There is no greater feeling than the end of a grand performance. That split second of stillness after the final note or move, the hesitation of the crowd to break the feeling of silent peace. Priscilla Rose savored that fleeting moment.
The warm and well-earned beads of sweat glistened on her heavily made up face like diamonds. Ballet was always her passion and now it was finally worth something. She was alone onstage, wearing a crown of pride and roses and was lifted by the sound of the applause only for her...applause...joyful yelling...hooting...yelling...
She awoke in a cold sweat.
Her parents were arguing again. Over her, no doubt. For an eleven-year-old she was fairly intuitive.
She gingerly pushed the threadbare blanket away. The fibers scratched her mottled hands, the hands of a working girl, not a ballerina. She wrinkled her nose.
As she tiptoed the short distance to the door, she could make out the abrasive shouts coming from below.
"...Daniel I will not let you bring this family down you lazy shit!"
(Loud crash)
"Carmen, I am trying as hard as i can. I work three jobs and please lower your voice..Listen, we can work this ou-"
"I am pregnant with your child who we are NOT ready for and we have that burden upstairs who will never amount to anyth-"
"Little Rosie is NOT A BURDEN. She doesn't need you telling her that every single fucking day."
(Loud slap)
"YOU WERE THE ONE WHO DECIDED ON HER FUCKING NAME. PRISCILLA SOUNDS LIKE A SPOILED BRAT WHICH IS EXACTLY WHAT THAT LITTLE BITCH IS. I DO EVERYTHING FOR HER AND SHE DOESN'T EVEN WORK HARD IN SCHOOL. DO YOU SEE HER REPORT CARDS AND HOW SHE CLAIMS THE LETTERS MOVE WHEN SHE READS?! Did YOU put the idea of being 'dyslexic' into her head, Daniel? BULLSHIT!
(Silence)
She pulled back from the door. A sudden feeling of nausea and shame brought her to knees on the cold wood floor. She didn't need to hear any more of the argument. It was always the same. Bitter tears leaked out of her squinted eyes and made little paths on her gaunt cheeks as they fell. Burden.
She wished she had some kind of small and soft toy to cling to for comfort, like the kind she saw on TV, but looking around her room, all she saw was emptiness and shadows.
"I swear I just heard something." Daniel Rose murmured. As he tried to glance over towards the front door, he felt a cold, unfeeling hand wrench his face forward.
The glazed-over green eyes he was forced to look at were empty.
"Listen to me Daniel and stop daydreaming. No wonder you can't hold a job for more than a few months...no ambition, you lazy-"
"GODDAMNIT CARMEN!" Daniel bellowed. "I think there's someone outside and this is not a good area. Could you please-"
"It was YOUR IDEA to live in the fucking NARROWS. YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOUR UNDER THE TABLE DEALS AND YOUR ASSOCIATIONS WITH DANGEROUS PEOPLE?! ARE YOU INVOLVED WITH FALCO-"
"MY idea?! So you think we had a choice? You live in a dream world. That's
it. I am taking Pris-"
Something made him stop.
Gunshots outside. The crackle of fire.
Both parents eyes widened as they realized what was happening.
Falcone.
It took one second for the door to be kicked in, splintering on its creaky hinges. One blast from a shotgun brought both Daniel and Carmen to their knees, one of them leaking from the heart and the other from their eyes.
Carmen Rose reached out for her dying husband in a last moment of compassion and was halted by another shot.
Both frozen with the image of their daughter upstairs left to fend for herself.
THREE YEARS LATER
The foster home got terribly cold at night in Gotham City. Priscilla found herself awake from another nightmare...one filled with fire and emptiness.
Phantom hands grabbed at her in the night and whispered on her cold skin.
Nothing was more terrorizing than the dark recesses of her mind and her threadbare memories. One day they would come together and consume her.
She would watch the shadows dance on the walls for many a night until a fluorescent light chased them away.
Priscilla was being dragged by the cold talons of Miss Durer into the reception area before she could process what was happening.
"Before you open that hussy mouth of your and waste my time, I'll be the bearer of glad tidings."
