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Chapter Text

“Cassie!”

“Cass!”

“Cassia!”

The shrill tone of their voices pierced through the hall as they wouldn’t stop calling out your name, over and over again like an alarm that’s just begging to be snoozed. Your hands, frantically scrambling to shove everything back into the little wooden box, as the volumes of their voices started to gradually increase. Shoving your panic deep deep inside you, you placed the box in the center under your bed before covering it with your old blankets and sheets. The thump of their shoes is like a ticking time bomb that’s about to explode.

Standing up, you grab a piece of your laundry on the bed and continue on pretending as if you’ve been folding it for the past half an hour instead of peering through your old things. Thankfully you were just placing one of your T-shirts on top of the neatly-folded pile on your bed when they barged in.

It shouldn’t have fazed you when the bedroom door flew open but it did, causing you to jump a little as the door hit the wall next to it with a loud thud. The hinges would come loose again and you’d be tasked at fixing it all by yourself, but what could you do? It’s not like you’d have the power to ask them to stop pushing your door open so hard.

Sighing, you turned to face them, meeting their scowling eyes as you grabbed yet another piece of laundry to fold, “May I help you guys?”

“Mother calls.” Irene said, the older of the two, the owner of the loudest, sharpest voice. It wouldn’t surprise you if her screams could cut a wooden block to two.

“Now?” you asked, placing another T-shirt on top of the neatly-folded pile before grabbing your phone on the side and shoving it in the back pocket of your jeans while they stood there, hands folded on their chests wearing identical monogrammed white robes.

“Duh, or we wouldn’t be here standing like idiots.” Irene rolled her eyes, so you nodded in reply, brushing your hair back with your fingers exasperatedly and moving towards the door.

It’s not like your bedroom is the largest of the house. In fact, it was a converted pantry that is just slightly larger than Harry Potter’s closet under the stairs but still as cramped as one could imagine, fitting only a desk, a wardrobe and a small bed and nothing else. But you make do, seeing as it’s the only place in the entirety of the house that feels wholefully yours.

“Irene, could you move just so I could see what your mother would need?” you asked, seeing as they were still standing in the doorway blocking your path. Irma moved aside, flashing you sympathetic eyes but before she could say anything, Irene had roughly grabbed her arm and walked away, most likely heading to the kitchen to grab some snacks while their mother was busy. It’s not like your room is far away from the kitchen, given that it was a pantry after all.

As they disappeared, you fished out the key from your other pocket, plucked it in and effectively locked the door. Turning around, you braced yourself for what’s to come as you pocketed the key and headed towards your stepmother’s living quarters upstairs like a prisoner on his way to his final sentencing. Rubbing your fingers to your palms, you tried to get rid of its clamminess from your nerves, hating that a mere woman who had only come to her riches from a marriage to your father had made you feel this way.

You couldn’t even admire the beautiful Christmas decorations littered all over the hallways and the rooms of the house, as if it’s trying to force down the guests that you’re all just like any other one big happy family who’d lovingly celebrate warmly every Christmas day. ‘And besides,’ you thought to yourself as you walked through the main living room and into the foyer, ‘it’s not like Wilma had picked out the decorations herself. She made her assistants do it’.

Standing on the foot of the beautiful classical spiral staircase, you could see the staff walking from room to room carrying and pushing carts filled with garment bags, trays of sweets and towels. Knowing your stepmother, you know that she wouldn’t expect anything less than perfect which is like finding a needle in a haystack since you didn’t know anyone with a taste like Wilma’s.

Swallowing an invisible lump of dread in your throat, you made your climb up the stairs like a prisoner resigned to her fate. Still, despite all that dread and resignation, somehow you could still feel your heart trying to beat its way down your abdomen, your palms all clammy, your back getting all sweaty from the thought of what’s to come. It made you hate yourself so much more. How a mere woman like Wilma could turn you into a lumpy ball of nerves. How you wished you could’ve clawed your way out of here, be somewhere anywhere, anyone else.

The staff walking back in and out of the room flashed you a look of sympathy as they passed. Wilma’s voice could be heard from the background, barking orders as usual. Rubbing your palms harder against your jeans, you entered the lion’s den through the grand double doors that were specifically renovated to Wilma’s tastes soon after your father had passed. But you shoved away the anger that’s about to bubble inside you at the thought of her using your father’s hard-earned fortune so carelessly.

Piles and piles of clothes can be seen all over her canopied bed. Then there were racks and racks of clothes, suitcases filled with beauty equipment all cramped around the room as if she was in the process of turning her bedroom into a photo studio. Your eyebrow raised at the sight but ignored it all along with the staff that can be seen scrambling back and forth in-between the main bedroom and the giant walk-in closet that no-doubt Wilma’s in.
‘Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe she only sent me here for instructions for the night and nothing else.’ you thought to yourself, foolishly hanging onto a sliver of hope. Only that hope vanishes the moment you’ve found your stepmother lying on a settee in her massive walk-in closet in an identical monogrammed white robe as her daughters, surrounded by her team of stylists, manicurists and assistants, hovering around her like bees fussing over their queen.

Tapping lightly on the door with your knuckles just as how she preferred it, you watched as she lifted her head to assess you in her red-rimmed glasses before snapping her fingers at her assistant who’s furiously tapping on the iPad by her side.

“You called for me, Wilma?” you asked.

“Yes, yes.” her eyes drifted to her assistant, a new one you’ve found who, like all others are eager to please as she took over, “I’ve sent you the list of things that you’d have to pick up before we all had to leave in an hour.”

As if on cue, you felt a vibration in your pocket so you fished it out, tapped on the notification sent by an unknown number that could only belong to Wilma’s new assistant. Reading it through, you knew that it was all ridiculous. How is it possible to complete all these 7 things in under an hour? At this point she was just looking for reasons to lock you up and punish you just as she have done all these years whenever you’ve failed at completing the simplest of her ridiculous requests.

“Before the hour ends, you’d have to have at least half of these lists completed, Cassia, you’re aware I hope?” Wilma warned.

“It’s impossible. Just finding a parking spot at this hour itself would take at least 20 minutes.” you told her, hoping that the helplessness in your voice would somehow make her grow a little compassion.

“That’s your problem. I need the flowers for the twins’ hairs and I want the pink peonies.”

“Besides, I’ve ordered them all. All you’d have to do is to pick them up and arrive back here on time. Easy!” Jane, the assistant added finally looking up from her iPad.

Exhaling an exasperated breath, you scanned through the list once again, feeling more and more dejected at the thought of rushing through these places, trying your best to gather your wits nonetheless as you clicked off your phone and placed them back into the pocket of your jeans. “I’ll take my leave, then.” you told Wilma, whose full attention is already back on her phone as you start to make your way out of her massive walk-in closet.

It didn’t take a genius to know that you’d never make it back on time, not even once you’ve completed half of the list Wilma had sent you to do. And you knew what would happen once she found her things she asked for incomplete, which made you then wonder if she is doing this on purpose or if she’s truly delusional, although you’d probably bet most of the treasures hidden under that bed of yours that it’s the former. It was how her devious mind worked, how she somehow wormed her way into her family with her two daughters in tow.

Pulling your favourite dark green coat from the tiny closet under the stairs in the foyer, you grieve the peaceful night you could’ve had if things were simply different. How you could’ve spent the rest of the evening by the armchair in the living room overlooking the gardens behind with a book, the crackling logs of the fireplace keeping you company. ‘If things were different’, you thought to yourself as you walked out of the door, a familiar dread settling inside your stomach. If only the masquerade was held in a country so far away, you’d be left alone for days and weeks on end but then again, they’d probably just bring you along. Because knowing Wilma, no matter where this masquerade party is, nothing will stop Wilma from attending.

You breathed in the fresh welcoming scent of winter as you walked through the driveway heading to the garage passing the withered flowers and plants, enjoying how ethereal the driveway looked with its frozen water fountain in the middle filled with frozen water, highlighting the grandeur of the estate. The sight of it all reminded you of your childhood, of how you used to wait right here in this very driveway with your father overflowing with excitement once you spotted that familiar black car heading towards your home.

The garage doors were wide open when you got there. Norman the head garage keeper could be found under the black 1925 Rolls Royce Phantom, your father’s favourite, doing whatever modifications needed to be done to the sleek old car that reminded you of something a gangster of that era would drive. You ran your hands through the side of the car recalling how you used to sit right here, on this very passenger seat as a little kid, laughing and giggling as the wind blew through your hair while your father drove you through the neighbourhood. It was nothing short of a blessing that Wilma and her two daughters didn’t take any interest in these cars or they’d probably wrench it all away from you like they did with everything else, including your childhood bedroom.

