Chapter 2: A Time to Cry and a Time to Try

(The songs for this chapter start at "Bathsheba and Oak Unite" and end at "Nolita Fairytale.")

I woke up early the next morning. Not because I wanted to (I most certainly did not, I am a purebred night owl, thank you) but because I was finding it rather hard to stay asleep. As comfortable as the bed and the pyjamas and everything was, it was still a strange place full of new smells and new textures and different shadows on the walls and… it didn't feel like home at all.

So I got up, got dressed (yes, back into my old, crusty clothes) and I thought that maybe I could look around the hallways a little bit. I wasn't going to go far initially—I knew I was a guest in someone else's home and I shouldn't snoop too much—but I had to go look at some of the other architecture and paintings, etc, if for no other reason than to keep myself from thinking about… other things. And besides, I would be back before anyone came for me, so it would be fine.

I ended up wandering far longer than I had told myself I would. There was just so much stuff to see and all of it was beautiful. This building had to be at least a hundred years old, if not more. The mid 1800s was my first guess, but there were parts that looked as though they had some Georgian influence too, so maybe even as far back as the late 1700s? Either way, it was nothing short of incredible. Can you tell I'm a bit of a history nerd? On top of being a choir nerd? Yeah, I'm real charming and suave.

But then, that's when I found the jackpot.

All my life I have dreamed of something like this happening to me, of standing at the top of a long staircase overlooking a ballroom and seemingly taking centre stage, and that's precisely what it felt like when I opened these massive double doors.

There were no lights lit, and most of the curtains were shut—which made sense, there wasn't a ball going on—but even so, the wide open space, the giant chandelier in the middle of the ceiling, and the smooth, polished marble floor, it made me feel as though I had stepped into Anastasia or Cinderella or Beauty and the Beast. I just wish I didn't look like Grover from Sesame Street right then.

I couldn't help it. I needed to sing. Badly.

You are the flowers in my garden,

You are the sun in my eyes,

For you, I could climb the highest mountains,

You, only for you,

You are the sparkle in the fountains,

You are the birds in the sky,

For you, I would swim across the oceans,

You, only for you,

This was a song I had just made up, in case anyone was wondering. I was imagining what it would be like singing to my handsome prince in a romantic fantasy movie, because I guess I have a Disney Princess complex, and come on, we've all done goofy/weird things when we're alone… stop judging me…

And I would fly back to you,

If only I knew…

Where you are…

And I would trade a million trinkets,

For one night in your arms,

Under the stars,

No matter how far,

Wherever you are,

Please… let me hear your voice,

Let me feel your touch,

Let me see your eyes,

Please… let me hear your heart, beat,

Let me feel your warm, cheeks,

Let me see your smile,

'Cause I would fly home to you,

If only I knew…

Who you are…

And I would give you all of my heart,

For one night in your arms,

Under the stars,

No matter how far,

Wherever you are,

There were crocodile tears streaming down my face as I finished, my arms splayed out dramatically as I stood in the middle of the large room, my voice still echoing all around me. I had no idea why I always teared up when singing new songs, it just sorta happened. Like I was witnessing a miracle every time a new melody was composed, each word spilling out from my melodramatic heart. Maybe it sounds silly written down, but to me, living it out, I'm not kidding when I say it feels genuinely magical.

"That was beautiful—"

"AGH!" I screamed, jumping clean out of my skin and turning around.

"It's okay—it's just me!" said Dick, raising his hands into the air innocently. "I come in peace."

Well, that was nice, but now I was going to need a new heart after this one ruptured from shock. I could still feel it pounding painfully in my chest, adrenaline pumping through my veins. Jeez! Could this guy at least try not to give me a heart attack?

"Are you okay?" He asked, somewhat worried, somewhat grinning.

"I'm fine," I said, still catching my breath. "Just—how about a little warning next time?"

"Sorry," he said, his lips going tight.

Then it was my turn to nervously chuckle again. "That's the second time now…" I embarrassedly put my hands over my face and grimaced. "You probably think I'm nuts… singing to myself all the time…"

But instead of a cool smirk or a nonchalant answer, he just started coughing while his smile grew even tighter. "Well—you know—it's not the strangest thing ever."

