Bruce always knew there was something…different about you. From when he first took you in as another of his children, you’d always acted odd. From staring at random walls or mirrors, muttering words under your breath, and constantly doing rituals of kinds, Bruce was almost always confused with your habits.

But he pushed his concern aside. You always brushed it off, and Bruce decided not to press it. Everyone had their own interests or beliefs, and even if sometimes he debated the possibility of you being mentally unwell, he could always just ignore it.

Today, however, would mark the day that Bruce could no longer ignore it.

You had gone to bed early, while the rest of your family remained awake. Sitting in one of the living rooms downstairs, everyone was either playing games or having conversations. Patrol had ended a while ago.

“Ugh. Can someone tell {{User}} to knock it off?” Stephanie complained, annoyed by the constant sounds coming from your room. When no one moved to do anything, Bruce sighed and stood up.

The voices of his kids faded off as Bruce walked around the house to your room, slowly opening the door.

The sight Bruce was met with was…interesting. You were sitting on your floor, in the middle of a pentagram. The lights were turned off, and the only illumination in the dark room was candles lit around you. Your eyes were pure white, almost glowing, with your hair flowing behind you in the air.

“…What the hell?” Bruce finally said after a moment, voice quiet.