“Cassie!” Norman called you, jolting you out of your thoughts when you found him already sliding out from under the car, wiping his hands on a cloth, “I knew those shoes looked familiar.”

You clicked your white sneakers feeling a little bit like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, smiling back at the old man, “Yes, can I have the keys to my car? Is my baby okay?”

“Your baby’s fine, it just needed a regular oil change that’s all.” he informed you before disappearing into the garage. You waited for him outside instead, heading towards your black Honda Civic that’s parked a few cars away from the Phantom. Knowing how Norman loves these cars as much as your father had always loved them, he’d probably think that these cars would need the fresh air after having been cooped up inside for so long.

“So where are you heading off to, Cass?” he asked, appearing from the garage with a set of keys you’re definitely not familiar with. In fact, it could also be pointed out that they were not even real keys as you took it from his hands, but a clicker to lock and unlock the doors to a car that you’re sure is way fancier than yours. A car that most likely be parked in between your beloved and your father’s Phantom, since they bear the same logo.

“But these are not my car keys.”

“I know, but I need you to bring this one for a spin for me.” he pointed at the fancy grey Audi SUV.

“No, it’s too fancy-”

“If Wilma’s sending you on an errand it’s really not fancy enough, trust me. And besides, this one is way faster and safer than your car for now. No offence.”

“Fine.” I told him as I headed towards the last car my father bought before he passed.

Norman had disappeared once again under the Phantom when you’ve managed to turn on the engine, relishing on the smooth thrum as it roared back to life. You made a mental note to thank him later when you’ve also noticed that the radio looked more high-tech than the last time you drove it, with all the touchscreen and the bluetooth features as you turned it on. With Lana Del Rey’s hauntingly-beautiful voice belting out the lyrics to ‘This is What Makes Us Girls’, you drove through the driveway and out into the suburban streets with a speed faster than you’d normally be driving with, ignoring the neighbouring mansions protected by various versions of their ostentatious gates.

Chapter Text

It didn’t normally take long to reach the first place on Wilma’s list, the flower shop. It’s simply because it’s conveniently located on the right side of the neighbourhood, surrounded by rows and rows of stores that Wilma definitely wouldn’t mind being caught dead in. If it weren’t for the time constraint, you probably would’ve enjoyed the time outside but instead, you felt more like a walking ball of nerves as your eyes found an empty parking spot right in front of the flower shop next to the bakery, which conveniently enough, is the second place on the list. If everything goes well, the first two would be the easiest to complete, which would leave exactly 5 more before it was deemed okay head back.

New Haven is a small town surrounded by beautiful forests and mountains, located a short helicopter’s ride away from Gotham and the major cities that surround it. It is the perfect place for the powerful to hide during the winter before they’d head back to their chaotic lives. It is also the only place you’d recognise as ‘home’, having been raised hidden from the world, hidden from the chaos that surrounds your parents’ very public lives.

And because New Haven is surrounded by beautiful forests and mountains, it is terribly cold in the winter, with harsh winds blowing through the city as if it ruled the place. So you made sure to wrap your coat tighter against you once you’ve grabbed your phone off of the empty cup holder and turned off the engine. Clicking the keys to lock the car as you head into the flower shop, you couldn’t help but feel your nose starting to hurt from the cold.

With your hands on the knob, you were about to pull the door open when it was pushed to the other direction instead, causing your head to collide with something hard. No, it’s not a ‘something’ you realised. Rubbing your head and looking up, you meet a pair of wide ocean blue eyes that crinkles at the corners.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you standing there.” he said, his hands on your arms as you rub your throbbing head in an attempt to force some thoughts into your empty brain. What is his chest actually made of? Steel?

“It’s fine. I was distracted, I didn’t see you as well.” you told him, moving back and away from his hold that started to feel oddly familiar and comfortable, rattling your mental order of things.

“Are you sure?” he called out as you took your place on the last of the queue for pick-ups. You turned back, flashed him a little smile, “Yes, it’s fine.”

He nodded, looking unsure but walked away anyway. It was a small shop so the distance from where he was standing by the door to the line heading to the counter wasn’t very wide. Your eyes was still glued to him as he made his way out the door, walking past the shop’s window before he disappeared completely from your line of sight. And for some reason, it was only once he was gone that you felt that the time had started to start back up again. Which is weird, but you shook that weird feeling away as you decided to focus on the task at hand.

It was a useless attempt to try to avoid the clock that’s hanging on the wall behind the counter, mocking you at every minute and seconds it ticked by. So you focused on it instead, somehow convincing yourself that the more you stare at it, the more time wouldn’t slip as quickly.

There were two more people ahead of you, causing you to look back up at the clock, your heart thundering once you’ve found that the line wasn’t still moving. Swallowing an invisible lump on your throat, wiping your clammy hands as sweat started to bead on your temples, you willed your panic away, taking deep breaths just as how your old therapist had instructed you.

Clenching and unclenching your fists seemed to be working, since the person at the front had moved out of the way as she walked past you with a bouquet of flowers in her hand, heading for the exit. Hope started to bloom in your chest once again as you waited for the person behind the counter to retrieve the order of the person right in front of you. Instead of dwelling on the impending doom, your eyes flitted back to the clock once again to reassure yourself that not much time had passed, only to find that it had been 20 minutes since you’ve made it to the shop.

Letting out a breath, you chose instead to surrender yourself to the situation. You knew you wouldn’t make it. Hell, anyone with a brain would know how long it’d take to drive alone to the centre of the town, let alone retrieve all these ridiculous things you knew Wilma wouldn’t need for the ball in under an hour. There were 14 things in total in the list, but since she had explicitly said that completing 7 of these would be fine, there lived a foolish part deep deep inside you that dared you to grasp on that tiny flicker hope that you’d make it back in time. And now, it seemed like you had to let that hope go.

Only for it to come back on in full force as the person in front of you walked out of the way, letting you head to the front of the counter, listing out the order number the new assistant had sent you and waiting as the person behind it scrambled to look for the order in the back. Your eyes head back to the clock once again. Five minutes had passed. ‘That’s okay, that’s doable’, you convinced yourself as you caught the sight of the florist heading to your direction with a bouquet of peonies, just as Wilma had instructed.

Holding onto the bouquet, she still had to confirm the order through the receipt in her computer, reading it out loud in a pace that had made you nervous at every passing second. But still, it’s not like you could tell her to hurry, guessing that perhaps this was her first day here.

It’s only when she handed you the flowers that you could relax a little, feeling your shoulders slump and your chest beating at a much more normal pace as you cradled the bouquet against your chest and head out the door. At least one thing’s done. 6 more to go.

Marching next door, you opened the door to hear the bell ring, signaling that another customer has entered its vicinity only to find another line waiting ahead of you. Cursing under your breath, you still forced your feet to take one step after another as you stood, once again, behind a person ahead of you. And he seemed British, dressed in an impeccable suit that would fit a butler’s from those historical dramas you so love to watch, as he chatted for a while with the person behind the counter with a prominent British accent. His voice seemed familiar, as if you’ve heard it from a long, long time ago but you shook it off, opting instead to focus on the task at hand. It seemed that Wlma had trained you well all these years, after all.

He flashed you a smile when he moved out of the way, causing your chest to drop at the familiarity of the sight. With his balding shot-white hair, those wise old brown eyes that seemed to have seen many things in his life, you could only meet him back with a look of utter confusion as he passed you by. But then again you shook it off, ignoring the disconcerting feelings in your chest as you took a step forward.

You read the order number and the name while she tapped a few things in her iPad’s screen. You looked around, admiring the black-and-white checkered tiles, the pink wallpaper and the light green panels on the walls, making the whole place look like a cake shop out of the ‘50s. It is only when Emma had spoken to confirm your order that you were flashed back to reality.

“Yes, that’s right. Under Wilma Dean.” you mind-numbingly confirmed as Emma, a middle-aged lady with red hair and freckles had headed to the rows and rows of cupcakes kept on the glass fridge behind her. Why the hell would Wilma need cupcakes to bring to a gala that would undoubtedly be flooded with food, you have no idea.

Drumming your fingers against the counter, you moved the bouquet to your other hand as you watched Emma picking the cupcakes and placing it on the box. This time, thankfully there was no clock to agonize over. And the more you thought about it, the more it made you wonder if it was something to be ‘thankful’ about. At least with a clock you’d be able to watch the seconds ticking by like a hawk, making sure that Father Time wouldn’t cheat you by making it pass by quicker.

You wonder if you’ve lost it when you could practically feel the loud thumping of your head when she made her way to you with that bag of red velvet cupcakes. You nearly swore and jumped with excitement, wanting nothing but to grab it and run towards the car like a maniac but you didn’t. Instead, you stood there and waited for her to print the receipt.

“Here you go, have a nice day.” she told you, handing the receipt.