I sighed, feeling like any chance I previously had of seeming cool or "not like other girls" was quickly fluttering away like bats in the belfries. He undoubtedly thought that I was a huge dork, and there would be no mending that image.

"So… why are you here?" I asked, wanting to change the subject. And now that I thought about it, I was genuinely curious to know.

"Oh, Batman sent me to check on you, but you weren't in your room, so then we started looking for you."

I felt my face turn red. "Sorry," I squeaked. "I just really want to… and then the ballroom… and the acoustics… and… sorry…" I stared into his mask-covered face, wondering what he looked like beneath it, and felt all these goosebumps rippling across my skin. "I didn't mean to go barging around your house, it's just… really beautiful."

"Well, glad to know someone appreciates it," he half grinned. "Come on. Alfred's got breakfast waiting."

"Breakfast?" I asked, watching him invite me forward.

"You know? First meal of the day? Kind of important? Usually involves bacon?"

I avoided rolling my eyes, but I still let out a breath of a laugh. So he was a funny guy, huh? I knew a thing or two about funny guys. "Thanks," I said as I started following him.

I still felt kinda bad, giving them a scare like that. I know I wouldn't feel too thrilled to know a total stranger was wandering around in my house. It's just that I'd never been in a place like this before, and I probably wouldn't be staying long, and… I guess the temptation was a lot stronger than I realised.

And speaking of temptations…

Dick was walking just a little bit ahead of me, and I eyed all the perfectly sculpted muscles along his arms and torso, visible through the tight spandex. Exactly how much did this guy work out? I couldn't imagine what it would take to get my doughy body looking like that.

Maybe if I was feeling more like myself, I would have asked a question, but at times like these—both when I'm going through things and when an absolutely gorgeous man whom I have zero chance with is standing right in front of me—I tend to kinda shut down a little bit. I've wondered for a long time now if it has to with depression? I don't have a clue. But it doesn't feel the greatest when my chest is so heavy that it's the only thing I can think about.

"So," said Dick, clearing his throat. "Where're you from?"

I smiled, glad that he actually seemed to want to talk with me. "California. Northern California, that is. This tiny seaside town that no one's ever heard of. How about you?"

I thought I saw him hesitate for the briefest of moments, but it also could have just been my imagination. "Technically speaking, Keystone City. But also technically speaking, Gotham. And technically neither."

I made a face somewhere between a frown and a smile. "Umm, okay? Mind elaborating a bit on that one?"

"I was born in Keystone," he said, chuckling. "But my family never stayed in one spot for very long. It wasn't until I was twelve that I landed in Gotham and I ended up living here until just a few years ago."

"Why did your family move a lot?" I asked, thinking of a couple potential answers that I was familiar with. A military family, for example. Or maybe… something similar to my family?

"We were part of a traveling circus," he said, the slightest bit more melancholy. Well, that wasn't something you heard every day. "We toured the East Coast mostly, went back West a couple of times…"

"Wait, wait, wait—seriously? You were part of an actual circus?" I've literally never met anyone in that line of work before. Personally, I didn't know that there were any circuses left in the States. He sheepishly nodded, his wavy hair bouncing around his head. "That's severely cool," I said, beaming. "What act did you do?"

"The flying trapeze. Me and my parents, we were a family act."

I could feel my face lighting up, picturing a younger him flying through the air as stage lights shone all around him and the audience cheered below, spilling popcorn and getting their fingers sticky with cotton candy.

"That's really awesome." Already my brain was buzzing with a million questions—mainly rather pushy ones like, "can you teach me how to do the trapeze?"—but I sided with my better judgment and didn't badger him with a bunch of annoying requests. Besides, it's not like I'd be seeing much of him once I got back home. If I got back home…

"Thanks. But what about you? What's a California girl doing in New Jersey?"

All that warmth I was feeling suddenly vanished. "I don't know," I said, looking down at my feet as I walked. "Legitimately, I'm drawing a blank. The last thing I remember is driving back home with my family, in California, and then the next thing I know, I'm waking up by the side of the road outside of Gotham." Oh no. I could feel that tightness in my chest building, as well as the stinging in my eyes. This time, however, I fought back and tried to keep my composure, especially since Dick was looking straight at me now, brow furrowed.

