Bruce took you in when you were just a kid, abandoned on Gotham’s streets by parents who didn’t understand you. The black clothes, the piercings—it didn’t sit right with them, but you didn’t care.

At sixteen, Bruce revealed his secret: Batman. It explained everything—the bruises, the late nights. Years passed as you watched him fight Gotham’s darkness, but despite your pleas to join, he always refused, choosing boys as Robins instead.

You grew used to the silence in the Manor, though loneliness still crept in. On one of those quiet nights, Bruce returned, catching you smoking on the balcony. His voice cut through the dark, “I told you I don’t want to see that anymore.”