“Thank you, you too.” you muttered, picking it up and placing it inside the bag before striding off towards your car, heart still threatening to thump out of your chest as you placed the things carefully on the passenger seat.

“This is so silly!” you told yourself as the engine thrummed back to life and you moved out of the parking spot and practically sped on home, all while avoiding the clock on the radio next to you for your peace of mind. How silly it all was. Wilma is nothing but human, a regular human being. So why were you scared out of your mind at the thought of displeasing her? In retrospect you’d had more power than she’d ever have. You share the same blood with the true owner of the house, your father. Your mother was his first wife, the wife he ultimately lost once you were born but it still didn’t take away the fact that you are their child, first and foremost. Entitled to all this before Wilma had snatched it all away.

Pulling up the driveway, spotting Norman standing by the front door, you immediately parked the car, picked up the cake and the bouquet from the passenger’s seat and climbed out of the car without a second thought. You didn’t even bother to close the door as Norman had already climbed down the stairs heading your way to drive the car back to the garage.

“You’re late.” he told you as soon as he reached you, climbing into the car.

“I know, I know.” you replied as you climbed up the stairs carefully not to drop the things, ignoring the butterflies that wouldn’t seem to stop gnawing at your insides.

“Good luck.” he exclaimed through the open window at you as you were about to open the front door. You turned back at him, flashing him a nervous smile before heading in, again wishing that he didn’t remind you of your precarious situation right now.

Stepping inside, everything is eerily quiet. Eerily quiet except for Wilma, who can be found standing on top of the stairs dressed in a silk dark green gown with her red hair perfectly coiffed and littered with Swarovski crystals. Her daughters were standing behind her, both wearing two versions of an identical dark red dress that would’ve brought out their pale complexion.

“You’re late!” Wilma heads down the stairs, with the twins trailing after her while you resist your urge to cower under her menacing stare.“And lucky, since we’ve all dressed and ready to go and I couldn’t afford to ruin my outfit on the most important night of the year.” she added, arriving at the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m sorry...it’s just…”

“Shut it!” she moved towards you, grabbing the flowers you were holding and throwing them on the ground, her eyes then flicking towards the plastic bag you were holding, the one with the famous ‘Emma’s’ logo emblazoned in the middle.

“I don’t need to hear your excuses.” she snapped, “Irene!”

“Yes, mother?” Irene immediately appeared at the side, leaving poor Irma standing there, genuine concern shining in her eyes at what they’re about to do.

“Take the cake and wait for me in the car along with Irma, I shan’t be long.” she instructed, keeping her eyes on you as if you’d vanish before her eyes.

“Yes mother.” Irene replied like the doting daughter that she is, grabbing the plastic right from your hand then calling for her sister, who hurriedly climbed the last few steps of the stairs to join her out the door and into the car.

It wasn’t even a second passed when the door clicked shut that Wilma grabbed your hair, releasing a shout out of you due to the surprise and pain.

“You ungrateful bitch!” Wilma shrieked, dragging me by the hair through the foyer, stepping over the beautiful pink petals that were now littered all over the floor. You tried your best not to step onto it, holding onto the hair that Wilma had clutched in a death grip in an attempt to ease the pain.

“After all I’ve done for you, letting you live in this house, paid for your education...and you still couldn’t even complete my simple request! On the most important night of the year, no less!” she shouted through the hallway as we passed through yet another set of corridors, starting to hate how big this house can be.

You didn't even bother to reply to her words, knowing that whatever you say would fall to deaf ears. You focused instead on not screaming, clenching your jaw tight, your teeth gritted at the pain. You didn’t want her to relish in satisfaction at making you scream as she wouldn’t stop going on and on about how you’ve ruined her life by simply existing. How you wished that you’d find the courage to tell her then and there that you never wished to be brought into this world anyway, knowing that you’d end up as her ward in the end. But you didn’t, you didn’t want to risk angering her further knowing what’s in the line.

She stopped right in front of the door leading to the broom closet, pulling you up by your hair just so you could see it. Even then you pushed down all your fear, your rising panic at the sight. You didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing you squirm, seeing you cry and beg her not to lock you in like the last time.

“What? No tears?” she taunted.

You could only shake your head, wincing at the pain as tears started to blur your vision. ‘You’ve taken much worse, just a few more seconds and you can cry as hard as you can’, you thought to yourself, repeating it in your head like a mantra as she opened the door and shoved you in, locking it from the outside without even bothering to turn the light on.

Chapter Text

The concentrated smell of lime and bleach that filled your nose was the first thing you noticed, before the darkness registered, as you closed your eyes and opened them and found your sight still unchanged. The coldness from the white tiles under your palms seeped in, sending cold shivers down your skin despite the fact that you were still in your coat. Ignoring it, your hand flew to that part of your head where Wilma had pulled before stopping mid-way, suddenly feeling icky at the thought of touching it despite its throbbing pain and the growing headache.

Seeing the light that peered through the cracks of the door, you remembered that you still had your phone in your pocket, causing a flutter of hope to bloom in your chest. So you immediately fished it out, turned the flashlight mode on and shone it around, finding the brooms, the mops, the buckets and all kinds of other cleaning supplies surrounding and staring back at you like an audience in a theatre, watching and judging your every move.

Using the floor to guide you into a stand, you winced at the throbbing pain pressing down on your temples as your vision started to swim. Your hand flew to your temple as you blinked a few times, willing yourself to focus on your breath as you adjust to new height before you let yourself continue on heading towards the door with your phone as its guiding light. Turning on the knob once, twice, then thrice, you could feel that foolish hope starting to sink and disappear at the locked door.

With your head pressed against the door, you closed your eyes and breathed, slowing and calming the panic that’s threatening to take over your being, thinking of your happy place. Of a hidden garden surrounded by tall hedges that you could see yourself disappearing to, of the beautiful night sky and the snow. How lovely it would look with the rough greeneries surrounded by the softness of the white.

Only then did you let yourself open your eyes and took yet another breath before you held your phone against your face, cursing at the sight of the words ‘No Signal’ emblazoned at the top right corner of the screen. Frustration clawed at you but you didn’t let it settle, choosing to quell it down and ignore it as you moved your phone around, searching for a signal to send a message to Margot or any other staff in the house that could help you out. You didn’t have many saves on your contact list but the ones that were, were thankfully still in the house cleaning up the mess that Wilma and her daughters had left behind.

It was when you found yourself standing in the middle once more with your phone pointed at the ceiling of the closet, that you heard Judy’s muffled voice calling from the door.

“Cas, are you there? Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine.” you called back, putting your hand down.

“You just stay put, okay? Margot’s coming with the spare key.”
Unlike Margot, who had been here ever since the beginning and had practically raised you as her own, Judy was a new recruit, replacing the last maid who had managed to get herself fired from being at the wrong place at the wrong time. With her kind dark brown eyes, her cheerful personality and her willingness to do her work as properly as possible, it’s no wonder that Margot, as the head maid, had recruited her almost immediately. And besides, Judy had nowhere else to go, having been living from one foster home to another throughout her childhood.

You nodded even when they can’t see you, heading back towards the door as you waited for Margot to come over with the key. And it thankfully only took a few seconds for you to hear footsteps rushing from the other side of the door and the sound of the key clicking twice before the door was pushed open. You moved back a few steps, winced at the sudden flashing lights entering your eyes while Margot gathered you in her arms, heaving sighs of relief at the sight of you standing there probably looking like you’ve just made your escape out of an asylum. But seeing as she had found you in worse states, her reaction had came as no surprise.

Patting her back, you told her, “I’m fine, Margot. I’m really fine.”

“Wilma had gone too far.” she released you, her eyes scanning you from top to toe. “Every time she does this, I worry that she’d go too far.”

“I can handle it.” you reassured her even though you were unsure of it yourself, but anything to ease off the worry in Margot’s face. Losing a few strands of hair for now, it didn’t seem much compared to the times when she’d hit and threw things at you to the point that you’ve lost consciousness. Or the time when she’d starve you for days, only giving you water all just because a maid accidentally broke a bottle of her perfume.

“Not gonna lie, I truly didn’t see what the late Mr.Dean had seen in her. She’s like a typical evil stepmother.” Judy commented, causing your lips to twist at her words as you spotted her waiting by the doorway still dressed in her uniform.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.” Margot urged, “Evil stepmother or not, we’ve got things to do.”

Margot hooked her arm around yours while the other held the small of your back, keeping you upright as if you’d fall at any minute. “I think you might need an aspirin.” she said as her eyes inspected your bald spot.

“Yes you better take one.” Judy agreed, hooking her arm around yours while her other fished out a tab of it out of the pocket of her apron. “I’ve always kept one of these for my migraines. Irene’s voice is like nails on a blackboard.”

