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Damiana knows that magic is real.
It isn’t a childish wonder on the edge of her mind, looking out for miracles happening while adults turn a blind eye. The knowledge doesn’t come to her through a magical fairytale about princesses and dragons, unicorns and pegasi. It comes to her as her grandfather dumps her into his precious Lazarus pit for the first time, in an early age that would be shocking to anyone to even mention (so she doesn’t), but the age is so little that it almost makes it for her first memory. That realization of unnatural, illogical matter comes to her before anything else does, before she sees forests and rivers, before she thrives and demolishes, understands the nature of life itself. That realization comes through her channeling as one man or another bends the facets of reality as if they’re nothing, creating terrifying abominations that aren’t supposed to exist in any reality, that are alien and otherworldly and yet there they are. That same realization astonishes her with its power and greatness, being too big for something so little and pathetic as a small human that she is, when one magical user and the other, ones whose creations make her heart skip a beat in fear and helplessness, all fall to the sword of Ra’s al Ghul. She sees the gold of it shine, the handle too big, too rough, too inhuman to truly belong to her grandfather, the Demon’s head, to not be possessed by something else. Damiana sees it all. She knows that magic is real. And there is nothing but pure hatred kept for it in her heart.
When Damiana is older, she’s different. She sees herself above the world, above the danger that she used to beware so much as a child. She laughs openly at those thoughts that she considers ridiculous and absurd. She is arrogant and too mature for her own age, too old for her own skin and the innocent, young eyes just aren’t able to show the exhaustion of her soul that is safely kept within her body. She knows how to swing a sword and slice the necks of those who disagree with her, who don’t deserve to lose her time and yet do nothing but. She knows how to prove herself to her father even if she doesn’t want to, even if she doesn’t see the appeal of being his cherished and perfect, beloved daughter (she’s already done that once, for mother, in Nanda Parbat. Why does she have to do it again? What did she do wrong the first time?). When Damiana is older, she hears that Robin is magic. When Damiana is older, the only thing she still has the will to fight for is already utterly and hopelessly lost.
Damiana knows that Robin is magic. It’s true, because she’s seen it for herself. Because she tosses on her black assassin uniform with a shadowy cape and follows around the impostor that has taken the name that is rightfully hers. Because she’s never felt so safe and content in another person’s company, even having to fight the urge to jump out of her hiding corner and stab Drake right in his gut to just erase that awfully happy smile from his face. Because goosebumps run along the skin of her neck each time she lets the impostor get out of her sight and she runs closer to him for this bright and safe comfort like an owlet trying to find its home nest. Damiana knows that Robin is magic, and that thought doesn’t let her rest. That thought makes her keep her eyes open in the deep of night and she’s suddenly below all the dangers, again.
When Damiana is Robin… Magic doesn’t feel real. She knows that it is, deep in her mind, and she doesn’t let herself be fooled by the momentary assumption. Because Damiana stands at the grave of the man who was indestructible, who was a pillar to the entire world. Because people around her are all over the place, they scream, they cry and their prayers are stuck in the cold, sullen air, and the atmosphere is so full of this hysterical emotion that it’s hard to breathe. Because she looks at the grave of the person who was supposed to be her father, who was supposed to shield her from those who might threaten her in the slightest, like he did for mother, for his children, who was supposed to acknowledge her and find her worthy, not lose all of his time on her enemy, the one “brother” of hers that had no rights to be in the family to begin with, and yet… Yet this man died a complete stranger to her, and she doesn’t feel the strength in herself to feel anything but disappointment. And with that, nothing else feels real. Not the mantle of Robin, not its great magic she was suddenly gifted. Because by the same murderous strength the indestructible titan fell, she was gifted a new life entirely.
(Even if the magic doesn’t feel real, it sure is. Even if Damiana doesn’t feel magical, she brings smiles to children’s faces despite her nasty attitude and saves a few people. Even if the person behind the mask isn’t, Robin is magical)
When Damiana is twelve, she hears gunshots from inside one of the buildings. They sound like a gang showdown, like an entire army colliding on its worst enemy. They sound so furious and terrifying that Damiana considers for a second to call it quits and appear by her Batman’s side as soon as possible. Instead, she unleashes the blades of her trusty weapons and slides right through the window. Instead, she runs through the old building, raising clouds of dust behind her and making as little sound on the metallic floor as a trained assassin could. She looks around for the source of such loud and terrible noises, ones that are sure to disturb everyone in the neighborhood and cannot go unnoticed and unheard, yet finds nothing. There are no gunmen, no criminals and villains, no ill-willed peasants who see themselves above the lives of others’. There’s an emptiness filled with dread and suspense, there are dark corners that threaten with monsters hiding inside of them, and yet the sound keeps ringing in her ears. And the air around her makes her feel like the time itself around her has stopped. When Damiana is twelve, she meets a girl with a stare more soulless and cruel than her grandfather’s could ever be. She wears purple and chases down a creature that looks like a cat, yet nothing like an earthly animal at the same time. Damiana points her sharp katanas at the mysterious stranger who parts her lips in an attempt to say something, when the creature coughs painfully and hurt, full of fear and pathetically. Even a second doesn’t pass before the girl disappears into thin air, leaving Robin to aid the alien animal.
