Song: Ribs - Lorde
The morning light filtered through the thin curtains, casting pale tendrils of sunlight across the room, a soft contrast to the ever-present gloom that hung in the Lacroix household. Alexandra blinked herself awake, staring at the rays that barely warmed the chill in the air. She yawned, stretching, the moment feeling heavy with the knowledge that today was the day.
Gotham.
An odd mix of excitement, nervousness, and dread coursed through her. The unknown waiting for her in that city had a pull, and yet, it felt like the shadows of Vermont still clung to her.
In silence, she made her way to the bathroom, stepping into the cold shower, letting the icy water shock her awake. She barely felt it. Her mind was already across the horizon, in Gotham's shadowy alleyways. She dried off, pulling on a black sweatshirt and faded grey jeans—casual, comfortable. She tossed her fiery ginger-red hair into loose waves, grabbing a worn, faded baseball cap and fitting it over her head.
The suitcase she packed the night before sat by the door, small, minimal. She eyed it for a moment, grimacing.
"Merde." She muttered, her French slipping out in frustration. "I need to shop... can't be walking around Gotham in the few scraps I brought from Vermont. Black shorts, plain tops? I'll look like someone with no sense of style." She sighed, rolling her eyes. Celine will be my first stop. God knows that woman could dress for Gotham's elite without breaking a sweat.
As she padded downstairs, the air felt heavier. Something hung in the house, the lingering quiet of uncertainty, even with the morning sun.
"Mom? Dad?" she called, stepping into the kitchen.
Her parents were there, leaning close to one another, whispering in hushed tones. At her entrance, they fell silent, eyes shifting to meet hers with forced smiles.
"Everything okay?" she asked, the unease creeping into her chest.
"Yes, honey." Her mother, Isabel, answered too quickly, her tone warm but strained. "Are you sure you don't want to stay just a little longer?"
Alexandra frowned, suspicious. "Mom... I've already said my goodbyes to Vermont. I can't stay here forever. Celine passed my résumé to Jim Gordon. I don't want to keep him waiting."
Her father, Henry, stood beside Isabel, his usually steady voice betraying the faintest tremor. "Honey, Jim won't mind if you stay a while longer."
Her confusion deepened, a flicker of frustration igniting beneath it. "Dad, weren't you the one telling me just days ago to spread my wings and go? What's changed?" She glanced between them, searching their faces.
Henry smiled softly, the weight of his words pulling down at his shoulders. "Nothing, mon doux oiseau. It's just... we'll miss our youngest bird the most."
Alex's breath hitched, the tenderness in his tone catching her off guard. This was it. "Hey, Dad... you know I'll visit often. I won't disappear. I love you both so much." She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around both of them. "Thank you... for everything."
Isabel kissed her forehead softly, her French slipping into the conversation like a lullaby. "Nous t'aimons davantage, mon doux oiseau. Maintenant, vas-y, vole ! Je veux te voir mariée dans un an ! Nous ne rajeunissons pas, et la famille Delune & Lacroix doit perdurer pour la prochaine génération."
Alexandra chuckled, her heart lighter for a moment. "Maman! Tu sais bien que tu devrais dire ça à Alderich, pas à moi! I'm the youngest here, remember?"
Isabel gave a knowing smile, her eyes twinkling despite the gloom. "Oui, mais cela ne signifie pas que l'amour ne peut pas te trouver à Gotham. If it's there, it will come to you."
Alex rolled her eyes with a smile, stepping back. "Sure, Mom. I'll call as soon as I arrive. I promise."
As she turned toward the door, ready to step out, Henry stopped her one last time. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a silver necklace, delicate yet strong. A tiny diamond pendant hung from it, and engraved into it was the Lacroix Christian crest.
"Take this, my love. It was your grandmother Alina's. I'd like you to have it." His voice was thick, laced with emotion. He stepped behind her, fastening the necklace gently around her neck, then turned her around to kiss her forehead. "I love you, Alexandra. I'm so proud of how far you've come."
A tear threatened to escape, but she swallowed it down. "I love you more, Dad."
With a final hug and whispered goodbyes, Alexandra left the warmth of her family home, the cold of the morning biting against her skin as she made her way to the black Bentley waiting by the porte-cochère. The quiet driver opened the door for her, and she slid into the back seat, casting one last glance at the house as the door shut.
