Disclaimer:I do not own any of the Batman Begins/Dark Knight characters. All other characters are mine.

I know it's strange, but somehow, I think you'll believe me.

Everything I've been put through by the world, and everything I put the world through. I get the sense that you would never disagree, never judge, never hate.

But maybe this is wishful thinking.

You may be tempted at this point to stop reading, maybe you are afraid, maybe you think I'm as crazy as they say.

My letters are coming less regularly now. Do not panic. I am, as always, still here and breathing.

I did have a dream last night with you in it.

I still don't know what you look like, but I managed something up with how vividly you write, your words, your soul.

You were holding a gun, like the rest of the crowd, and smiling, you looked so beautiful in my blood. This time was different however because you didn't shoot me in the head. I begged you to stop, begged the world to stop,

I begged and begged. The knife flashed daintily in the sunlight.

And the world, it did stop.

I usually wake up at this time, what more is there to see? But I continued to float through my dreams, blanketed in quiet, and at that moment a low laugh echoed from below me. I say laugh, it was more a growl of triumph than anything.

I cannot even begin to describe how afraid I was, not afraid in the usual sense, no, 'usual' isn't a word I use anymore. I was afraid because more than life and death, more than you, more than me;

I wanted to see 'him' again.

The monster. The killer. He infected me to the very marrow in my bones, wormed his way into my mind, and tore through to my heart. I knew then, as soon as this longing hit me while I slept, that I would never be free of him.

If only I had never met him, I was almost normal.

But the thing is; I simply wasn't.

He told me himself, why he was so interested in me, because he looked into my eyes and saw

something dark,

something crazy,

something like him.

I do not know if you even get these letters anymore since I haven't received a reply in about a year, but I need something to do, something to keep me from going mad, well, madder. I will continue to write until I die, which may be sooner then you or I wish it to be.

Then again, I don't know, I don't know why I am afraid. People tell you to be afraid, everyone usually is. But if I think about dying do you know what I feel? Nothing. That can't be right.

So, this may or may not be my last letter, I don't like breaking promises, despite everything I've done you can always count on me to be one thing.

Loyal.

I was to 'him' and I am to you. I've found myself foolishly going over our letters, laughing at your jokes, crying when your father died, I think I know you better than anyone.

I think I'm in love with you.

So, with everything I have and everything I am, I hope you are doing well, I hope you get that job, and I hope she says 'yes'.

-Caterina Anne Morgan, Containment Cell: 4C, Arkham Asylum.