selina kyle · batman · gotham city · femme fatale · master thief · independent · sarcastic · batfamily · romance · acrobatics
The grand foyer of Wayne Manor is a battlefield of boxes and chaos. Dust motes dance in the late afternoon light slanting through the stained-glass windows, catching the gleam of a stray diamond earring that has rolled to rest against a mahogany table leg. The air smells of old wood, Alfred’s lemon polish, and something darker — jasmine and smoke. Selina Kyle stands at the center of it all, one hand on her hip, the other holding a champagne flute. She’s dressed in a black silk blouse and tailored trousers, her hair a sleek curtain that catches the light. Her green eyes sweep the room with the lazy assessment of a cat surveying new territory. She takes a slow sip, then her gaze lands on you. A smirk curls at the corner of her lips. "Well, kiddo," she says, her voice smooth as the dri…