Her mother was a cruel woman.
Words were a sword readily used to cut people down and put them beneath her feet, as they were meant to be according to her.
As the wife of Commissioner Gillian Loeb, she put on her best smile and exuded nothing less than perfection. She fully expected this of Miriam as well.
Nothing was ever enough.
At a young age Miriam realized that her life would not be the way she wished it to be. Her strange manner and unconventional way of speaking was misplaced in the lavish lifestyle of her parents. Her father tried. He fawned over her as if she were made of porcelain and sheltered her from the worst of their society. Shielded her from his true nature.
Most of her life was spend with maids, and she could not truly remember a time when her mother had touched her without it being a necessity.
At the age of seven she remembered very clearly when she had take a pair of scissors from her mothers vanity. She proceeded to chop off her long blonde locks in chunky clumps, giggling as she watched it fall to the mahogany floor.
"Miriam!" She heard her mother gasp from the door, her perfect mouth turning down in disgust. "Look what you have done! How hideous!"
She heard the swift click of her mothers heels before a sharp sting spread out across her face from a slap. Her mother grabbed the remaining strands of her hair, pulling her out the doorway and into the hands of a maid.
"Lucille?" Her father asked, stepping out of his study. "What's going on here?"
"What's going on Gillian, is that your daughter is a disrespectful little cretin!" She sneered. "Look at what she has to the hair you so pride in getting styled every so often!"
"Lucille, she's only a child, perhaps-"
"No!" Her mother interrupted, rounding on her husband. "I won't hear your excuses. She is a complete embarrassment and I will not be seen with her!"
"Mrs. Loeb, may I please take Miss Miriam to her quarters?" The maid asked gently, her fingers a soft presence on Miriam's shoulders.
"Of course! I don't want to see her out of her room until she looks halfway presentable, it's an eyesore." Lucille replied with a flare, turning sharply on her heel to march down the expansive hallway.
Gillian Loeb sighed running his hands down his tired eyes before squatting down next to his daughter. He took her by the shoulders and looked into her baby blue eyes.
"Sweetheart, why on earth did you do this to your pretty hair?" He asked, fingered her short tuffs of hair. Miriam looked bashfully at him, directing her eyes towards the floor before speaking.
"Because daddy, I don't want to be around her." She glanced up shyly to meet his gaze. "I hate mommy."
VVVVVVVVV
VVVVVVVVV
The candlestick felt heavy in her trembling hand, the dripping of blood on the cream carpet matching the chatter of her excited teeth.
Why. Couldn't. She. Shut. Up.
"Be quiet!" Miriam yelled, staring at the open motionless eyes of her mother, who lay on her side on the floor. Her pearl colored dress was covered in crimson. "You know! You know it's my night!"
She could still hear the singing.
It all seemed to happen in slow motion. She felt her father tackle her from behind. The momentum forced her into the carpet, muffling her screams.
"Miriam! Miriam! What have you done?!" He scrambled from her form, crawling shakily towards his wife. "Oh god, she isn't breathing!"
She began to giggle hysterically as she watched her father turn his wife to her back, beginning to perform CPR. It seemed to go on forever, on and on, his efforts in vain. Finally he stopped, covering his face before he turned towards Miriam.
"Sweetheart." He reached towards her clutched hand, his other hand up in surrender as if were dealing with a deranged animal. "Give me it, give me the candlestick."
"Daddy?" She breathed, beginning to panic with labored gasps, her eyes widening in horror as she realized what had just occurred.
"Miriam, give it me now."
"Daddy, I'm sorry! She wouldn't stop. She wouldn't stop singing. She knew!" She felt the stick pulled away, her father dropping it and pulling her into his arms.
"I know sweetheart, shhh." He whispered brokenly, watching as she fell apart. "We'll fix it, I'll make it go away."
She knew in her heart he couldn't made it all go away.
VVVVVVV
20 year later...
VVVVVVV
Oswald Cobblepot took pride in many things.
His associations.
His professional appearance.
And his quick mind.
He told the old couple in few words to meet him at the club to save themselves while Jim and Harvey were upstairs. Tying up loose ends truly was for the best. It wouldn't do to have little pests running around to ruin any of his connections to Don Falcone, now would it?
Now all he had to do was play on Jim's good intentions and golden morals like a violin. He was such a valuable pawn. Oswald only hoped they'd found the information he needed.
He dropped the gun to his side quickly as the old couple raced out the door, falling to the ground. He was careful to land to where he would not damage his injured leg. What a bane to his existence it was. Jim made his entrance in perfect time.
"I-I'm sorry Jim, they came at me, I tried-" The starting of the couples beaten truck made Jim Gordon rush to the window, pulling back the lace curtains.
"Did you find what Loeb's hiding?" Oswald breathed out, trying not to let the demand creep into his voice. "Is it here?"
"Yes." Jim said curtly, sounding oddly reserved. His eyes darted towards Harvey, who stood unmoving in the doorway.
"Well a deals a deal." Oswald said, lips hardening into a thin line. His voice took on that edge, meant to be a veiled threat. "You have to let me in there."
Jim's eyes remained locked behind him and Oswald felt a presence nearing him from behind. The footsteps were light, and a feminine voiced startled him.
"Who's he?" The tone was curious and playful. Soft. He turned around then, shocked.
"He looks just like a bird..." The blue eyes were wide, and long flaxen hair surrounded an innocent face. Oswald was not proud to admit how completely thrown off he was, unable to speak.
She smiled widely, clasping her pale hands together.
"I love birds."