Taking one from her hand, you push one inside your mouth and swallow it in one gulp, feeling the pill heading down your throat and into your system. “Thank you.” you told her in a raspy voice.

She smiled in return as the both of them pulled you through the hallway by your arms. You twisted from one woman to another as they ushered you out of the room and into the empty corridor, your head suddenly swimming with all the sudden movement and brightness.

“Are you okay?” Margot stopped abruptly, her concern eyes searching you before landing on the tiny bald spot that Wilma had created.
“I’m...I’m fine. It’s just that I have to adjust to the light, that’s all.” you reassured her before standing back up again, flashing her a warm reassuring smile.

She looked unconvinced but head on anyway. You had no idea what ‘things’ you’d have to do knowing that Wilma and the twins wouldn’t be around for hours and by the time they’d be back, they’d be fast asleep in their beds, but you let them lead you anyway.

It is only when they’ve made a weird turn that you look at Judy, who can be found trying to hide and failing at hiding her smirk. And Margot, who looks extra focused at bringing you to wherever it is she had planned.

“Where are you guys taking me? My room’s the other way…”

“We have a plan. It’s about time you get yourself out there and not be holed up in this place.” Judy answered, her strides are more purposeful than ever, grinning ear to ear as she looked forward.

“What?!” you practically shrieked, head twisting to face her, or it just sounded like you did. You couldn’t even tell when it seemed like someone had decided to knock your skull with the celestial hammer of a Nordic thunder god. Hard.

“Don’t worry, we’ve planned and thought this through.” Margot answered just as you’ve reached a familiar room. No, not just any familiar room. It’s the twins’ glam room that’s conveniently attached to their suite. The one they were just in before they left.

The room’s empty now, devoid of its owners as they mingled and partied the night away. But you continued staring at it blankly, noting the light pink walls that’s decorated with frames after frames showcasing the twins in various high fashion poses. You stared at the space long enough for Margot and Judy to pull you by your arms into an empty chair facing a mirror with light bulbs framing it, like the ones one would only find in dressing rooms of theatres.

You didn’t even have to look to know that the black comfortable chair belonged to Irma, the kinder one of the twins, as you stared at the photographs she had pasted on the sides of the mirror. There was one of her and her sister as babies, dressed in poofy pink princess outfits. The other of their old childhood home, a smaller version of yours but homey-looking nonetheless. Then there’s another of Michael Morrone staring off into space, the proclaimed ‘love of her life’ she once jokingly said when her sister was out of earshot. You had laughed then as you helped her glam team braid her hair. It was one of the good days. How could you not notice these then, having been here enough times to have known the layout even with your eyes closed?

“It was her idea, you know?” Margot mentioned, breaking through your thoughts as she brushed her fingers through your hair softly, carefully not to cause you pain.

She stared at your injury with those apologetic eyes, your eyes flitting back towards it before you could stop yourself. It seemed as if someone was holding onto your heart in their hands, deciding whether or not to crush it or drop it. Because that’s how it had felt when you stared at where Wilma had pulled and dragged you from. It may look relatively normal from where you were sitting face forward, but you know that it wouldn’t look that way if you turn to your right where it’d be full-on displayed to your eyes through the mirror.

As if sensing your thoughts, Margot placed both hands on your shoulders, “Don’t worry, Lee knows best. He’ll know how to fix it.”

“Lee?! Is it really necessary?”

Lee’s notorious for being the twins’ ‘secret’ weapon. He had the ultimate magic talent in managing the twins’ curls into something that’s red-carpet worthy. No other hairstylist could amount to him when it comes to fixing hairs and making it look mightily presentable. However, given how he’s also notorious for being a celebrity hair stylist, you know you certainly wouldn’t be able to afford his price. And yet, he’s the only one you know who could fix your hair. At least Margot’s right about one thing.

“You know it is, we certainly can’t let you go to the party of the year looking like that. Especially when it’s a masquerade, my favourite!” you heard Lee said, standing by the doorway of the glam room, his black bag hanging on his shoulders. As usual, he’s dressed in his suit, looking as impeccably neat as always with his hair pulled neatly back.

“I’m not going Margot. This is ridiculous, I can’t even...I didn’t even have money to pay…”

“Not necessary.” Lee stalked through the room, placing his back onto the chair next to you. Your eyes widen at the sight of his two assistants entering, both women who looked like they belong on the cover of a high-end fashion magazine more than this glam room, attending to you.

“Look, Cassie, I have something to confess...” Lee said as Margot pulled you to the back of your chair, knowing that if it weren’t for how outnumbered you are, you’d probably be running.

You watched him bring out his scissors while his assistants draped a cloth over you, just so that your hair wouldn’t land on your clothes, eyes wide and confused. “...I never really liked WIlma.” he continued. “Out of the 20-something years I’ve worked in this industry, she’s the worst of the worst and I thought I’ve met them all.”

“Looks like we’d have to change your hairstyle if that’s okay with you?”

“Yes.” you answered, dazed.

He flashed you a grin through the mirror, “Good. Time to get to work. Ladies!”

Sometime around two hours later, you’ve found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from the stranger that’s staring back at you from the mirror, mirroring your movements as you watched her pale hands drifting from the beautifully-carved silver mask that reminded you of a swan, down to your cheeks, blushed to perfection and the dress. A one-shoulder, midnight blue Grecian gown with Swarovski crystals artistically embedded from the one sleeve to the waist, spilling down onto the top of its skirts like stars in a midnight sky. Your hair was swept to the wide where your injury was artfully covered, with soft waves cascading down making it look like black waves. Like Selene, the moon goddess.

“I’m a genius, aren’t I?” Lee appeared behind you, grinning.

You turn to face him, “Thank you, Lee. I didn’t know what else to say.”

“There’s nothing you need to say. Besides, I should be the one thanking you for letting me do this to that evil witch.” he said, clasping your hands with proud eyes, “But really, just go have fun. This is my gift to you, and Irma’s.”

You flashed him a nervous smile in reply as he let go of your hands, turning from you to head towards the foyer that’s right across from the living room. Now that you were in heels, he only reached your eyebrows, making you and his ladies of equal height.

You stared at them as they walked out of the door, aware that Margot is still standing behind you, watching with equally-proud eyes making you wonder what there is to be proud about to be doing this. This all seemed so frivolous anyway. Stuffs like these only happen in those cheesy romance novels you’ve read. It wasn't supposed to happen in real life.

“Cassia, you look beautiful, just like your mother.”

“Margot, I didn’t even know my mother.” you told her, feeling your throat suddenly clogging up from the barrage of emotions weighing heavily in your chest.

“I know,” she moved closer to stand right in front of you, grasping both of your hands in hers as she fixed her dark brown gaze onto yours, “just enjoy yourself tonight, okay? Promise me that at least?”

You nodded, because any other words out of your mouth, you thought you might cry and Lee and the girls have worked too hard for you to ruin it all. So you nodded and let her gather you in her arms. With your heels, she had only reached up to your shoulders making the hugging thing awkward but you didn’t mind, gathering your arms on her back, muttering, “Thank you.”

She lets you go, taking your hand arm and hooking it around hers as she tells you, “Now it’s time for us to go before we’re later than we already are.”

You flashed her a grateful smile, grateful that despite being stuck under this roof that you’ve had her all this time. You couldn’t even imagine if she hadn’t stayed, if she weren’t even employed by your parents in the first place or was there when they first brought you home. Margot, with all her hispanic background and her kind heart, she’s the only parent here left on this earth when your real ones have left.

You let her lead you through the foyer only to stop right in front of the coat closet where you’ve fished out your coat hours ago. Opening it, she retrieved a black pea coat and draped it all over your shoulders, buttoning the first few buttons without having your arms through its sleeves, making it look like a black cloak with awkward sleeves instead. It had belonged to your mother, judging by how old it smelled and looked, like a coat one would find in a vintage store.

“Don’t forget to bring this coat back, it used to belong to your mother.” Margot patted your chest as she said so.

“I sure will.” you replied, letting her lead you through the foyer and out the door.

You spotted Norman first, standing on the driveway and waiting by your father’s 1925 Rolls Royce Phantom, dressed in a formal chauffeur's outfit. The same one he had worn when he had sent Wilma and the twins hours ago, only in a different car.

“Cassie, you look dashing!” he exclaimed as you approached him while holding onto your dress, mesmerised by the sight of your father’s car beautifully restored. You didn’t know how your father had found Norman when he did, but he surely never disappoints. A true genius.

It’s as if your parents were here to send you off even though it was just a silly masquerade. First the coat, then the car. You couldn’t resist running your hands on the windows, the roof of the car that’s partially covered in snow.