Song: everything in it's right place - Radiohead
The drive to Gotham felt longer than seven hours. The world outside the window shifted, from the quiet, rolling hills of Vermont to the creeping darkness of Gotham's outskirts. As the car glided through the winding roads, the clouds began to gather, thick and heavy, smothering the sky with their oppressive weight.
At around 7 p.m., Alexandra was stirred from her light sleep by the rhythmic tapping of rain against the car window. Groggily, she blinked awake, her gaze drifting toward the gloom outside. A weathered sign loomed on the road ahead: "Welcome to Gotham City." The world outside was a blanket of darkness, the city barely illuminated beneath the oppressive, sickly grey clouds that clung to the sky, threatening an endless torrent.
Just as Celine had warned, the rain never seemed to stop here.
"Miss Lacroix, we're a few minutes away from Elysian Heights Tower," the chauffeur's voice cut through the muted atmosphere, his tone detached, almost as bleak as the weather.
The opulent tower, a masterpiece of Gothic architecture known as Elysian Heights, belonged to the illustrious Delune family and was situated in the upscale area of Gotham Heights,home to Gotham's elite, with sprawling mansions, luxury penthouses, and high-end buildings that stand in stark contrast to the more crime-ridden areas of the city. It served as the residence for the city's most powerful figures.
As the Bentley weaved through the wet, rain-soaked streets of Gotham, the city pulses with a dark, oppressive energy. Neon signs flicker in and out of life, casting distorted reflections on the slick pavement, while towering, jagged skyscrapers loom overhead like watchful sentinels. The windows of dilapidated buildings glow faintly with a sickly, yellowish hue, offering brief glimpses of shadowy figures within.
Alleyways stretch into infinite darkness, punctuated by the distant hum of sirens and the unsettling buzz of neon. The streets themselves are teeming with life, but it's the kind that slinks in the shadows—a mixture of desperation, crime, and survival. Graffiti coats crumbling walls, and streetlamps cast long, distorted shadows that seem to move on their own, creating a hauntingly beautiful symphony of urban decay. The city's heartbeat is relentless, unyielding, and as you look out the window, Gotham feels like a living entity—corrupted but vibrant, dangerous yet mesmerizing.
I sink back into my seat, exhaling a sigh I didn't realize I'd been holding. My eyes drift back to the rain-soaked streets outside.
Here I am. Gotham.
As the car rolls to a stop at the valet entrance, the driver steps out, quickly pulling open the door for me. I move swiftly, eager to avoid the relentless downpour. The security guards at the entrance open the doors without hesitation, bowing their heads in a rehearsed, respectful monotone, "Miss Lacroix." Their voices are as cold as the night air.
"Thank you," I murmur, slipping past them with my carry-on clutched tightly in one hand. There's no need for them to help—I just want to get inside, away from the rain, the city, the endless noise.
I press the button for the elevator, watching the doors slide open silently. Sixtieth floor. The highest, farthest I can get from everything, tucked away from society, on my own.
Perched high on the 60th floor, the luxury penthouse was a masterpiece of minimalism and sophistication. Its sleek, open-plan design is dominated by shades of black, grey, and white, creating a stark yet elegant contrast. The living area is spacious, with clean lines and uncluttered surfaces, punctuated by carefully selected furniture—black leather couches, a pristine white coffee table, and soft grey rugs that ground the space in understated luxury.
Next to the towering floor-to-ceiling windows, a grand piano gleams beneath the soft glow of the city lights, its polished black surface reflecting the skyline below. The panoramic views offer an uninterrupted connection to the night, making the space feel limitless. The master bedroom, with its king-sized bed and minimalist décor, directly faces the city, allowing the glow of Gotham to filter in as the perfect backdrop. The open-plan kitchen, adorned with matte black countertops and top-tier stainless steel appliances, flows seamlessly into the living space. A large screen TV is mounted discreetly on the wall, creating a cinematic experience without detracting from the penthouse's sleek aesthetic.
Tucked away, the private study offers a more intimate retreat, its monochrome palette continuing the theme of quiet elegance, while the three-bedroom layout ensured both comfort and privacy.
I made my way straight to the master bedroom, my mind set on one thing: a quick shower and as much sleep as the night would allow. Everything else could wait.
After rinsing off the day's exhaustion, I grabbed my phone and sent a quick text to Mom and Dad, letting them know I'd arrived safely and wishing them a goodnight. I shot a message to Celine as well, telling her I was here and looking forward to seeing her tomorrow.
With that, I collapsed into bed, letting the quiet of the penthouse swallow me whole.
