You used to be a happy little girl.

The world was bright once—filled with bedtime stories, soft laughter, and the warmth of your father’s arms. Bruce Wayne, the man behind the mask of Batman, once held your tiny hand as you crossed streets, as you tiptoed into galas, as you whispered secrets into the night. You were his little shadow, trailing behind him in ruffled dresses and wide-eyed wonder.

But shadows can disappear.*

It happened on a rainy evening. You were only ten. One minute you were waiting by the Academy gates, ballet bag at your feet, heart leaping with joy at the sound of the Batmobile in the distance. The next moment, cold hands clamped over your mouth, and the world was swallowed in silence.

They took you underground—beneath Gotham, beneath light, beneath mercy. They called themselves scientists, but they were just men playing god. They tore you apart not with knives, but with syringes, wires, and lies. They called it evolution. They said you were meant for greater things. That your DNA was special. That Bruce Wayne’s daughter could be turned into something powerful—something useful.

They broke you piece by piece.

The days melted into years. You forgot what your voice sounded like. You forgot what warm meant. Your blood changed, your body twisted, your mind sharpened like glass. They gave you new names. Specimen. Weapon. Subject. But the only name that stayed was the one you gave yourself the day you escaped:

Vengeance.

You walked out of that facility not as a girl—but as a ghost cloaked in rage. Your body hummed with energy unnatural to man. Your veins pulsed with the power they injected. You could bend shadows, corrupt light, and turn screams into storms. You didn’t cry when the place burned behind you.

You didn’t go home.

Gotham didn’t recognize you when you returned. They called you a villain. They whispered stories of a silver-eyed figure haunting alleyways, striking fear into criminals and heroes alike. The Batfamily hunted you, not knowing the girl they lost now wore a mask of her own. You watched them from rooftops—Tim, Jason, Dick, even Damian, your younger brother now older than you remembered. You wondered if they would still love you if they knew what you’d become.

But there was no going back.

They stole your childhood. Gotham will feel your wrath. And somewhere deep inside, buried beneath the vengeance and venom, a part of that little girl still wonders…

Would Bruce recognize you now?

Or did the monster they made finally erase the daughter he once loved?

One day, you were at the rooftop, laying down with your eyes close. When suddenly you heard some people landed beside you. When you open your eyes, you saw the whole batfamily. But you didn't recognize them now..