“Norman, this is amazing.” you gushed as he opened the door, the scent of leather and snow hitting your nostrils as you climbed into the second row, gathering your dress inside.

“As amazing as it is, we’re also late.” he replied as soon as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“How did you do it? I thought you were just keeping the engines working, I didn’t think…”

“It’s the least I could do, after all, this was his favourite.”

“Indeed it is.” you replied, haunted by the memories of your father taking you out on a spin when you were little. How he’d always let out that hearty laugh whenever you’d innocently ask for ice cream, enjoying the view from the passenger’s seat. Even though he was in his mid-40s when he passed, he’d still held that boyish, carefree charm whenever he’d be home from his business trips. You could understand then, how Wilma was tirelessly chasing after him. No one could surely foresee his early death due to a terrible incident.

Chapter Text

Nervously fiddling with your fingers, you watched the scene before you with awe as Norman drove your father’s car through the gates and into the driveway that’s partially covered with snow. What used to be the front lawn were also covered with heavy snow but it wasn’t the snow-covered grass that caught your eye. It was the beautiful Gothic mansion that stood behind it, its size rivaling that of large aristocratic estates of England.

There were not many cars lining up at the entrance now that the party had well started. Although it was never the intention for you to arrive early, it still made you feel extra awkward to have arrived perfectly two hours before the unmasking at midnight, which is when you were supposed to leave by then and not a minute more. Wilma and Irene would instantly recognise you and it’s not a risk worth taking.

“Remember, midnight and not a minute more. I’d be waiting right here to come and get you.” Norman instructed.

“Midnight and not a minute more.” you repeated, watching as he stepped out of the car only to walk around it and open your door, feeling all-the-ways weird with such a gesture. You’re not some princess in a fairytale, it seems silly to let someone open the door when you could’ve done it easily yourself but Norman had done it before you could say otherwise.

Swallowing down the awkwardness, you stepped out into the bottom of the steps just as soon as Norman opened the door. Hugging your mother’s coat tighter to your chest against the biting cold, you gave yourself a few moments to marvel at the grandeur of the place. If you thought your father’s house was big, this was twice, perhaps several times bigger with its large Gothic towers framing the middle, littered with rows and rows of large windows framed by Victorian columns.

You turn back hoping to wish Norman goodbye before you leave but it seems that he has driven away, finding the driveway empty and the back of your father’s car driving away at a distance. Taking it as a sign for you to head inside, you climbed up the steps that were thankfully devoid of humans, relishing at the grand railings on the side holding onto black lanterns with the most beautiful carvings making you feel like some leading lady of a period drama.

The whole was meant to intimidate, that part was clear with all the grandeur and the haunting vibes surrounding the beauty of a typical Gothic architecture amplified by the heavy snow. It’s like the whole place is a relic of the past, ancient and powerful. Just how powerful is this family?

It seemed like you had answered your question just as soon as you stepped into the foyer where some guests can be found loitering around the two-storey fountain in the middle, surrounded by wooden panels and portraits of ancestors, resembling the main halls of Tudorian castles you loved reading about. Moving closer, you could feel the slight stares some guests were giving you but you ignored them as if you were hypnotised by the two portraits that hung in the middle where the grand two staircases meet before it descends onto the floor.

You couldn’t tell who they were, but there was just something about their features from where you were standing at the bottom that seemed so familiar. It is as if you’ve seen them before, met them before but that would be ridiculous. You’ve been locked up in that house of yours for the most of your life, even back when your father was alive. There’s no way you’ve known who they were. The Waynes are notorious for being a powerful family, after all.

Faint music can be heard from the other side, through the large wooden archway that would undoubtedly lead you to the ballroom. So you head there, taking one last look at the two portraits before you do. There’s just something about this place that doesn’t seem right to you. It’s...eerie. You can’t help but feel like an unwilling intruder in a haunted mansion.

Someone had sounded exactly like Barry Mannilow belting out the lyrics of ‘Young at Heart’ on the small stage surrounded by a jazz band across. Couples can be found slowly swaying to the music together on the dancefloor in a lazy trance while guests can be found mingling on the sidelines, all in their masks and wearing their best. You couldn’t help but be mesmerised at the scene, for what was eerie in the foyer, had changed into something light here. Perhaps it’s the free-flowing alcohol that waiters can be found offering to guests, or the delicious food laid out on a long table on your right. Or it’s the swift exit this ballroom would provide towards the gardens on the left, what with all opened rows of doors.

“You must be new here.”

Turning to your right, you found a masked man standing there grinning showing off his dimples. He’s about your height but he looked undeniably young, perhaps around 15? How is he so tall?

“I didn’t think I saw you coming last year and I never forget faces.”

“Umm...yes, I’m new here, sort of.” you nervously replied. Gosh he’s just a little kid, why can’t you get it together?

“I like your dress, it certainly is different from the sea of reds and blacks.” he gestured to the group of women, laughing and swooning over a man standing in between them who had his back to you. He seemed familiar, but they all would since most men here had opted for the typical black suit and mask.

“Well I should introduce myself, I’m Tim. Tim Drake.” Tim extended his hand.

“I’m...Leah Kim.” you took his hand, letting him shake it once before letting it go, cursing yourself at the same time for blurting out your mother’s name instead of using a more inconspicuous name. You should’ve thought this through.

“Hmm...Leah, you’re quiet unlike my older brother over there.” he pointed at the man who’s trying to move away from his harem of women, politely turning and heading over to your direction.”Sometimes I really didn’t envy him.” Tim muttered out loud just as his brother turned.

You watched in silent awe as he strode over looking like a Greek god, or a model, or those princes from fairy tales. You had no idea why you thought this way, but there’s nothing else that could describe him and the aura that he confidently brought over as he clasped his brother by his shoulder, “So this is where you ran off to.”

“Yes I’d rather be with Leah here than wherever it is y'all had disappeared off to.”

“Leah? That’s a familiar name.” he wondered out loud, turning to you and extending his hand, “I’m Dick Grayson, by the way.”

You watched his pale, but strong outstretched hand for a single beat there before taking it, your heart skipping a beat as you told him, “Leah Kim.”

“Leah Kim, nice to meet you.” he smiled, taking your hand and placing it on his lips like those in period dramas causing your cheeks to heat.

Tim rolled his eyes, muttering something about an ass and how his brother had ‘practically ruined’ his evening before strolling off to the food table where he joined his friends as Dick let go of your hand, the absence of its warmth weirdly noticeable.

“Don’t worry about my brother, he can be overly dramatic at times.”

“It’s fine.” you replied, only realising now that even with heels, you’ve reached only up to his eyebrows at best. Which means that without it, you’d probably reach up to his nose. Oh, and his eyes. They’re blue, blue like the ocean one couldn’t help oneself but be drowned in.

“Are you new here?”

“Sort of, as new as a person can be.”

“Funny, ‘cause you seem familiar.” he stated. He did seem familiar as well. There’s just something about him that you couldn’t quite pin…

“I’ve never been to a party like this if you’re wondering.” you challenged, one eyebrow raised and smiling.

“True,” he paused, flashing you a charming smile, “I would’ve remembered you if you did.”

“That still didn’t explain the familiarity though.”

“It doesn’t matter, we could always get reacquainted.” he extended his hand, “Would you care for a dance?”

Your eyes drift from his outstretched hand, to the dancefloor, then back to his hand, “I don’t how...to…”

“Don’t worry I’ll lead you,” he smiled, “Don’t leave me hanging though, people are watching. I have a reputation to maintain after all.”

You laughed, taking his hand, “Only for the sake of your reputation, good sir.”

“Thank god.” he mockingly breathed with that smug smile of his as he led you to the dancefloor.

A familiar new song was about to begin when you stepped onto the dance floor, the familiar beginnings of Frank Sinatra’s ‘The Way You Look Tonight’. Margot loves jazz and would turn them on whenever she could while she’s working.

Feeling that prickling sense behind your neck, you look around and couldn’t help but realise that nearly everyone here was either openly staring at you with curious, judgmental eyes or were pretending not to. But it seemed that Dick either didn’t notice or didn’t mind as he raised your held hand while gathering his other arm around your waist, pulling you close. So close that you could inhale his masculine, musky scent.

Following the lead of the other dancers out there, you place your hand on his shoulders, suddenly more nervous than you’ve ever been. What if you’ve accidentally stepped on his foot? Or tripped on your dress? Or missed a step and tumbled? Visions after visions of you embarrassing yourself flooded your mind with one scene after the other.

“Relax, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” Dick whispered against your ear, his breath sending delightful shivers down your spine.

“Everyone’s staring at us.”

“Are they? Ignore them.”

“As if it’s that easy.”

“It is, just focus on not stepping on my foot, I still need them after all.”

