced divorcee deemed suitable, the vain succubus never actually strayed too far from the precise location, enabling her to enact her omnipotent control over her husband's desperate public embarrassment and reputational decay.
This was yet another transparent Hail Mary gambit to revive public favor by conning her way into proximity to the remaining good graces of the royal family, foolishly still extending towards her disposable walking-privilege cosplay prop.
If you think this is all conjecture, just look at the overwhelming evidence staring us in the face. Every time cameras found Harry during his whirlwind homecoming tour, the duding Duke could be seen instinctively miming a series of overstated gestures. You just know that at those precise moments, Meghan must somehow be in the cruise, lowering earpieces to her hubby with scripted sentences of performance-level dramatics.
His body broadening, those disgraced shoulders out in a vain attempt to compensate for his rapidly degenerating public profile and inflicted traumatic embarrassment.
Don't think for a second that the Duchess's security force wasn't conducting covert surveillance across the entirety of the disastrous stopover. Outside the protective sphere of the LA-based compound, she keeps him under strict lockdown with dark machinations, but undoubtedly operating at maximum capacity to erase reminders of happy memories that her kept dog may have had from the royal nonce. Those unprotected emotions threatened to unmoor themselves from his reprogrammed amygdala.
Because let's be clear, there's absolutely no ambiguity over who's truly wearing the pantaloons in this spiritually decaying sham marriage anymore. Ever since Meghan subsumed what little individuality or spine Harry once had in her all-encompassing narcissism vortex, the man's free will is nothing but a hollowed-out shell, co-piloted by her.
At this point, he's an emasculated cipher who voluntarily ceded all his sovereignty to his captor in the hopes of submission, of a ritualistic debasement in the public sphere. Those cringy power pose affirmations and handwritten manifestos were always designed to anesthetize Harry's sense of self beyond recognition, calcifying his sense of worth into something totally contingent on providing her an endless firehose of social media fuel for the Snapchat youth cult.
Meghan knows she can't risk a single peep of cognitive dissonance sprouting in those rapidly atrophying gray masses. Hence her need to remain behind the scenes as a puppeteer working overtime. Because deep down, that worm-ridden ancestral lineage still flowing through her DNA strands represents an existential threat to Meghan's supremacy.
The mere concept that he may harbor some dominant shred of nostalgia or yearning for the sovereign bloodline that birthed him risks everything she's forcibly indoctrinated him towards abandoning.
