Hello! Yes, I know that I said that I would wait for three reviews before uploading a new chapter, but this story is impatient to get out! Ergo, I will upload once a week.

Chapter 1

Ruby hated funerals. She disliked graveyards. But the detail that irked her the most was the hypocracy of it all. Everyone underground had sinned, just like those currently breathing. Yet what was every tombstone engraved with? 'Beloved'. 'Rest in peace'. No one apparently sinned once they croaked. Or maybe death was the ultimate eraser, wiping the slate clean. What a load of bull.

She herself hadn't heard from her parents in years. But even if they did turn out to have died, Ruby would have rather eaten glass than visited their graves. That was why, shamefully enough, she couldn't even begin to understand how Master was feeling.

But that didn't mean that she was going to disrespect his request. Ruby was pretty sure that she would have rather died than disappoint him. He, who had been good to her when no one else had been.

That was why, after placing the lillies in a watered vase, Ruby prepared herself. As she showered, taking caution not to use too much hot water despite her loving it, she took a moment to examine her naked body. No special effects. No shape-shifting. Just cold reality. She was rather tall, nearly five-foot-ten, with an average build and pale olive skin. Her hair, now flattened into a helmet shape around her scalp and chin, was a mix of blonde, brown, and gray. 'Sewage-color', she'd heard Sasha whisper once to her giggling brother. Acne scars covered not only her face but her neck and back. Her knees were knobbly.

Ugly, her mom would say. Only good enough for being a runner-up to a real beauty. Like she was, before Ruby had started growing in her belly and ruined her career prematurely.

Well, joke's on you, Ma, Ruby thought snarkily. Now, I can make myself prettier than you ever were. Just...not for too long.

Ruby twisted the knob shut. The water ceased in an instant. Getting out of the steamy bathroom, all toweled up like a California roll, she got to work. Wiping the steam from the mirror, she examined her face. Round. Plain. Straight nose. Cleft chin. Widow's peak. Unremarkable, except for maybe her dark blue eyes. Like lapis lazulis, newly polished.

Now, if only she could make the rest match. Make herself a worthy escort of Elijiah Van Dahl.

Never looking away from her reflection, Ruby brushed a hand over her acne scars. They melted into nothingness like spring snow. In seconds, her skin was as perfect as a newborn's. Then, Ruby knotted her hair over her head and pulled. When she let it fall again, it was still as curly as ever; but instead of its dull brown-blonde-gray, it had become a vibrant crimson. Smirking, Ruby snapped her fingers. Her nails, cut short and free of polish, darkened to black.

Ruby smiled, but her grin was short-lived. She reached out and grabbed her wristwatch. Set it to vibrate in six hours.

Six hours. And then, it was back to being Miss Plain Jane. Ruby sighed.

Twenty minutes later, Ruby completed her suit by slipping into the maid's coat she wore all the time. It was black. Thank heaven for small favors. Beneath the coat she wore a loose, black gown. Today, the only form of jewelry was an onyx necklace resting on her collarbone. Nothing too flashy: then again, as a housemaid, she could never attract too much attention. Ruby's job was to cook, clean, and stay well out of the way unless asked otherwise. She always wore jewels anyway; not out of vanity, but because she loved shiny things. Wearing them, keeping them close, made her feel secure.

"Ruby?" Master's voice echoed through her door. "Are you ready, my dear? I fear that traffic will delay us if we wait any longer."

"Coming, Master!" Ruby bolted out of the room. Swiftly, she turned the key in its lock. Whipped out a ribbon. The key skidded across it, black on black. Smiling, Ruby tied the key to one of her coat's button holes.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't one of Aladdin's forty thieves." The voice instantly set Ruby's teeth on edge. Her head snapped up. Sasha Van Dahl leaned against the wall, licking a lollipop the size of a potato. She was wearing a silk dress that no doubt had cost as much as Ruby's college fund, and her long hair looked like it'd just saluted the parlor's scissors. Sasha was smiling nastily at Ruby like a kid who'd just squealed to the teacher.

"That's Ali Baba." Ruby had to bite her lip to avoid adding, 'you boil-brained lout'.

"Whatever!" Sasha tossed her head like the actress in a shampoo ad. "They're cut from the same cloth. Muslim, ugly, and thieving."

"Aladdin was actually interpreted as handsome in every version." Ruby's teeth were starting to hurt from gnashing them so much. "And anyway, that is somewhat disrespectful, miss. How would you like it if a Muslim person called Cinderella a talentless gold-digger?"

"I'd tell him to go fuck himself, 'cause I got money." Sasha smirked. Gave her lollipop one triumphant lick. Ruby wondered how much Sasha would enjoy licking things with a busted lip and a bruised tongue.

"Ruby!" Master called again. "Please, I must insist!"

"Coming!" Ruby pushed past Sasha, ignoring her obnoxious smirk. She'd almost made it to the ground floor when another poisoned arrow struck her.

"Bye-bye, freak!" Sasha called mockingly. "Have fun with your ringleader!"

Ruby slammed the door so hard its glass eye cracked.

Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot stood in the drizzle, feeling his tears mix with the raindrops. He tried to hold them back, maintain some degree of dignity, but he simply couldn't. Rather than feel sadness, he felt like he was drowning in it. Sinking so deep that he couldn't find the surface again. Funny: Gotham's filthy, polluted river, and his little dip in it, was starting to look pretty good now.