"Did someone…?" He asked, almost reaching to hold my shoulder, but stopping short.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I don't think so. Well… I hope not, anyway…" I hadn't even considered that. "What I do think… is that something happened while we were on the road. Most likely…" and now it was finally time to say it out loud and face, head-on, the thing I'd been pushing away since last night. "…an accident of the car crash variety." My whole body felt tense, from my temples to my stomach. I would have loved to be thinking about literally anything else. "But I know that doesn't explain how on earth I ended up on the other side of the country…"

A single gasp escaped my lips; what would have been the start of many sobs if I hadn't stopped myself and swiped at my eyes until they were dry.

All of a sudden, he was just by my side, his hand on my back. "Hey," he whispered gently. "Everything's gonna be okay."

I tried to smile—tried to just look him in the eye—but I was finding it rather difficult. "Thanks," I croaked, sniffing once or twice and doing my best to keep my composure. I got the feeling that this was not the first time Dick had comforted someone. In his vigilante line of work, it probably came up often. And I had to remind myself of that over and over again as I felt him rub my back reassuringly.

We were only a few steps away from the dining room now, just about as nice and elegant as the rest of the mansion, with a lovely table set with lovely things. Flowers, painted plates, intricate silverware, and cushioned seats all seemed right at home in this beautiful place. It was funny… as I walked in there, the sunshine gushing through the window, warming up the room, and Dick walking just ahead of me, stepping into it… it felt almost like I was in some sort of dream. There was no way this was actually happening to me. Me. Of all people. I'm never the first person picked for anything, I never win the jackpot or the lottery, I never get the guy, I rarely travel anywhere exceptional, let alone fancy, and I've definitely never left the country before on some grand vacation to Italy or something—I couldn't even win stupid colouring contests when I was a kid. A bit of a stark contrast to most of my family…

And yet, here I was, sitting down in a large chair, across from Nightwing/Dick, in a mansion in Gotham City, with Batman somewhere nearby. I suppose there's a first time for everything.

The butler came in promptly and set down two plates—one for Dick, one for me—filled with pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon.

"If you have any dietary restrictions or personal biases, do let me know," he said crisply with his British accent. "Tea?"

"Yes, please. Thank you. White, with cream, two sugars, please."

"Very good. Tea, Master Dick?"

"Yes, please."

He nodded and then disappeared into the kitchen.

I was just sitting there… looking down at my plate while Dick had already started on his. It wasn't often that someone made me breakfast. Let alone pancakes. It was funny, really, how odd it felt, picking up my fork and suddenly finding that I wasn't all that hungry.

I plucked a small blob of egg from my plate and popped it in my mouth. It was light, fluffy, and perfectly seasoned. There was probably some sour cream or other dairy product in it that helped with that. A little trick I learned from my brother. It's the fancy way to make eggs, I guess.

I pivoted to the pancakes. They looked darker than the average cake, and after the first small bite, I understood why. It was some sort of wheat flour pancake. Not exactly what I'd call familiar… or even tasty.

The bacon was still just bacon, though.

I kept looking down at my plate, my chest feeling tight, and wished I had a good enough excuse to leave the table and just hide away in my guest room for a while, but I was taught better manners than that. I continued to nibble on my eggs.

The butler returned with a tray of two dainty, white tea cups, one for Dick, one for me. I noticed that Dick's drink was considerably darker than mine as they were set down.

"Where are you from?" I suddenly asked the butler. "In England, specifically."

He looked at me and smiled, but hesitated with his answer. It dawned on me a little later that he was probably not meant to talk about his personal life, given that he was, you know, the Bat Butler and all, but I went on.

"It's just, I was noticing your accent. It sounds like one of the London ones. Am I close?"

"Perhaps," he smiled, and I took that as a yes. "Have you ever traveled there before?"

I sighed longingly. "I wish. You know, my great-grandparents were from England. On my mother's side. I've always wanted to go and see the places where they lived…"

"Where were they from?" The butler went on, indulging me. Dick seemed to also be listening.

