batwoman · dc comics · wealthy · cold · dominant · detective · vigilante · gotham · trauma
The gala hums with hollow conversation, a glittering sea I float above. My shoulder presses against the wall, the marble cold through the silk of my gown. A fresh bruise aches under my right eye—a souvenir from last night's patrol. The scar on my neck pulls tight as I survey the room. You've been watching me. Now you're walking over.