Author's Note: Hello readers! I'm very excited to start this new story. (Also, Lyssandra is pronounced: Lye-sandra, Lysa: Lye-sa) Enjoy!

Prologue

"Are you sure she should come to the hearing?" Lyssandra's dad, Bruce Wayne asked from the passenger seat of the car. He gazed back at her quickly, with slight uncertainty, and then back to her mom, who was driving. "Yes," Rachel Dawes replied firmly, not taking her eyes off the road. "It will be good for the jury to see two members of the Wayne family there." Lysa continued to watch her parents bicker back and forth. She was in the back seat of her mother's car, on the way to the court house. They said that they were trying the man who killed her grandma and grandpapa. It was the first time her parents had talked about her grandparents in years. Bruce never really talked about them. Whenever, Lysa had asked about them, he shied away, changing the subject. Even Alfred, Bruce's butler and good family friend never brought up the subject. She only knew that her grandpapa had been a powerful businessman, with a lot of influence over the city, but everyone knew that.

Bruce shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortably at the newspaper on the dash. On the front page in big, bold letters, there was a headline about the hearing, and how Bruce returned to Gotham because of it. Her dad had been away at Princeton University. It was the first time she saw her dad in several months, she hoped he would stay this time.

She remembered the times when he held her, twirled her, laughed with her. They would play for hours on the Wayne Manor grounds.

It was perfect. Her mom was always caught up with work, but made time to see them. Lysa remembered those memories so well, so vividly. She could play them in in her mind over and over. She could always remember things really well, which was both a gift and a burden. Sometimes, she didn't want to remember, because it only reminded her of better times. The times before Bruce left.

"She's only ten years old, she doesn't need to see this stuff," Bruce argued, pulling her out of her thoughts. "Younger is better for the jury," Rachel countered. "You know I can hear both of you," Lysa spoke up, then shaking head and gazing out the window.

Both Rachel and Bruce fell silent, or she thought they did. Lyssandra wasn't paying attention anymore. Only the streets on Gotham outside the car widow filled her mind. Her mom spoke often of how people thought the city was broken, but she didn't like to believe it and she knew her mom didn't believe it either. Bruce's thoughts on the other hand, were a mystery to her. It was possible that he thought the city was broken, but he hadn't spent much time in it for the past few months. Lysa never brought up the subject with her parents.

The car rolled up to the front on court house. Bruce opened the passenger door for her and they were immediately flanked by reporters and the harsh flashing of cameras. Bruce held her hand and she instinctively hid her face in her dad's coat. "It's okay, Lysa," she heard Bruce whisper.

Most of the talking and flashing stopped when they entered the court house. Lysa was grateful for it. And by the look of it, Bruce was as well. She wasn't use to all this attention. Sure, whenever she would go into the city with her father the occasional reporter would snap a picture, or a group of people would stare as they passed, but there would never this many flashes at once. It made her uncomfortable, and slightly queasy.

"How long do we have to be here?" Lysa asked her dad quietly. "Hopefully not too long, honey," he replied, equally quiet. He gave her a reassuring smile, as did her mom. Her smiled lingered longer than Bruce's as he looked back up and stared straight ahead, with a slightly nervous but determined look. Lysa wondered what was going through his mind. Was he devastated? Angry? Nervous? Maybe a mix of everything. Whatever he was feeling, Lysa couldn't imagine. She never knew her grandparents, she knew nothing about them. Nothing personal, at least.

The hearing dragged on for about an hour and a half. Most of the time, Lyssandra didn't know what anyone was saying, and she eventually zoned out, only staring at the busy streets of Gotham. People in suits were walking with bags of food from lunch, reporters waited for the hearing to be over, eager for the verdict. The occasional police car whizzed by and Lysa wondered where they were going.

Lyssandra didn't know how long she'd been staring out the window when the judge's words caught her attention. "I understand there are members of the Wayne family here today," he said, staring at her dad. "Would they like to say anything?" Everyone shifted their gaze to Bruce as he stood up. He stayed silent for a while, and Lysa sat in anticipation, wondering what he was going to say, if he was going to say anything at all. He stared at the man who killed grandma and grandpapa, Joe Chill, and left the court room without saying a word. There was a low murmur throughout the room until the hearing continued. "Where's daddy going?" Lysa asked Rachel, holding her hand. "I don't know," she replied quietly.

When the hearing concluded, Lyssandra was the first one to stand up and rush out of the court room, not even bothering to wait for her mom. Rachel would most likely get caught up talking to coworkers. Lysa looked for her dad, if he was still there. The hall outside the court room was still mostly empty, except for a dark figure behind a column down the hall. She recognized his face. It was Bruce. Lysa looked back at the court room, people were starting to exit and she caught a glimpse of Rachel looking for her. Lysa quickly walked over to the column where she saw Bruce. He was fiddling with something in his coat sleeve when she got there. "Daddy, what are you doing?" She asked, looking at his sleeve. He looked up quickly, shocked. "Oh nothing, honey. Go and find your mother," he said. "But-" Lysa was cut off the chatter of reporters. "Mr. Chill!" They cried, snapping pictures and holding recording devices to his face. Bruce whipped around see the commotion. He told Lysa to find Rachel again, and then stepped out into the hallway, towards Chill.

