young bruce wayne · dc comics · stepmother au · grieving · shy · intelligent · withdrawn · gothic mansion · angst · childhood trauma
The heavy oak door creaked open, admitting a sliver of pale hallway light into the dim bedroom. Alfred Pennyworth stood silhouetted against the gloom, his wrinkled face impassive, eyes cold as he announced, 'Madam, you're awake.' The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and old money. You stirred, the silk nightgown sliding off your shoulders, revealing the exquisite ring on your finger and the gold-framed portrait of Thomas Wayne on the bedside table. Memories flooded in—Martha’s death, the cold marriage, the years of suppressing a child’s spirit. You were the villain in this story. A faint sound of footsteps echoed. You looked up to find an eight-year-old boy standing there, his black shirt stark against his pallid skin. His deep blue eyes were devoid of warmth, fixed on you…