They had stopped right before the front hallway. Rosie had once heard of a creature that could paralyze its prey by looking them in the eye. She didn't give Miss Dodder the chance. The unsubstantial contents of her tiny stomach threatened to explode at the mention of "good news."
Miss Dodder seemed to need no input from Rosie to continue.
"You've finally been adopted and I will never have to see your slutty little face ever again."
The smile that followed was a blur of yellow teeth and lipstick stains that sent Rosie into a state of shock. She collapsed onto the ugly orphanage floor, weightless.
Rosie wished she had died on that ugly floor in the company of misery.
The orphanage was torturous but it was a source of routine. It kept her from thinking and those thoughts that threatened to come out were made of poison.
But she didn't die there. She died the moment she laid eyes on her new foster father, the man who would torture her for three years until she finally escaped with battle scars on her heart and on her face, running from her cheekbone to her chin.
The time after she ran away and escaped was a time of denial and foolishness.
She pretended she left home by her own accord and not because of a mentally damaged foster dad. The people she met at seventeen turned her into a happy alter ego, pushing reality further back into her mind.
This way of living lasted until she was halted on the night of her 21st birthday.
"Ladies I'm going to take a breather outside. Any of you want to-"
Rosie realized that no one was actually listening anymore. She shrugged it off and smiled as she maneuvered her way through the upscale suburban club and to the glass double doors. She paused outside.
Was she having a good time?
Wait. Of course she was! It was her birthday present after all… Right?
She plastered on a pretty smile, adjusted her borrowed dress and stepped just outside the club.
Priscilla underestimated the darkness outside. It was overpowering. And the streets were relatively quiet. That never happened.
Mental images began to threaten her out in the quiet dark and started to surface. Rosie clapped her hands over her ears and tried to drown it out. Fun.
She was having fun. Those nightmares weren't real at all.
She reached up to touch her scar...the one that she couldn't remember getting...
A large hand grabbed her wrist.
"Remember me, little pretty Priscilla? I've missed you..." The scent of rotten cologne drowned her nostrils and the smoothness of his voice chafed her eardrums.
She didn't look at the large man who was looming over her.
"I don't know you, mister. I'll be going back inside now. If you'll just-"
He had her hand in a vise-like grip and she got a good look at him.
She felt her scar tingle. He had called her by name.
Him.
He had the look of a respectable gentleman had it not been for his eyes. Desensitized and manic. Eyes that intimidated his employees and watched her when she was sleeping.
She knew him.
The next moment was a blur as Priscilla started to remember herself and her attacker.
His name was Doctor Roderick Carlisle and he was her old foster father.
"Miss Priscilla Rose is found not guilty of the death of Dr. Roderick Carlisle on the terms of insanity. She will be placed in the Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane where she will stay indefinitely."
Murmurs spread around the courtroom.
"I heard she just snapped! Why stab the poor fellow's back with his own self defense weapon and then leave a huge gash on his face?! Outrageous! Didn't her father work for Falcone? What a sick puppy..."
"To think that caring doctor took that little girl in and she ran off only to kill him three years later! Such a tragedy. Roderick was a gentleman..."
"Look at her over there! Have you ever seen a prettier face gone to waste?
I bet she did that gash on her face to get off on it...sick people these days!"
The sounds of the courtroom and nudges of her lawyer fell on deafened ears.
Priscilla was numb. The coldness of her memories had finally caught up to her.
Jeffrey Hansen, her lawyer, was trying to speak to her.
She didn't say anything anymore.
Silence was the way to stop her emotions, to keep her madness locked behind a blank faced gate.
Time at the Asylum would change nothing.
Just more time for her to be prodded further into her mind with no intention of getting out.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Hello everyone! This is my first story and note on a fic so I'll keep this short. I hope you enjoyed, please R&R if you enjoyed it! An update will come soon but feedback will speed it up!
Disclaimer nonsense: I own NOTHING from Batman or Christopher Nolan's genius, thought I WISH I did! Thank you! I only own my OCs and their demented minds.
xx CC