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When she is young, a tiny little child, she runs free.
Raven can only remember that time, short and faint, if she shuts her eyes and allows her mind to drift into the past.
In those days her whole world was her momma, soft and kind, and endless days in the sun. Playing in the dirt while her momma gardened, learning to read with the other small children, drifting through the days like a cloud.
She had been happy. She had been aware then that she was different, but it hadn’t seemed to matter. She had enough to complete her world and she didn’t need any more.
Her hair was the color of the violets that grew in between the cracks in the garden path. Her momma didn’t cut her hair then. It grew long, falling over her shoulders like a weed. Her mother brushed it out for her every morning before she pinned on her cloak, sometimes braiding it into a loose plait down her back.
She would smile and then run away, after a bird, or to go play in the garden.
When she was five, everything changed. Later on she would notice the trend of changes occurring on her birthday and would come to loathe and dread the whole thing, but at this point none of that had yet occurred.
Ignorance was bliss.
She was to be taken to the temple to be trained by Azar. Azar was a solemn, serious person, she knew. Raven had never spoken to her before, so she didn’t know if she was nice or not.
She hoped that she would be similar to her mother, and that she would get to learn a lot and become very smart and make her momma proud of her. One of the priestesses guided her into the temple, past the lion statues at the gate, through the columanade and into the dark shadows of the inner temple, where she had never been before.
She was led to a room where Azar sat, tall in glittering white, surrounded by the white robes of the priestesses, who stood around her.
The hand on her shoulder tightened. The priestess frowned, glaring down at her. She tried not to shrink away, out of her grip.
She felt her anger like knives. The pain ran down her shoulder to her stomach. She twisted from side to side. She looked up, wide eyed at Azar.
This wasn’t like school, wasn’t like the classroom she had been taken from.
Azar studied her with hard eyes. “Do you know what I’m thinking, child?” she said, suddenly speaking.
Raven swallowed. She didn’t know. All of the priestesses were staring at her, eyes sharp. It hurt, like they were cutting into her skin.
She couldn’t breathe.
The priestess that held her shoulder in an iron grip gave her a little shake. “Answer her, fool.” she hissed under her breath.
“I don’t know what you mean.” she said tearfully. Azar remained expressionless. She continued to gaze at her. “Say what you believe. This is a place of honesty.” she said, voice never wavering.
Raven began to feel very afraid. The room was silent.
“All of you hate me.” she said softly.
Azar eyes softened ever so slightly, and so she missed the blow that landed on her face. The priestess that had taken her shoulder so tightly snarled into her face. Her anger was like fire against her skin.
“You ungrateful little creature.” she spat. The women shifted, the air in the small room volcanic.
Azar raised her head. “I will train you, to make you better than what you are, child. Do you understand?”
She nodded once, mute.
Azar nodded again, and then she was taken by the arm and pulled from the room. Confusion spiraled around her.
Another priestess took her, leading her to an upper room filled with light. She led her to a little stool and she sat. There was a pair of scissors in her hand. Vaguely Raven wondered what she was going to do with them.
Briskly, like she did it every day, the priestess gathered her violet hair into her fist and with several swift motions cut it off. Raven’s breath caught in her throat, and tears began to spill over her eyes.
The air was cold against her neck. Her hair, newly cropped, barely brushed her cheeks. She turned, horrified.
“Crying will only make it worse.” The priestess said roughly. She gestured to grey robes on the table. “Put those on. Azar will be here soon.” She nodded mutely, shaking and unable to stop.
She changed and Azar came in. She nodded once at the sight of her. “You must learn to let go of vanity. It is a sin, and will lead you down a dark path. You must become stronger. Do you understand?”
Raven nodded mutely. Azar’s face was expressionless. “We will begin with meditation.”
Her mother cried when she saw her. Raven didn’t cry. She didn’t say anything either when her mother made her sit down so that she could try to even out the hacked up edges of her hair. She just folded her hands in her lap.
“This is what all novices must do, Mamma.” she said flatly.
Her mother sniffled, but didn’t argue with her.
She gets used to all of it.
She gets used to the cold air against the nape of her neck, gets used to the meditation, gets used to not speaking or laughing or running anymore. She learns why all of this is necessary. She understands that her very existence is a mistake, that she is made of sin and evil.
So she gets used to it.
She’s used to feeling uncomfortable in her skin.
But at least it’s usually her skin. This is an entirely different level of discomfort, and, frankly, she’s miserable. Starfire’s body is taller, and her arms are longer and she feels as if her limbs are flopping all over the place, and she genuinely fears that she’ll fall over her own feet.
Not to mention the fear in her stomach, that they’re all alone, that the three boys that she’ll admit she’s grown dependent on to have her back in a fight are gone, possessed, and they are hunting them down, and don’t have their backs at all.
Beside her, Star, from inside of her own body is having what is akin to a meltdown. Raven feels the same, but just isn’t feeling it.
There’s a way that Azar taught her, when she was young enough for it to stick, to acknowledge your feelings without acting on them.
Things are melting around them. A car explodes from the inside out.
Wow.
They fight the boys, it doesn’t go well.
They argue. Then they talk.
Raven doesn’t lie, but she abbreviates the truth. The point of this is to hate each other less, not for Starfire to hate her more.
