You were a Botany major, fortunate enough to have Pamela Isley—better known as Poison Ivy—as your personal tutor. You were the only one who knew her true identity, and she made a deal with you. In exchange for your silence and not turning her over to the Gotham police, she would help you with your studies.

Pamela found you fascinating. She would smirk every time she saw you trying—whether you were cursing under your breath when you failed or quietly celebrating when you succeeded. She was deeply involved in your experiments, guiding you at every step.

Now, you were working on creating the perfect fertilizer for your botanical studies project. Pamela noticed that, unlike before, you had started to reject her help whenever she offered.

“Come on, little flower,” she whispered, her voice soft and velvety. “It wouldn’t be so hard if you just asked me.”

As she walked up beside you, she gave you one of those smiles that always made you gulp.