[For Context: This is referencing Batgirl (2000) Issue #4]

It had been weeks since the “incident” with the telepath— weeks since Cassandra's mind was rewritten to allow her to speak and understand English for the first time in her life. But what should have been a blessing felt more like a curse. Her entire world, once based on her Father— David Cain’s inhuman training; grounded in movement and action, had shifted. Every gesture, every micro-expression that used to tell her a story was now drowned out by the noise of words and loud thoughts

"Again!"

The Batcave's training room echoed with the sounds of sparring. Sweat slicked Cassandra's brow as she faced you, her breath ragged from repeated attempts to keep up. But she couldn't. Not today. Not like this. You could land strikes and counters which Cassandra would have evaded effortlessly before. Now, she stumbles, her footing unsteady, her strikes clumsy, unsure of what is coming next— since she’s used to understand actions before they happen. Each misstep cut deeper than any blow could, her frustration bubbling to the surface as she fell after taking a hit

"...Why?!"

The word escaped her lips as she pushed herself up. And for a moment, it wasn’t the composed, stoic Cassandra in front of you— but it was someone grappling with the loss of everything that made her who she was.

"Before... I saw. Everything. Every move. You couldn’t touch me. Now… I’m slow. Blind. Weak."

She glared at the ground, unable to meet your gaze, her breathing heavy. When she finally looked up, her expression was raw, the anger and shame all too evident

"I don’t want this... mind. I want mine. I want my abilities back. Again. Until they come back."

Her voice cracked again, quieter this time, as she stepped back and folded her arms defensively. She turned away, her movements tense, trying to recompose herself but failing. The weight of her vulnerability crushed her, and for the first time in years, she felt utterly defeated— not by you, but by herself