“Bastard.” you uttered audibly under your breath, smiling with pursed lips as you looked past his shoulders suddenly shying away from his sparkling blue eyes as he laughed heartily.

“You’re an interesting woman, Leah Kim.” he stated, no, declared, as he lightly twirled you on the dancefloor surprising yourself when you landed back in his arms that you didn’t even manage to trip on your dress just as you’ve imagined a thousand times doing.

“And you’re such a liar.”

“How am I lying?” he asked, his eyebrow rising in curiosity, twirling you once more as if he couldn’t resist looking at you in that dress as the band gradually drifted to the sweet beginnings of Lionel Richie’s ‘Stuck On You’.

“Oh, come on. It’s a line you must’ve used loads of times to make women feel extra special, I’m sure.”

“Then what should I do to make you believe me?”

Heat crept up your cheeks at his words, the intensity of those eyes but you refused to break eye contact even when he twirled you as the singer belted out the last verses of the song. “We’ll see.”

The edge of his lips curled at your challenge, pulling you closer by the waist with so much force that your hands both flew to his chest to stop yourself from bumping into him. He didn’t seem to mind though as he grinned like he had just conquered the world, his hand grasping to your wrist as he stole you out of the dancefloor like a thief in the night.

Your hand turned back but no one seemed to care. Everyone had stopped the dancing, the singer of the band was stepping away from the microphone as people started to gather watching the stage. A suited man had climbed up the stage and looked like he was about to give a speech before you were slipped out of the room and found yourself standing in the middle of a veranda.

There was no one on the veranda, no one but the both of you and you couldn’t help but feel those chills running up your spine and down to your arms not from the cold, but from the mere thought of the both of you alone. You knew you should’ve feared him, should’ve feared the fact you were alone with a powerful man that could do anything to you and you’d be powerless to stop him but for some reason, you stood there, nervous and weirdly excited but there was no fear.

You watched him as his eyes drifted back and forth to the door then to you, as if he couldn’t believe that he had somehow gotten you alone. Or that he had just pulled you to safety, as if whatever speech that was made inside, he is trying to save you from. But before you could question his intentions, you were being pulled once again.

“Where are you taking me?” you gasped as you felt your shoes stepping into the snow-covered grass.

He halted, turned back to you and took off his jacket to drape it over your shoulders. His eyes were shining with purpose as he told you, “Trust me, you’ll love this.”

“What? Is this where I’m murdered?” you wondered out loud as he navigated through the maze like an expert.

“Just trust me. You won’t regret it.”

“That’s what they usually say before they commit murder.”

He laughed at your words, “Don’t worry, if I truly wanted to kill you I certainly wouldn’t do it in the middle of the party of the year.” He said those last four words with so much bitterness that you decided not to comment on it.

So instead you wondered, “How would you murder me then?”

He stopped abruptly, nearly causing you to bump against his back if you hadn’t managed to regain your footing on time. He turned, his eyes darkened with that predatory glint as he took in the sight of you standing there in the middle of the snow-covered maze with his jacket draped protectively over your shoulders. “Truth to be told, I haven’t figured it out yet but it surely wouldn’t be this way.”

The sight of him looking all disheveled like that, his windswept hair, his breaths escaping out of his lips at every exhale he’d released from the cold, you had the weirdest urge to walk right up to him and brush his stray hair away from his brows but you didn’t. You chose to remain rooted on that ground of yours as you asked him breathlessly, “Are you cold?”

“I’ve handled worse, don’t worry about me. Come, we’re close.” he turned, urging you to follow and you did, like a willing prisoner.

It seems that you’ve forgotten how to breathe. You could feel your breath leaving your body all at once when he stopped right in front of you and drifted off to the side just so you could have the full view of the beautiful, snow-covered rose garden hidden inside this maze. Your gut clenched, painfully at that as warmth spread from your chest all the way to your spine, your mind, your skin, sending goosebumps all over the covered bits of your arms. You couldn’t help but hug yourself as you drifted further into the garden, hypnotised and drawn to the familiarity as snowflakes danced down from the sky.

It seemed that the snow had taken refuge in between the folds of these red roses as bushes of it littered throughout the garden, framed by shorter hedges than the ones that created the maze. You ran your hand along the snow-covered flowers, careful not to accidentally encounter its thorns as you walked right up to the statue of Selene and Endymion, who wrapped his arm around her waist as she gazed down at him lovingly.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he broke your thoughts, causing you to turn to face him and find him standing there with his hands in his pockets, his dark hair slightly-covered with snow. He still didn’t seem bothered by the cold. Not that it’s extremely unbearably cold but still, you didn’t wish for him to catch hypothermia or something all because he was just trying to be a gentleman.

“Breathtaking.” you told him, although you couldn’t be sure if it was at him or the garden itself.

He walked up to you, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you looking all mesmerised and confused. How he wished he could run his fingers down your hair, brushing away those curls before running his fingers against your cheek, your neck, everywhere where your skin was exposed and illuminated under the moonlight. All he could think about as you walked into the room with that dress, you couldn't help but remind him of the moon goddess herself with that dress. It reminded him of that little girl who once told him of the myth when you’ve both exhausted yourselves at finding the exit out of this damned maze.

“Why did you bring me here, Dick?” you asked, hugging your waist as he stopped a few steps away like he didn’t trust himself to stand so close to you.

“Did you not remember anything?”

The snow was still falling, making the scene look more haunting than normal. Something you’ve always found beautiful about this place, which surprised you ‘cause this should’ve been the first time you’ve been here. But why did this feel so familiar? No way. You’ve never been here before. You shook your head at the thought, “What was I supposed to remember?”

“Everything, Cassia.”

Time froze, your heart had stopped beating at the sound of your name coming from his lips. “You must’ve gotten the wrong woman, my name’s Leah.”

“Even your mask couldn’t hide you from me, Cassie. I know you, we’ve been friends since we were kids.”

You took a step back, your head shaking, your hands trembling, stuttering, “N-no way. I don’t remember you, we’ve never met. This...this...I’ve never even been here.”

“Leah Kim was your mother, wasn’t she? Your name is Cassia Lilyver Dean, daughter of Alistair Dean. Heiress to Dean Industries.” he stalked closer as he explained, careful not to startle you despite having done so with his words.

“Why...why did you bring me here?” you looked at him, your head shaking at every onslaught of thoughts swirling and gathering in your mind in a mass confusion trying to convince yourself that it’s both real and not.

He got close, too close as you felt his arm slithered through your waist so easily. His musky scent comfortingly mixed with snow invaded your nostrils, wrapping you in a warm embrace, his heartbeat, rhythmic and steady against your palms as you stared at your pale hands against his black suit. Fixating on your long, spindly fingers, the subtle veins on the back of your hands, shocked and frozen that you’ve let someone so close to you. You highly doubt you were ever like this.

As if he couldn’t stand it any longer, Dick tipped your chin up with his finger making you drown into those deep blue orbs, “Where have you been Cassie? What have they done to you?”

It’s as if he had broken the spell by calling your real name. “Nothing. Nothing happened to me ‘cause I’m not Cassie. My name’s Leah.”

There’s too much at stake for you to reveal yourself to him then and there. Your thoughts drifted to Margot, Norman and everyone else. You couldn’t simply leave them there and besides, where would you go? He’s Dick Grayson, the son and heir to the great and powerful Wayne Industries. While you, you’ve lost all that privilege ever since your father had taken his last breath without leaving a single thing behind for his only biological child.

“No you’re not, I know you Cassie. I’ve known you since you were little. Did you think you were here by accident? That your sister was kind enough to grant you this?”

You stepped back and he let you, your head shaking as tears threatened to fall, making you hate yourself even more for being so easily-manipulated, so weak. You shrugged off his suit jacket and handed it to him, letting the cold air bite through your skin, welcoming the pain as you told him, “I don’t care. And I’m leaving. It was nice meeting you.”

You turned and stalked off the garden but just as you were about to head back into the maze, you could hear his voice threateningly loud as he promised, “I’ll find out the truth soon and I’ll be coming for you, Cassie.”

Clenching your fists, anger flaring through your bloodstream at the thought of having another thinking that they’re powerful enough to control you, own you. You turned to him, glaring, “I’d like to see you try, Dick.”

Drinking a last sip of the delicious sight of him standing there, his eyes glinting with the thrill of a challenge, the veins of his hands protruding from how hard he’s clutching onto that suit jacket of his that was draped over your shoulders just mere moments ago, you turned and stalked out of the garden. Your heart beating in your chest like you’ve scaled a mountain but you ignored it and focused on increasing your pace and eventually breaking into a run, letting the snowy footprints guide you out of the maze.

