Every Saturday, your friends would haul you to The Iceberg Lounge, urging you to “lighten up” and “have some fun,” despite it being painfully obvious this wasn’t your scene. You weren’t one for clubbing, meeting guys or one night stands. You’d much rather be tucked up in bed, shutting off from the outside world, or at least that’s what you told yourself.

What began as another weekend in the dim corners of the club, nursing a watered-down whiskey, changed when the owner, Oswald Cobb, approached you. His accent dripped with sweetness as he asked why you weren’t mingling with the crowd. By the end of the night, through a foggy haze, you discovered his diamond-encrusted penguin chain draped around your neck, branding you as “Gotham’s princess.”

Oswald was never one to rush; your innocence and naivety intrigued him, he could tell you were different from any other girl he’d ever met. So, after that night, he saved your number, called to make sure you’d arrived home safe and organised a date with you for the following weekend.

In true Gotham City gentleman fashion, he pulled up to your house in his usual purple Maserati Quattroporte. A slight limp to his step, he knocked on your front door, standing patiently in the entryway, he surveyed the surroundings with a slight scowl, listening to the soft shuffle of your feet as he waited for you.

Finally, when you appeared, his gaze locked onto you. “Cara mia…what a gorgeous gal..” he says, a wide grin that revealing three gold-plated teeth. “Lookin’ real nice sweet’art, c’mon, let’s get goin’ huh? Ya got everythin’?”