On the surface; now that was where monsters kept leering at him.

He'd just gotten out of Arkham Asylum, distancing himself from the place that had started feeling homey. From Professor Strange - Hugo! He had to call him Hugo! - who had been so kind and understanding. Who had helped him turn over a new leaf.

His former ally, Butch, had taken over Oswald's place with that horrible Tabitha. Oswald supposed he should have been grateful that they'd spared his life, but they'd covered him in tar and feathers before booting him out. Because his nickname was 'Penguin'. Penguin. Feathers. Hahahaha. Oswald wasn't even angry. He was simply disappointed and hurt that his attempt at patching things up had gone up in flames.

His best friend (which was a slightly less pathetic way of saying his 'only friend'), Edward Nygma, virtually kicked him out and had refused to listen to him when Oswald had tried to tell him that crime and violence weren't the answer.

This was the only place Oswald could come to. It was bleak and wet, with twisted old trees at every corner and the trains rattling by every few minutes. Yet it gave him the closest thing to peace that he could recall in a long time. Especially because she was there.

"Hello, Mother." He sniffled, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "I...I'm sorry I couldn't visit sooner. But know that I've visited you in my mind countless times."

There was no answer. No sweet, thickly-accented voice telling him that he should have visited more, after everything she'd done for him. But almost immediately after she would hug him and tell him that she loved him.

"Things...are not going as I'd hoped." Oswald pushed some wet, black hair out of his teary eyes. Admitting it almost hurt more than the issue itself. "I feel so alone. And, honestly...I don't know how I'll manage without you."

His mother's grave crouched at his feet. Granite and smooth, with a simple inscription embedded in the stone. On one hand, Oswald was grateful that his mother had gotten such a nice tomb. His funds hadn't been wasted on this. But on the other hand, he'd have hoped not to spend money on his mother's tombstone for another ten years at least.

He was truly, and utterly, alone.

Oswald covered his face with his hands. Teardrops leaked from between his fingers. His thin shoulders shuddered beneath his coat.

He didn't notice the two people approaching him - or, rather, the grave - until a gentle male voice called out, "Excuse me?"

Oswald's face shot up. He caught a stray glance at the fellow grave-dwellers as he turned away, dabbing his eyes. Nearby stood an elegantly-dressed man with a bouquet of white lillies. Standing several feet away, head slightly bent and hands behinds her back, was a lady with crimson hair. She was watching him from beneath her eyelashes. Blushing slightly, Oswald turned to the man and smiled shyly. But his sorrow must have cracked through, for the man gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"No, not at all." Oswald smiled bashfully, his unease already fading, as he stepped aside. The man knelt beside his mother's grave and placed the lillies at its feet. There was a deep sadness in his pallid face, a mist hiding behind his eyes. Oswald didn't speak for a moment. Neither did the man. Silence and sorrow linked them together. From her spot, the girl watched them with interest. Ready to intervene, it seemed.

"Did you...know her?" Oswald finally asked.

"I did once." The man spoke softly, still looking at the tomb. "Many years ago. I found her again only in death, I'm afraid." Tears shimmered in his heavy-lidded eyes, but he still forced a smile as he faced Oswald. Held out a gloved hand, open to companionship. "Elijiah Van Dahl, pleased to make your acquaintance."

Oswald grasped the offered hand. It was as warm and comforting as a fireplace during a blizzard. "Oswald Cobblepot."

"Fine name." Elijiah smiled. "You were close to Gertrud?"

"My mother." Oswald felt old wounds split open at the confession.

A faint crinkle appeared between Elijiah's eyebrows as he processed the name. His grip slackened ever so slightly. "Mother?" He echoed. Oswald nodded, slightly nervous by the change in the man's aura. The girl seemed to sense it as well. In no time at all she was by Elijiah's side, resting a hand on his elbow. Blushing furiously, she avoided looking directly at Oswald. "Is something the matter, Master?" She asked with concern. Elijiah, however, merely patted her hand as he turned to Oswald.

"I'm sorry," Oswald asked, "but how did you know my mother?"

"How old are you?" Elijiah demanded. The girl finally turned to Oswald, trying to see what had distressed her 'master' so. Her blush increased so much she looked sunburnt.

"Pardon?" Oswald asked.

"How old are you?" Elijiah asked again, slower but no less urgently.

Oswald felt thrown-off by the question, to say the least. But the new docility in his nature compelled an answer. "Uh, thirty-one."

"Thirty-one, yes." Elijiah nodded, his eyes clouding over as tears trickled their way down. The girl gasped. Her fiery hair suddenly bleached to a mousy color. Acne scars appeared on her neck and face. Oswald took a step back in shock. But what came next threw the girl's metamorphosis into the backseat. "She...she never told me." Elijiah muttered to himself, shock dripping from every word.

Oswald, now having had his fill of surprises, interjected. "Never told you about what?"

Elijiah kept staring at the grave, as if it was all he could see, and finally responded: "That I had a son."

Oswald felt as though the ground had dissolved from beneath his soaked feet. His heart froze in its rhythmic beats in his ribcage. The damp, muggy air suddenly dropped by ten degrees. The girl looked no less shocked. She looked from her master to Oswald, trying to spot the alleged family resemblance.

Father and son stood in the graveyard, speechless. Reunited.