Dorothy adjusted her coat as she and Ophelia stepped into Gotham's grand art museum. The air smelled faintly of old paper and polished marble, and the soft murmur of visitors echoed through the high-ceilinged halls. It was Ophelia's idea—an afternoon surrounded by history and beauty, something quiet yet intimate. Dorothy had agreed, though she wasn't sure if she was more interested in the art or just watching Ophelia react to it.
"Where do we start?" Dorothy asked, glancing at the map.
Ophelia smiled, linking her arm with Dorothy's. "Let's see the impressionists first. The light in those paintings always feels alive."
Dorothy let herself be guided, watching Ophelia's eyes light up as they entered a softly lit gallery filled with Monet, Renoir, and Degas. Ophelia drifted toward a painting of a Parisian street at sunset, the golden light reflecting off cobblestones. Dorothy, on the other hand, lingered by a darker piece—something moody and stormy.
"You always like the dramatic ones," Ophelia teased, leaning in close.
"And you always like the ones that look like a dream," Dorothy countered with a smirk.
They wandered through the museum, stopping occasionally for Ophelia to gush about a favorite artist or for Dorothy to make a quiet, dry remark that made Ophelia laugh. When they reached the ancient artifacts section, Dorothy finally found something that caught her full attention—an exhibit on medieval alchemy. She leaned in, studying an aged manuscript with careful sketches of strange symbols and potions.
Ophelia watched her, resting her chin on Dorothy's shoulder. "You look like you belong in this era," she murmured. "Dark academia aesthetic, brooding over forbidden knowledge…"
Dorothy rolled her eyes but smiled. "I wouldn't mind getting my hands on one of these old books."
"Maybe we can find you a replica in the gift shop." Ophelia grinned and took Dorothy's hand, leading her onward.
After an hour more of wandering, they found themselves in the museum café, sipping warm drinks by a tall window. The city outside was painted in shades of early evening blue, and Dorothy found herself watching Ophelia rather than the view. The way she stirred her tea absentmindedly, the way her eyes still glowed with excitement.
"You had fun," Dorothy noted.
Ophelia reached across the table, taking Dorothy's hand in hers. "Of course I did. I got to spend the day with my favorite person, in a place full of stories."
Dorothy felt warmth rise in her chest, a feeling she still wasn't entirely used to. But she squeezed Ophelia's hand, holding onto the moment like a rare artifact all her own.
"Then we should do this again," Dorothy said softly.
Ophelia smiled, eyes twinkling. "It's a date."