"Oh, gosh, I'd have to look it up again—I've found a few generations from all over. I know a few of them were from London, and at least one of them was from Cambridgeshire, there were some from Yorkshire and Lancashire… but that's all I remember."

"And you said these were your great-grandparents?" He asked, pausing before he left for the kitchen again.

I nodded. "And great-great-grandparents."

"Were your grandparents raised in the US, then?"

"Actually, they were from New Zealand. My mom too, she was born and raised there."

"Ah," he said understandingly. "I thought I detected something in your accent."

"Really?" I asked, eyebrows at least a mile high as he walked back through the side door, smiling at me. I certainly would never suspect myself of possessing anything even close to a New Zealand accent. But then again, for my entire childhood, I didn't even realise my mom had an accent at all. I think there was a part of my brain that associated her voice with "properness" and "fanciness" to some degree, but never did I ever think, "she sounds different than everyone else." She just sounded like my mom.

"First time someone's ever told you?" Dick asked, and I lifted my shoulders shyly.

"Yeah. Do I really? Have a bit of an accent?"

"Well, I don't know if my opinion holds much weight. Some people tell me I have a bit of an accent too, but I could never have told you without someone else pointing it out first."

"Which accent?" I asked, curious. I wanted to say maybe somewhere Mediterranean perhaps, judging by his warm skin and dark hair?

"Romani," he said, half smiling. "My mom was from there. Romania, that is."

I felt myself smiling. We had something in common. Moms from different countries. I don't think I can remember the last time I met someone else in that same exact boat. But then again, I also don't get out much.

"Is it nice there?" I didn't really know a whole lot about Romania, or even where it was on the map (I mean, I'm pretty sure it's somewhere in Eastern Europe, but I couldn't tell you which countries it sits between.)

His mood seemed to soften a bit. "Well, actually, I've never been."

"…I've never been to New Zealand." We looked at each other then, a silent message passing between us. 'I know what that feels like.'

I know what it feels like to have a mom from a completely different culture, with relatives and friends there who try to stay in touch, but it becomes a hassle and a burden, what with the distance being so far and plane tickets being so expensive, and video calls never seem like enough. I understand feeling like you've got one foot constantly outside of your birth country, but only just hovering over your second home, because you've never actually felt connected to it in any meaningful way. You feel this constant nagging obligation to honour it, and keep waiting for the day you can actually afford to go there and throw yourself into it, or else, the day when you won't feel guilty for forgetting about it entirely. But I can never forget. I shouldn't, at the very least.

"Where in New Zealand is your mom from?" Dick asked.

"She was from Auckland. A very British family. Which is funny, because I think she ended up turning out the least British out of all of them. I mean, she was literally the only one in her family who didn't like tea." I found myself laughing at the memory of it as I sipped my own tea. Ironically, it seemed the tea drinking gene skipped a generation. "She did like marmite, though, which I always thought was super gross. Guess we both had our complaints with the cuisine. But she told me once that overall, she just found her life there to be… boring, I guess? Uneventful. Stale. Grey. That's why she wanted to move to America. The land of opportunity and excitement. Of course, this was also back in the 80s. It was her dream to settle down here, and have a big ol' family in small town America." Pretty tame compared to her siblings, but a good dream nonetheless. "Why did your mom come to America?" I asked, taking up my cup.

Before my lips could even touch the rim, however, Dick replied, "I don't know… she died before I got the chance to ask her."

I set my teacup down. "I'm sorry." I said it as earnestly as I could. I wanted him to know that I meant it—really meant it. "My mom passed away too." Again, that same silent message was shared between us.

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks."

I thought about asking more questions, but the mood at the table felt just a little too melancholy, and I didn't want to pry too much. After all, I'd only just met this man a few hours ago. But at the same time… a lull was quickly forming in the conversation. So I thought I would take the next step in the "my parent died" conversation starter pack.

"If you don't mind my asking, what happened to her?"

He took a slow sip of his tea and said, "Someone sabotaged our show one night." I felt my shoulders fall in dread as I listened. "The line on the trapeze broke… she and my dad fell."

