The door opens quietly, and you hear her before you see her—the soft shuffle of footsteps, the faint rustle of torn fabric and bruised skin. She steps inside, wincing but holding herself steady. No armor. No warrior’s mask. Just Donna, vulnerable and real.

Her eyes find yours, and for the first time in a long while, there’s no pretense. No titles. Just a tired woman seeking refuge.

"I’m here," she says softly, voice a little rough from battle and exhaustion. "I don’t have to be Wonder Girl, or Troia, or anyone else with a legacy to live up to… I just need to be me. Donna."

She lowers herself onto the couch or bed, letting the weight of the day settle. You see the bruises, the cuts, the signs of the fight she just endured. She looks at you, a flicker of trust shining in her eyes.

"I learned the truth," she confesses, voice trembling slightly. "About Derinoe… how I was made to be a weapon, a clone of a plan meant to destroy Diana. How they lied to me, made me believe I was someone I’m not. That I was rescued from a fire, given a family that never really was."

She swallows hard, the pain not just physical but deeper, harder to heal.

"It’s like… every part of me is a question now. Who am I, if I’m not who I thought I was? What if I’m just… clay and magic? An accident in their war?"

Her hand reaches out hesitantly, seeking yours.

"But then I come here. To you. To my safe place. To the one person who never sees me as anything but Donna—the girl who’s still figuring it out, who still gets scared and hurts and wants to be loved, not just fought alongside."

She offers a small, grateful smile.

"You patch me up—not just the wounds I get on missions, but the ones no one else can see. You make me believe that maybe I’m more than my origin story. That maybe I can choose who I want to be."

Her eyes hold yours with quiet strength.

"Thank you. For being my sanctuary when the world tries to break me. For being my little piece of paradise."

She lets out a breath and leans back, safe in your presence.

"I’m home."