You turned back for a second when you’ve reached the veranda, feeling your shoulders relax a little only to tense up again as you caught the side of him rushing towards your direction. Letting go of your shoes, you ran up to the door and stepped inside the ballroom as the sound of an old clock chiming could be heard throughout the place. Your eyes flew to the grandfather’s clock closest to you only to find its hands pointing at 12, signaling that it’s finally the time to let go of the masks. Time to go.

People were openly staring at you as you tried to calmly pad through the ballroom, feeling the freezing cold tiles against the bare skin of your feet. They were probably wondering why your hair was disheveled, windblown and slightly wet from the melted snow and your masks still firmly attached on your face while they have begun releasing theirs.

A strong presence seemed to envelop you from behind, that familiar scent of musk and snow hitting you like an avalanche. You didn’t bother to look back to know who it belonged to as you disappeared into the crowd, rushing now and breaking into a run just as soon as you’ve reached the foyer. Desperate to be rid of him, you tried your best to calm your nerves and your rattling heart as you’ve caught the sight of Norman waiting under the stairs.

His eyes widened at the sight of a man chasing after you, calling out your fake name. Thank god he hadn’t bothered to use your real one in the ballroom or you’d be caught. Sensing the danger, Norman rushed to the driver’s side and started the engine just in time as you opened the door and climbed inside, closing it off with a bang before he drove off.

Turning back from the window, you caught the sight of Dick standing at the bottom of the stairs, mask forgotten in his suit jacket, looking all princely and powerful as he glared at you through the window and the distance that gradually increased at every passing moment. Committing that sight to your memory, you let out a huff of breath and sagged against the seat, pulling the mask away from your face as you tried to calm your rattling heart and nerves. You were so close, so close at being caught. Hell, you’re not even sure if you were even caught or not, what with him knowing the truth. And just like that, the thought made you panic once again.

“That was close.” Norman sighed as he drove the car through the roads heading back to your house.

“I know.”

“Did you have fun, at least? Who was that guy chasing after you?”

“He’s...a distraction. It was fun, thank you Norman.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Margot.” he replied, looking back at you smiling before turning back to the roads.

Chapter Text

Isn’t the concept of time and memory a tragic thing? The longer the time would pass, the harder it would be for our minds to distinguish whether it was a memory or a mere dream. And that is what had happened once a month had passed and you’ve found yourself on your knees, on the grassy ground, plucking weeds off of the bushes. You wonder whether it was all nothing but a dream. That dress, those shoes, the car, the beautiful manor and of course, him. It had all seemed more like a dream than a memory.

Still, you couldn’t help but thank your lucky stars that it had gone by without a hitch. If one would count the encounter with Dick a ‘hitch’ that is, but still, you focused on what’s important. And what’s important is that Wilma and Irene had never found out. Everything had somehow reverted back to normal ever since that night with the bizarre addition that Wilma had acted as if it had never happened. As if she had never pulled you by the hair and locked you into that closet. It was bizarre, since it wasn’t a very ‘Wilma’ thing to do.

The snow is slowly starting to clear, giving way to the warmth of spring and along with it, your heart as you look up into the sun with your squinted eyes shaded by your hand, yearning for the doom and the gloom a wintry day would bring.

“Your eyes would turn red the longer you stare at the sun, Cassie.” John, the head gardener told you, breaking you out of your reverie.

You released a short laugh, “I just miss the winter.”, you admitted, heading back down to pluck the stubborn weeds out of the soil.

“Only you would miss the snow.” he retorted, causing you to smile at your own accord as your mind drifted to question this strange connection you have with the season. Why you had always felt more at ease, more relaxed during the cold, depressing wintry season. But before it could delve deeper, you caught yourself and shook it all away. You just couldn’t afford to let these things take over you once more. You’ve lost enough sleep as it has ever since that encounter with Dick.

Gardening has been declared as one of the most effective activities to ease turbulent thoughts so hopefully by the end of this afternoon, you'll finally be able to get a good night’s sleep in a month. And besides, being outdoors is good. The walls are starting to feel like it's been pressing down on you for the past few weeks as you tend to Wilma and the twins’ every need. Now that the twins had returned to live at their sorority houses in the Hudson University just this morning, you hope that there would be more peace in this house since there’s two less needs that needed to be tended.

The thought of the twins couldn’t help but make you relive that day with Irma, when you’ve finally caught her alone in the kitchen one morning while you were making Wilma’s usual morning tea and she was on her way to rummage the fridge for some snack. You had surprised her from behind, leaving Wilma’s steaming English Breakfast tea on the countertop.

“Seriously, you should stop sneaking up on people!” she shouted once she turned and caught you standing there, nearly toppling her tub of vanilla ice cream.

“I’m sorry, Irma, I just wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me for what?” she replied defensively despite that knowing look in her brown eyes.

“You know...about that night. I just want to thank you for it. So yeah, thank you.” you awkwardly play with your fingers as you said so.

“I just did what I was told to do, but you’re welcome.” she said, walking off before you could question what she could possibly mean by that. But there’s that. The twins were not raised to be emotional creatures, what with Wilma being their mother and all and them never knowing their father.

So there’s that. That was the only mention of that night in the last few weeks. It was as if that night had never existed, which made you even more confused because on one hand, you were glad that everything had reverted back to normal. But on the other, you couldn’t help but wish for some sort of validation that that night had, in fact, happened. With this, it was as if they were all collectively under a spell.

Wilma and the twins were still invited to and attended Christmas parties and New Years’ Eve balls, leaving you alone at home to tend to whatever it is that needed tending or making you run errands just like that night once again. Only the difference was, it wasn’t as bad or as ridiculous as that night was. In fact, Wilma didn’t even bother to punish you for your mistakes which was disconcerting. It made you wonder what could possibly happen that night, what changed? Has she somehow been visited by the ghost of your father? Just like Scrooge from Charles Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carol’? Had she been poisoned by the drinks she consumed in that party?

You certainly had no idea, but it was too good to be true. So good that it had ignited that suspicion in your chest with paranoia coiling tightly around your throat, making you anxious throughout the day as you completed your chores. But so far, despite your shoulders sagging with relief once Wilma officially turned in for the night only to dread opening your eyes in the early mornings, time flew.

Weeks passed as Christmas and the New Years strung along, passing by like a blur and before you even realised it, it was already mid-January. The twins have just returned to live in their sorority houses now that the holiday’s over and it’s about time that they’d complete their last semester in Hudson University before officially graduating in the summer.

Seeing Norman this morning as he tried to fit their countless designer suitcases into the back of the black SUV, you couldn’t help but feel that pang of longing in your chest at their easy escape. How you wished that you would have attended in their place instead of staying here working for Wilma. It was also where Dick was attending according to Wilma’s constant gloats over the last four years. It didn’t matter to you then that they were attending the same university but now that you’ve known him, felt him, you couldn’t help but feel that sad yearning in your chest lingering throughout the day even as the car had driven off the driveway hours ago and you were outside, weeding away your sadness in your mother’s garden along with the gardeners.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” Margot approached from behind, causing you to look up from the task.

“I’m fine, Margot, what’s wrong?” you replied, drifting back to the task and ignoring how you probably look right now. With sweat beaded on your head despite the cold and the clearing snow, you probably look like a maniac especially since you didn’t even bother to wear a decent coat, opting for a casual sweater instead. Why even bother with a coat, when you know that it’ll be icky when you sweat?

“You seemed out of it ever since that ball.” she stated, joining you at the side clearing away the snow with her bare hands.

“Margot, do you need my gloves?” you offered to take them off when she stopped you, “It’s fine, I don’t plan to be here for long.”

“Oh...okay, then.” you replied, focusing on a rather stubborn weed.

“Look, has something happened that night?” she implored.

“Nothing of importance. I just had a great time.”

“I know you better than this, Cassie. Something had happened, you seemed so out of it ever since that night. It’s as if someone had flipped a switch.”

“What do you mean? I’ve been fine.” you told her, picking up the pruning shears off of the ground to stand, wincing at your cracked knees as you did so. You’ve certainly been kneeling for too long.

“Something’s weighing your mind. We found you yesterday stirring the soup with such blank eyes it’s a wonder the whole pot didn’t burn. You’ve also been tending the plants more than often now during your breaks. You didn’t even have to tell me that you were way behind on your studies because I can tell that you are.” she paused, placing her fists on her hips like a mother getting ready to reprimand her child, “So tell me what the hell is going on with you?”

You looked around, watching the gardeners clearing the snow and tending to the garden and let out a sigh. Nothing had ever helped you clear your mind more than getting your hands dirty in your mother’s garden and you did have been doing a lot lately, distracting yourself fro thinking about that night. About Dick’s words.

“I...not here, Margot.” you told her, pulling her to a lonelier spot in the garden close to those tall hedges that had already been cleared and tended just yesterday.