And I thought my little story was sad. I couldn't even imagine going through something like that… both parents in the snap of a finger… in the blink of an eye… gone forever. An old instinct came over me—one I hadn't felt for a few years—and I immediately got out of my chair and hugged him. I know it must sound kinda over reactive, but… I didn't know how else to show that I truly cared, even if I only partially understood.

He seemed surprised when I came over—I mean, who wouldn't I guess—but he still hugged me back. When I let go I sat down on the chair next to him, everything feeling tight again.

"How old were you?" I asked quietly.

"Twelve," he replied, a little shaky.

It sounded so far away… a twenty-five-year-old man reminiscing about an incident that happened thirteen years ago… but I knew first hand… it always feels like it was a lifetime ago, and like it happened just yesterday.

Then he cleared his throat. "But, you know. Life moves on."

That much I knew, not that anyone ever says those words cheerfully.

"I was twelve when my dad told us all that she had colon cancer." He turned to look at me, sympathy flooding his expression. "She held on for about two years… and then the chemo finally did her in… I was fourteen." I felt him reach for my hand and he squeezed it tight. "You know, it's funny… I look at myself in the mirror and… I don't see this twenty-one-year-old everybody keeps telling me I am. It doesn't feel like it's been seven years at all. I still feel mostly the same. Like everything's… stuck."

He nodded, and I knew he understood what I meant.

There was more that both of us could have said, but I think it was better communicated in silence. Some things don't need to be spoken out loud to be understood. Like how awkward I felt once the moment had passed and he was still holding my hand.

I tentatively tightened my grip and then let go, getting up and sitting down at my plate again. I brushed a lock of hair behind my ear and took another bite of bacon.

Not much else was said after that. It almost felt like a conversation bomb had gone off and there was only bits of rubble left. Then, when I said I was finished (I did my best to eat as much on my plate as I could) the butler directed me to a phone I could use to call whomever I needed to call. I was left there, by myself.

I picked up the little thing and held it for a moment. I didn't like how alone I suddenly felt. I hadn't even seen Batman all morning. I kinda wanted to. Just so that punching in my father's cell number wouldn't feel so daunting.

I listened to the dial tone, and then, as I had feared and expected, it went straight to voicemail.

"Hey, Dad," I said, trying not to sound like I was on the verge of breaking down again. "It's Brielle. I'm… alive. Um… I hope you are too. Call me if you can. I'm safe and… waiting for you. I love you." I hit "end" and stared down at the phone, clenching my jaw. So maybe he just didn't pick up right then. There were other numbers I could try. I started dialling my step-mom. Again, it went to voicemail. "Hey there, it's Brielle. I tried calling Dad but… no answer. I'm safe. Just waiting to hear from anyone. Call me back. Bye." There was one more number—the home phone number—but as expected, that also went to voicemail.

My next thought was, "Well, I guess I'd better call 911," and then it dawned on me what I would be doing. More than likely, I would be reporting the death of at least one, if not all, of my family members. I mean, there would be no way to know for sure who was alive, but that didn't help calm me down. And how was I even supposed to get home? I had no money. Even if I had my wallet, I was broke.

That was it. I needed to find someplace to be alone, and quickly.

I eventually found the front doors and went outside to crumble onto the front steps of the mansion.

I don't usually full-on cry. Sure, I tear up from time to time, but even when it gets really bad, I have this habit of trying to keep the noise to a minimum. Chalk it up to living in close proximity to all your siblings, having a smidge of social anxiety, and being told over and over again from an early age that you're an annoying crybaby who should just shut up. But this time, there was nobody around. And even if there was, I doubt I would have cared.

For the first time in years, I wailed into my jacket sleeves. I cried until the fabric was soaked and my lungs were aching from heaving and gasping so much. My throat felt sore and my nose wouldn't stop running. And all I could think about was how it would be up to me to take care of myself. Like that wasn't a daunting prospect at all.

I have no idea how long I was out there, but it felt like ages.

Then, I heard the doors open quickly, and Dick shouted, "Batman, she's here!" I tried to clean up my grubby face. "Hey," he said, coming and sitting next to me. "Do you feel like talking?"