The next day, Damiana goes to Gotham academy and meets Akemi Homura. The girl with the stare that could freeze an entire ocean with its coldness, who doesn’t spill a word when not being addressed directly and won’t stop looking at her wherever Damiana tries to hide. (She isn’t sure why she doesn’t report Akemi to Grayson. She isn’t sure why the thought of not letting the girl speak out makes her so disappointed. She barely holds in the strange will to get closer to the black-haired psycho and runs away from her classes instead, not answering the thousands of calls she gets by the evening. She isn’t sure why, but she constantly feels someone’s eyes on her back and squirms uncomfortably in her chair. Not that all of it matters that much, though).
“You’re very kind,” for some reason Damiana isn’t even surprised when the thing looking more like a plush toy than a living being speaks up to her. It would be more surprising if it didn’t, speak of the devil. “And you have good intentions and skills. You’re perfect!”
Damiana wants to cry and laugh at the praise at the same time (because she knows she isn’t), but doesn’t want to start speaking to this creature herself even a bit. Still, that’s what she does.
“What do you mean?” She asks confusedly as the thing snuggles to her leg stilled on the floor.
“You could be a magical girl. Fight witches all around the city, save people. In exchange, I will grant you your biggest wish,” ridiculous. Utterly and completely ridiculous.
“There are no witches in Gotham,” Damiana replies stubbornly and wishes it was all just a weird fever dream.
“Not any that you know of. Those that I know of, though…” the not-at-all-cat twitches its ear curiously, as the words escape its nonexistent mouth. “Do we have a deal?”
Damiana snickers.
“I don’t do deals with strangers”.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself,” not a single thing on the creature’s face changes, not in the slightest.
”My name is Kyubey”.
It’s a dark and smoggy night in Gotham, silent as much as it can be in a city as big as this. Batman just finished putting one of the Arkham escapees back into the asylum and reporting the job back to Oracle, and with the deadly silence on the other ends of her comms, Robin tenses in suspense. Because she knows that on quiet nights like this, something always happens. She is alone on a rooftop, a cliche, she knows, but with Kyubey constantly following her around the city, loneliness feels unusual. (She isn’t sure why she doesn’t tell about the strange creature to her brother, it would be the right thing to do. Maybe because he will think she is crazy, like everyone else would, and she doesn’t like what Grayson does to those he considers crazy. She doesn’t like thinking about Todd being locked inside of a cage with his own killer, abandoned and betrayed).
It happens like this: someone drops to the rooftop behind her, too silent to be Batman, too loud to be an enemy. She doesn’t bat an eye.
“Damiana Wayne,” a female voice calls out weakly, yet certainly. She would unleash her katanas if not for the person who stands behind her. “Do you value your family and friends?” And with that question, she turns around, already knowing at least twenty ways to dispose of the threat without even using any blades. Their eyes meet and both of them are dead serious.
“Yes,” she replies simply and holds her breath, waiting for what happens next. She knows it will shock her if she doesn’t come prepared.
“Then do not, under any circumstances, change anything about the way you live,” sounds a warning that still has Damiana shaking. She parts her lips slightly, but after she blinks, Akemi is nowhere to be found. She vanishes into thin air, leaving Robin wondering to the stars.
Damiana finds her Batman sobbing before the cave’s large monitor, obviously unaware of her presence, and steps closer as silent as she can before hiding behind the corner when the butler approaches.
“I don’t know what to do, Alfred,” Grayson exclaims sadly and it makes something inside of Damiana’s heart break. “Everything is falling apart. I’ve been working so hard to make a place for Tim in this family, and now he’s gone! Bruce is dead, and I… I…” he cries, unable to form words anymore.
“Easy, my boy, easy,” Pennyworth soothes, but it’s no use.
“I’m sorry, Alfred, it’s all my fault. I tried to keep the family together, but instead I ruined everything Bruce’s been building! I don’t even know where Tim is, and Damiana…” Grayson quiets down for a moment, to think, before continuing. “Honestly, sometimes I just wish Bruce was still there and Damiana wasn’t in the picture at all.”
Damiana runs up the stairs, perhaps, too loud, and ignores the two men calling after her.
The grave of Damiana’s father remains untouched, abandoned by the habitats of the house in an attempt to forget their sorrow. If not for Pennyworth cleaning the tombstone once in a while, the place would’ve been an overgrown mess. Loving father, son and brave hero, it reads. Damiana doesn’t feel anything but disappointment.
“Kyubey,” she speaks to the darkness, but knows she’ll be heard. “I want to make a deal”.
She knows nothing will be the same after that, as her soul is ripped from her body, but she never kept anything in her heart but pure hatred for magic.