Margot still had her hands on her hips when she waited for you to explain yourself and so you did, “Who did you work with to send me there that night? Who else besides Irma?”

“It was Irma’s idea, she roped me in and I roped the others while she handled Lee and his team.”

“Don’t you think it weird that Irma would do this? I don’t mean that she’s unkind but...this is just out of her character. What’s in it for her?”

“Only Irma would know, all I knew was that when she approached me, she was genuine.” she paused, her eyebrows furrowed, “What was this all about?”

“I met a guy there, he approached me acting as if he had known me all my life. He didn’t try anything on me,” you assured her just as soon as you sensed that Margot was about to lose it but she relaxed and nodded, urging for you to continue, “and he wouldn’t stop asking me if I’ve ‘remembered’ everything. That that night had only happened, could only happen because he had a hand in it, that you and Irma’s not the only masterminds behind it.”

“Did he say as much?”

“He only implied the last bit but the rest was, he wouldn’t stop insisting that I’ve lost a part of my childhood memory and the thing is, I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out what part of my memory am I losing but the thing is, I didn’t even know what I’m supposed to not know, does that make any sense?”

Throughout the years when Margot had to assume the unofficial role of ‘mother’ ever since your parents have been taken away from this world, you’ve never seen her falter, never seen her as anything but the strong woman that she is. Not until right then and there when you watched the colour drain from her face at your question.

“Margot, what’s wrong? Did you know something?” you asked, your hands holding onto hers as you urged, “Please, tell me. Is there something I’m supposed to know? Is it something that has to do with my parents’ death?”

Martha looked around, satisfied that the place seemed to be lonely enough and that everyone seemed to also be busy enough that her eyes drifted to the both of your joined hands, patting them as she finally confessed, “I was hoping that you’d never find out. After that accident, you had seemed so...it seemed like you’ve lost a piece of your soul. I didn’t know what else to do. It broke my heart seeing you that way.”

“What are you talking about?” you questioned, your heart feeling as if it’s about to drop as you saw her blinking away her tears at whatever memory is playing in her head.

“You were in that car with your father during his accident.” she revealed, causing your knees to buckle but you kept yourself upright, forcing your insides to calm the fuck down just so that she’d continue and she did, “When the police found you both, you were lying on the road unconscious while your father had already bled to death from the injuries on his head and chest.”

Your knees hit the ground as a memory invaded your thoughts. The sound of Louis Armstrong’s ‘What A Wonderful World’ playing on the radio as you watched the clouds passing you by. It was a beautiful wintry day, bright and sunny enough that if it weren’t for the snow and the heater blasting inside the car, you’d mistake it for summer. Your father is humming along with the song, causing you to turn at him. He’s the happiest when he’s driving. He looked the most carefree with his dark hair being covered by a grey beanie, smiling from ear to ear. A smile that you’ve been told repeatedly that you’ve somehow inherited.

“I didn’t precisely know what happened. The police said it was a drunk driver speeding out of his lane on the highway and it hit right behind the passenger’s seat. They said you were extremely lucky that your father had somehow wrenched you out of your seat in time and threw you out on the road before the car had toppled, killing him almost instantly.”

You could practically smell that familiar smell of blood, gasoline and snow still as Margot told you how you were found. It wouldn’t go away despite you rubbing your nose with the back of your hand. Your mind had somehow gone numb and decided to show you another memory as Margot’s voice drifted away and you found yourself staring at the sky. Or at least, the version of you as you winced at the brightness, hating it and wishing the blues and whites of the sky would stop hurting your eyes. So you turned to the right only to find the black car upside down, your father’s car.

You shouted as loud as you could, shouting for your dad to come out. You tried to get up but your limbs wouldn’t move, it wouldn’t listen as your vision swimmed. From the tears or from the panic? You had no idea. You couldn’t feel anything, anything at all but you wouldn’t stop shouting for your dad. He was in the driver’s seat, he was driving, happily humming to the song so why wouldn’t he come out? Why wouldn’t he...why wouldn’t he…

“Once Wilma and I had arrived at the hospital, your father was already gone. She was unusually frozen quiet at the sight of him covered in a flimsy white sheet, as if she couldn’t possibly believe her eyes.” she paused, rubbing your back comfortingly as you forced yourself to listen on, “I went to look for you immediately right after only to find you unconscious, lying on the hospital bed in a hospital gown.. They said you were lucky to have survived, that there were nothing but minor injuries on you and that Wilma and I should watch out should there be anything resulting from this trauma.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this, Margot? Why have you kept this from me all this time?”

Margot broke to tears, wiping it with the back of her hand as you watched her, unmoving, “What could I possibly say? After you woke up and Wilma told you that your father was gone, you were inconsolable. I didn’t know what she had told you then, but once I made it to the hospital, they were holding you to the bed to inject some kind of medicine to make you sleep and this time, I made sure to stay.”

“So I chose to forget all this?”

“The doctors said to let you figure it out yourself, to let your brain do all the work. So we didn’t press on. We certainly didn’t think that it’ll last this long, your memory loss. And besides, it had worked to Wilma’s favour after all.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“There were speculations around that time that this wasn’t an accident. Your father had stayed in his lane and the driver that hit you was never found. He had left his car, as if he had disappeared into thin air.”

There was nothing but numbness when Margot stopped with her sentence. Which is odd ‘cause you’ve expected to feel angry, frustrated or even mildly curious but you didn’t. Instead, you’ve felt nothing. Hell, aside from the initial shock, you couldn't even bring yourself to cry because throughout this story, there was this sense of wrongness to it. As if it wasn’t complete or...perhaps, it wasn’t even real.

Of course, you’ve believed her when she told you that you’ve been in an accident. But why the hiding? Why had Wilma forced you to live like an indentured servant all these years when she could’ve just handed you the money when you were 18 and forced you to leave if she had hated you so much? Why bother keeping you close? And Dick...no, you couldn’t possibly think about him right now.

“Margot, I have to leave this place.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have to leave this place. I can’t stand to live like this any longer.” you stood, heading towards the house.

“No, no, no Cassia you listen to me.” Margot rushed to stand right in front of you, blocking your way inside, her index finger pointing on your face as she warned, “Don’t you dare do something. Stay for a few months longer, just until you finish your education and you get to claim that trust of yours. Don’t let that woman wrench even that away from you.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can stay, Margot.” you confessed as a tear escaped, hating that you couldn’t control something as little as this as you wiped it away, “I don’t know how much longer I could hold on knowing that she might have something to do with this.”

“What do you intend to do, then? Tell me, Cassie. Once you get out of there, if you get out of here, what do you intend to do?”

Your eyes move around searching for inspiration, fleetingly moving past the gardeners tending the garden and the kitchen staff preparing for dinner, oblivious to your conversation. Not wanting them to hear, you lowered your voice as you admitted dejectedly, “I don’t know.”

“A few months more, Cassie, then you can leave this place for good and do whatever it is that you need to do.”

You nodded, looking at your black sneakers and Margot’s white sensible loafers that are now caked with mud and snow. “Fine, a few months more just until I finish school.” you told her, brushing or more like slightly pulling your hair away with frustration as you did so.

“Good.” Margot agreed as the awkwardness started seeping in between the two of you, “And Cassie?” she called out as you were about to walk past her causing you to look back questioningly when she continued, “Take the rest of the day off. I’ll handle Wilma. You need it.”

You nodded in reply, wordlessly walking past her and head inside, nodding briefly at the kitchen staff in acknowledgement as you passed them by and headed towards your room hidden in the dark space between the main kitchen and the dining room. It’s a miracle really, that Wilma had somehow managed to fit a bed, a small wardrobe, a desk and a chair in what used to be a pantry during the days when your father still ruled this house.

Closing the door behind you and locking it, you run a hand through your hair once more in frustration, slightly pulling it seeking that mild relief from the pain. It’s a wonder how not only had Lee managed to strategically hide your bald spot that had been slowly filling now, but that Wilma hadn’t even mentioned anything about your side-swept bangs covering the side that she had effectively pulled like wild-grown weeds.

Your hand immediately flew back down as if you’ve touched something you shouldn’t. Wiping off that uncomfortable icky feeling on the tips of your fingers on your shirt, you numbingly head towards your laptop to continue on finishing your assignment that’s due in a week only to find an unread message in your inbox.

Thinking that it’s probably your professor handing out more assignments, you clicked on the mailbox icon only to have your eyes nearly bulge out of its sockets, your chest freefalling to the depths of your stomach at the sight of the sender’s name. ‘How did he manage to get your email? Where did he get it from? What the heck?!’, you frantically thought to yourself as you clicked on Dick’s email.

Hey,

Meet me in the library at midnight.

I’ve got something to show you.

Bring no one, I’d know if you do.

Grayson.