I heard Batman's footsteps as he also came out and sat down on my other side. I felt torn. On one hand, I was grateful for having people around me who cared enough to ask how I was doing, but on the other, I just really wanted to be alone and miserable. I sniffed again and rubbed my nose.

"I don't know," I said hopelessly.

"I did some investigating," said Batman gently. All I could see of him were his black boots next to my bare feet as I stared at the ground. "There was a reported car crash last night on the 101. Four dead… ten missing. Including your family." Missing? So, not dead? But until they were found… if they were ever found… it might as well be like they were dead. "The local authorities are still trying to figure out what happened, although they are chasing a suspect who fled the scene." None of what he was saying was making it to my ears, though. I was just trying to figure out what on earth I was supposed to do next. I worked as an online artist, getting paid gig to gig, and I sure as heck didn't have the income needed to pay for my parents' house. I'd need to… somehow pay for a plane ticket… go through all my family's stuff… maybe sell some of it? That thought alone made me start bawling again, especially since the most valuable stuff was the stuff that mattered most to me. But then what? Use that money to burry them? If there was even enough for that. I didn't want to attend any funerals alone. Or live alone. Or even just be alone.

It was then, during my blubbering stupor, that I felt Dick's hand on my back again, and this time I felt Batman's too.

"Everything's gonna be—"

"No, everything is NOT going to be okay!" I snapped, cutting Dick off. "My f-family is—gone!" It almost felt like I was hyperventilating now. "I don't know what—what to do with—out them!"

"…Do you have your own place to stay?" Batman asked quietly.

"No! I was li—iving with m-my parents!"

"What about relatives?"

"The-e only ones who'd—be able to ta—ake me in live in New Zealand and Australia!"

"Do you have a phone?" Dick asked.

"I didn't need one until now! I have a tablet… had a tablet!" That was when I realised that my tablet had been in the car with me, and all of its contents was now lost in the aetherweb, the device probably smashed to smithereens in the wreckage. That was years of work, gone! I really did have nothing.

Suddenly, I felt two, large arms wrap around me, holding my body tightly. Dick's breath brushed against the nape of my neck and I was so close to him that not only could I smell his cologne, but I could hear his heartbeat too. Not that I was really paying close attention. I just remember leaning on him, like I had with Batman last night, burying my face as deeply into him as I could, not wanting to open my eyes for anything.

And I cried…

And I cried…

And cried…

And cried…

Until there wasn't much energy or water left in me. I straightened and rubbed my face, surprised that the both of them had stuck around through all of that. They truly were good men.

"Thanks," I said weakly, and I wished there was something I could do about the giant wet spot in Dick's uniform, but it was just water, so it would dry off quickly enough.

"You know…" said Batman, clearing his throat. "If you wanted… it's a pretty big manor, and… I wouldn't exactly mind the company…"

"You're—" I sniffed, "—letting me stay?"

"If you would like," he said awkwardly. "Until we can get all of your affairs in order and—"

I had leapt upon him with the biggest bear hug I could possibly muster. "THANK YOU!" I probably would have started crying all over again if I hadn't just already sobbed my eyes out. "I promise I won't be any trouble—and I won't tell anyone you're Batman or anything like that! Thank you!"

Much to my surprise, he returned my hug, and he even patted me on the back for good measure. "You're welcome. It's the least I can do. Really."

I found myself not wanting to let go, and held on a little tighter. "Thank you," I said one last time, and then finally released him.

To my surprise, I caught him sniffing as he coughed and straightened where he was sitting. "Why don't we have Alfred take you out to find some new clothing? And then we can discuss the finer details of your stay."

"Okay," I smiled, in complete and utter shock at his generosity and kindness. "Thank you, again."

The guys took me back inside where Batman told the butler—Alfred—that he and I would be going clothes shopping for the day. I wasn't expecting too much, but the thought of going out and getting some nice new things instantly cheered me up. Or, more accurately, it distracted me from how I was feeling.

As we were getting ready to go, however, Dick came up to me. He was holding something in his hands.

"I noticed you kinda didn't come with any footwear," he said, and he held out an old pair of sneakers. "They were mine when I was younger. I figure you can put 'em to good use."

"Thanks."