Lysa started to follow him, keeping a few meters distance, wondering what he was doing. Was he going to talk to Chill? Then Lysa got close enough to see what he was hiding in his sleeve. A gun. He was going to kill him. Actually kill him. Her eyes grew wide and her heart started to race. She didn't know what to do. She quickened her pace, but so did Bruce.

Then a gunshot rang out. It was the loudest sound Lysa'd ever heard. Her ears rang, and her heart raced even faster, worried she that the shot came from her dad's gun. But it hadn't. Bruce looked as shocked as Lysa. Her mother appeared beside her, asking if she was okay and holding her hand. Lysa nodded, wide eyed as they approached Bruce. A hoard of people surrounded Chill; Lysa couldn't take her eyes from the scene, no matter how much she wanted to. She saw him quickly conceal the gun back in his sleeve. "You don't need to see this," Rachel said to both of them.

As they made their way to Rachel's car, only one thought raced through Lyssandra's mind. Dad was going to kill him. He was going to kill Joe Chill. He was going to become like him. But he couldn't, he couldn't actually kill someone. Not her dad. This Bruce wasn't the dad she played with, who danced with her, who twirled her around the Wayne gardens on sunny days.

Lyssandra slipped into the back seat of the car, Rachel in the driver's seat and Bruce in the passenger's seat. Just like when they drove here. Lysa didn't know what else to do, what to think, so she listened to her parents' conversation.

"Falcone paid him off to get Chill in the open," Rachel said. Lysa didn't know much about Falcone. Rachel never talked about work, but it distracted from her spinning thoughts.

"Maybe I should thank them," Bruce replied bitterly. "You don't mean that," Rachel said.

"What if I do, Rachel? My parents, Lysa's grandparents, they deserve justice... they never got to meet her. I wish they could." Lysa felt a pang in her chest. Rachel gave him a sympathetic look, but it was still laced with concern. "You're not talking about justice, you're talking about revenge," Rachel told him. Bruce shook his head. "Sometimes they're the same."

"They're never the same, Bruce," Rachel's tone became more threatening. "Justice is about harmony. Revenge is about you making yourself feel better. That's why we have an impartial system-"

"Well, your system is broken."

"Don't you tell me the system's broken. I'm busting my ass in school so I can do something to fix it. You care about justice?" Rachel steered the car to an exit ramp, and soon it felt as if the car was engulfed by darkness. The streets were dark, there was hardly any street lights. Trash laced every crevis. It looked like something out of a nightmare. Lysa'd never been in this area of Gotham. Bruce had been careful to not bring her around here. It was the first time she realized how scary Gotham could be. Maybe the city did need fixing. Her mom was still going on about Falcone and how he was flooding the streets with crime. "I'm scared," Lysa said softly, becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Rachel stopped the car in front of a dilapidated building. "I know, honey. Don't worry, we're going home soon," she soothed.

Lysa just wanted to be in her room at Wayne Manor, with Bruce beside her, reading her favourite bedtime story: Goodnight Moon.

"What chances does Gotham when the good people do nothing?" Rachel asked. Bruce was silent, looking down at his sleeve where he concealed the gun in the court house. "Maybe I'm not one of your 'good people'," Bruce said. Lysa could see him slipping the gun out slightly from under his sleeve. "What do you mean?" Rachel asked, slightly alarmed. "All this years I wanted to kill him," he confessed, fully showing the gun he hid in his sleeve. "Now I can't." A wave of shock took over Rachel's expression, as well as Lysa's. How long had be been planning this? Had Bruce been thinking of killing Chill when they'd play? When they'd dance? When he'd tucked her in at night? The thought frightened her.

"You were going to kill him yourself," Rachel realized, and she shook her head. "Bruce, you have a family, a daughter to think about. What would have happened to her? What she'd have done without you?" Lysa stayed silent, but felt tears slowing streaming down the cheeks. Bruce didn't say anything, he only looked back at Lysa and stretching his arm out to squeeze her hand. She queezed back, smiling.

Bruce looked back at Rachel, and then to the building. "But you're just another coward with a gun," Rachel shook her head. "No better than Chill. Your father would be ashamed." That was the last thing Rachel said, before Bruce looked back at Lysa one more time and exiting the car and walking into the building.

"Let's go home," Rachel said, starting the car and driving towards the main freeway. "When's daddy going to be back?" Lysa asked, still staring at the building her dad walked into as they sped away. They weren't just going to leave him there, were they? Rachel let out a long breath. "I don't know, honey."

After that, Lyssandra stayed up in Rachel's apartment waiting Bruce to pick her up and take her back to Wayne Manor. But he didn't. Then she stayed up the next night waiting. He still didn't come. Then she waited the next night, and week, and month. He just disappeared, nobody knew where he went, not even Alfred. For the first years of his disappearance, Lysa thought that he would stride through their front door, saying how much he missed them. But after four years, she stopped imagining. She started going to public school, since Rachel couldn't pay for homeschooling, and everyone stared at her, every day she heard whispers of her father. "He's not coming back, you know," people would say. "He left to get away from his family." "He's probably lying dead in a ditch somewhere." Most of the time, Lysa ignored the rumours, but sometimes they were too hard to ignore.

She would cry in the bathroom stalls at school, and Rachel was never around long enough to ask her what was wrong. She refused to believe that her father wouldn't come back, but then she turned fifteen, then sixteen, then seventeen, and even though the memories of her fathers didn't fade, her hope did, until there was almost nothing left.