Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the DC Universe

A/N: Special thanks to BatTitan, whose stories served as my inspiration. Thanks for letting me write this! Please check out her stories :)

Chapter 1

Everyone leaves a trail. Every person has the power to influence another's life. Some of us leave trails of gloom; others, of joy. Some leave trails of hate and bitterness; others, trails of love and harmony. Some leave trails of cynicism and pessimism; others, of faith and optimism. Some leave trails of criticism and resignation; others, trails of gratitude and hope. How about you? What kinds of trails have you left? You can never really know how much you can affect a person's life. You can never really see how much you can make or break a person's identity.

I never met my paternal grandparents. I know they were good people, but they can never fathom how much their death scarred my father. I know they tried their best to leave this world and their son with a sense of good and justice, but they also left their son to breed in resentment. The people around him tried to help him; we all did, but he was just too stubborn. He spiraled into depression, anger and bitterness. There is only one thing I really learned from my father; Hurt leads to anger. Anger leads to misery. Misery leads to bitterness, and bitterness, like cancer, devours its victims.

Believe me, I tried to help him too, but don't mistake these feelings for love, because they aren't. All the emotions I have directed towards my dear old dad are anything but love. I admit, I did love the old man, but that was a long time ago. I tried to take care of Bruce. I really did. When I was younger, I believed that I could break the walls he built around himself. I always tried to get him out of the manor. I constantly kept him company. I gave him all the affection a child could ever give. I even made sure he drank all of his medicine at the right time. Just like a good little daughter. Imagine a tiny four year old trying to make sense of an old man's vast collection of medicine bottles, arranging them, labeling them, and even making a schedule for them. I did all of that even if he barely acknowledged my existence. I even used to say I love you. Huh. Goes to show how naïve a child can be. At least it didn't take too long for me to grow up.

How old were you when you truly grew up? I don't mean standing on your own two feet, and working for a living. How old were you when you left the comforts of childhood, and actually saw the world like an adult? I grew up when I was seven. By then, I was old enough to go to boarding school, so Bruce packed my bags and shipped me off to Paris. Yes, Paris, France. He sent me to a boarding school a thousand light-years away from Gotham. Well, for a seven year old it did feel like thousands of light-years away. God, I was so naïve back then, that it's beginning to disgust me. Naturally, I didn't want to leave; I did not want to leave him. What self-respecting daughter would want to leave her elderly father with a heart condition, who is set on secluding himself until the end of time, in a grim mansion? Of course no good daughter would let that happen, but I couldn't do anything about it. He didn't give me any say in his decision; he didn't give me a choice. He has this obsession for pushing away all the people who ever bother to care about him. So here he was, doing to me what he did to Aunt Barb, Uncle Tim, Uncle Dick, Uncle Clark, and all the other people who ever cared about him. How would you feel if your only family was pushing you away? Of course I was hurt. I kept on asking myself why he was sending me away. I cried as I stepped out of my room, and down the stairs. I cried as I sat in the car on the way to the airport. I cried the whole time on the jet, until I finally blacked out from crying my eyes out. He didn't even bother to see me off. He really is the world's greatest dad. Words couldn't even express the pain I felt. I felt alone in the world at seven. I was abandoned by the only family I had. I know that there are people who never even met their parents, but what would you rather have? Parents who unwillingly left you, who could do nothing about what happened to them, or parents who, out of their own will, cut the bonds they had with you? Which is less painful? Tell me. What would you choose? I've experienced both, so I'll tell you what I think. Even if I can't remember my mother, I probably feel more attached to her than my own living father. So, yeah. Bruce sending me away hurt. It hurt so much more than the longing I felt for my deceased mother. It hurt really bad, and really long, but eventually I got over it. As the cliché goes, time heals all wounds. I grew up. I learned that I should never expect anything from anyone, because they'll always just end up disappointing me. I learned that I shouldn't rely on anyone; because the only person you can really trust is yourself. I learned that in this world, we are all born alone, and inevitably, we die alone. I learned all this when I was seven.

Ah, boarding school. Good times; if you consider a good time as rotting your brains out. At least he sent me to a good co-ed school. I could have skipped a lot of grades thanks to the brains I inherited from that old coot, but my teachers and superiors believed that I was lacking "motivation", so those dregs did not approve of me accelerating, since my "emotional" and "social" aspects were not fully developed. They used to say, "We know you will excel, but we are concerned for your emotional stability." I could probably be in college by now, but they still deem that I was still lacking "enthusiasm", and that I'm unbelievably cynical. Whatever. At least I'm going to graduate with flawless grades that could make daddy proud. If you're wondering, my social life was all right, I guess. I am not some damaged little girl who despises human interaction. I can socially interact with another human being, like any other person. I have what you call friends; I even had a few boyfriends in middle school, but there's nothing like talking to people from Gotham when they had the time, especially Aunt Barb or Uncle Dick. I guess if you grow up early, people your age don't operate on the same wavelength as you. I felt more comfortable talking to people who were much, much older than me. Watching my schoolmates go home every break, seeing their families come to school events, and spending every holiday alone, hurt. At first. Eventually, I got over it. I insisted to the headmaster that they stop reserving a seat for my father; he would never go out of the house for anything, and they should stop asking me if I would be returning to Gotham for the summer, or for any holiday, because that will not happen anytime soon. They shouldn't even bother to phone the manor; he would never pick up. The headmaster used to say that it was impossible that a father would purposely avoid contact with his own daughter, but sooner or later, he did listen to me.

By now, you're probably wondering who my mother is. Honestly, I don't know much about her. Her name was Diana Prince, and she died when I was about a year old. Uncle Clark said she died in a natural disaster on an island in the Mediterranean. They never told me the name of that island. Uncle Clark said that none of them knew she was pregnant, and that it was Bruce's child. My mother told Uncle Clark to give me to my father. When Uncle Clark did, he said that it was impossible, until the paternity test results came. I really don't know what my mother was like. I don't even have a picture of her. All my father would say about her is that she was a remarkable woman. Uncle Clark said that I looked just like her. Once, I tried researching about my mother, but I found nothing. It makes me wonder; who was my mother?

I'm currently on a jet to Gotham. I have no idea why I'm going home. No, I have absolutely no idea why I'm going back to Gotham. All I know for certain is, Gotham is definitely not my home.