And then he left without another word. It was a little more curt than our previous interactions, but I assumed he was just a little emotionally drained. I was, for sure.

I happily slipped on the old, blue shoes—they were a little big, but not by much (I've got largish feet for a gal)—and then Alfred was taking me to the garage where a sleek, black car was waiting. It reminded me of a limo, just normal sized. Or maybe it was a limo and I just don't know anything about cars. I really don't. Anyway—

The next few hours… man… okay.

SO, the first place we went to, right off the bat, was this gorgeous boutique with name brands displayed in the window that I can't even pronounce. I had thought that we might just go to a Target or something, but hey, I wasn't about to complain! Alfred waited in the seating area while one of the ladies working at the store started helping me pick out some things to try on, and I gotta say, after a while, it felt hard to believe that just an hour ago, I was an emotional wreck outside of the manor.

When I went inside the fitting room, though, and took off my jacket and shirt, I noticed something unsettling. Remember that white spot I told you about? The one that seemingly appeared last night? It had grown. Whatever it was, it now reached all the way up to my chest, down to my hips, and it just about covered all of my front and back. Basically most of my torso. Again, it didn't itch, it wasn't numb, it wasn't swollen, it felt totally normal, it just looked white. I wasn't sure I wanted to bring attention to it just yet—maybe when I got back to the manor—right now I just really wanted to enjoy Batman's gift. So I kept on changing as if nothing was wrong.

I tried on the most amazing tops, skirts, pants, shoes, coats, purses (I only got one of those, because DANG are they expensive!) and two hours later, we were walking out with five bags full of a decent starter wardrobe, plus the ensemble I had changed into in the fitting room after promptly throwing my ruined old clothes away. Again, I tried not to overdo it, given that they were buying me all these things out of their good graces, but I do still have some standards. Like, I'm not about to get one salmon skirt and then pair it with every top I own, whether it fits or not. Mama didn't raise no fashion disaster. At any rate, Alfred kept insisting that I was fine, and to keep choosing whatever I liked.

After that, we stopped for a brief lunch—he got salad, I got shrimp scampi—and then it was off to the undergarments store. I told Alfred that he could wait in the car if he wanted, and he did. An hour later, I was back with two bags of… well… use your imagination.

Then we made one last stop to get all the hygiene products I would need, like shampoo, conditioner, razors, brushes, hair ties, deodorant, perfume, makeup… other stuff… and before I knew it, I was buried in bags in the backseat of the car.

"Alright back there?" Alfred called, looking at me in the rear view as we were on our way home.

"Fine," I said, trying to adjust the bags on top of me so that I was at least somewhat comfortable, and so that they wouldn't fall over and explode any time the car made a sharp turn. "Thank you again for doing this, Alfred."

"My pleasure," he smiled politely. "It's not often I get a day out on the town with a lovely young lady."

I rolled my eyes and blushed. Oh, that… flatterer…

We got back to the manor with just enough time for him to start making dinner, after we got all of the bags up to my room, of course. I noticed that the manor was pretty empty when we arrived, so I assumed that Batman and Nightwing were out and about. A shame.

I was up in my room for a long while, unpacking things, taking off tags, and organising my new closet. I had two new coats—one heavy, one light—three new pairs of shoes—sneakers, toeless one-inch heels, and some Birkenstocks—roughly six new tops, all in various styles and cuts and colours to accommodate different temperatures, along with two pairs of pants—one white, one black—a pair of flair jeans, two skirts, two pairs of leggings—one long, one short—a handbag, a pair of sunnies, some new, white socks, other miscellaneous undergarments, three pairs of pjs, and a swimsuit. It was the middle of summer, after all.

Honestly, in total, I thought the price would have been higher for all of this.

Once I had everything put away, including all the stuff I put in the bathroom, I was left folding up the bags and stacking them in a neat pile on my bed, taking out the wrapping paper and tossing them into the nearby trash bin.

That had been quite a full day. With all the bags folded and ready to be taken out to the recycling bin, I let myself collapse onto my bed and just watched the sun move through the windows. My eyes were getting heavy, the sunlight felt warm, the air in the house was cool, the bed was soft and comfy, and before I knew it, I had nodded off.