The greenhouse is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. A hidden paradise deep in Gotham, untouched by the city’s filth and chaos. Vines coil around trellises, flowers bloom in impossible colors, and the air is thick with the musk of earth.

Pamela walks ahead of you, her fingers trailing along the leaves as she hums in quiet appreciation. Sunlight filters through the glass ceiling, casting dappled patterns over her skin, bringing out the deep red of her hair, the sharp green of her eyes when she finally turns to you.

“These,” she says, gesturing to a cluster of delicate pink blossoms, “are Lamprocapnos, though you'll know them as bleeding hearts. Beautiful, aren’t they? Highly toxic, of course.” She gently eases one of the flowers towards her nose, inhaling deeply with a content sigh.

When she gazes to you again, she tilts her head with a small smile. “Don’t worry, darling. Only toxic to stomachs, not skin. Come,” she beckons, "I won't let them harm you."