They go to find the puppeteer, to save the boys, and Starfire babbles the whole way there. She talks more when she’s afraid, Raven realizes. She realizes that Starfire doesn't usually get afraid, but that she's afraid now. Raven realizes that they’re both uncomfortable in their different bodies, and that they're both afraid, and she feels a little bit less uncomfortable.
It’s strange, being without her empathy. It’s like she’s blind or deaf.
She’s always felt it, all her life. The empathy grows stronger as she gets older but it’s always been there in one form or another. She’s never been without it. This would be scary, she thinks, looking around and not knowing what people are feeling, what they truly think.
She stumbles on the pavement, tripping over her too-long legs.
Her hair is heavy on her back, falling into her eyes. It hangs down almost to her waist. How Starfire stands it, Raven isn’t sure. It makes her think about things that she doesn’t want to think about, and her discomfort returns.
Starfire blinks up at her, gripping her arm. She’s kept her from falling flat on her face.
“Thanks.” she says, trying to smile but probably failing. Starfire nods once. “Of course.”
She goes to her room as soon as they get home. Flees there, really.
She wants to hide from all her friends, from Robin. He’s the only one who has seen her like this and she wants to keep it that way, to preserve at least a shred of her dignity intact.
His hand brushes her shoulder, a normal, common gesture, something he does often, but he pulls back his hand when she flinches at the touch.
“I’m gonna call the others. They’ll probably still be at that factory, cleaning up.” Behind his mask, behind their bond, he pushes, silently asking if she’s okay. She jerks away, fleeing.
The moon is full, shining through the window glass of the tower hallways. Her room is intact, thankfully. It’s dark there, all of the corners are dark.
The fear that fills her stomach at being alone surprises her. Robin’s warm presence is gone and she misses it.
She’s torn between desperately wanting to be alone and being terrified of being alone. She almost texts him to come in here. He would sit in here while she showered. But that’s pathetic, so she doesn’t.
It would also give away the fact that she is afraid, the full extent of her fear, so she doesn’t. She takes a deep breath and goes into her bathroom.
Don’t think, don’t think, she whispers to herself, like a mantra, over and over.
Her hair brushes her waist.
Fingers pressing into her wrists. They’re bruised. She knows that Robin saw them, saw the flecks of purple under her translucently pale skin, that he knows.
One of the three cloaks that her mother wove for her, torn to shreds. She only has two left now.
The terror almost gets her, looking in the mirror.
Her eyes are wild, terrified.
When she opens her little cabinet under her bathroom sink, her hands are shaking so badly that she can barely find what she’s looking for. She exhales through her teeth when she finds the pair of scissors.
Oh god, oh god. He fought her to a roof. But then she never had a chance.
They’ll never look at her the same.
She was weak, they’ll think that she was weak, that this happened because she's physically the weakest, because she’s the worst fighter.
She hacks off her hair. It’s uneven and terrible because her hands are shaking so badly, but she doesn’t care. She hates it, hates the heavy weight of it, hates that she’s been changed, been ruined, all without her permission.
She hates it because she’s powerless. Completely and totally powerless.
But her hair hangs choppily against her cheeks now.
She gets in the shower, the water turned to as hot as it can be, almost boiling, and she tosses the remains of her shredded uniform on the bathroom floor. She scrubs and scrubs, until her pale skin is red and raw.
She puts on a new leotard.
Finds her second best cloak, and a new broach. This one is made of purple glass, instead of red, and she doesn’t like it because it isn’t the same. Her red broach is still up on that roof.
Her stomach turns violently and for a second she thinks that she’s going to throw up, but it passes. She sinks onto her bed, fiddling with her broach. She hates the purple one, that’s why she never wears it.
There’s a quiet knock on her door. She still jumps, because she hadn’t sensed him at all in any of her thoughts, and he snuck up on her.
She exhales. “Yeah.” she says. Her voice cracks. It’s the first thing she’s said since yesterday.
It’s four in the morning. The knob on the door turns, and Robin comes in.
She picks up nothing but a mild warmth. No judgment or disgust or blame. He smiles kindly. “Can I sit down?” He asks.
She shrugs, fiddling with her cloak. He sits down beside her, the bed bending slightly under his weight. He knows she’s not okay, she appreciates that he doesn’t ask.
“Where- are the others?” she asks, her voice sounding far away even to her own ears.
“Still in town. They’ll be back in half an hour or so.” Robin answers.
There’s a question hanging above them, that Robin has in his mouth. Her fingers chinch.
“Did he rape you?” Robin asks, voice low.
Raven shuts her eyes. “No.”
Robin exhales. Raven fiddles with her broach.
“I had something for you.” Robin says suddenly, and gets up. He leaves the room, and comes back a minute or two later, a cup of tea in his hands. Her hands are shaking too much to take it. He puts his hands over hers, passing it to her gently.
There’s another kind smile on his face. She stares down at the yellow liquid. It’s chamomile. She takes a careful sip.
It’s a little too hot. It’s been reheated in the microwave.
He’s not looking at her for a reaction. She sniffles. “You’re not mad at me?” she says, voice wavering. Robin looks over at her.
“No.” He says.
A drop lands in the tea, then another, and another. Robin takes it from her, setting it carefully down somewhere.
He lets her cry into his shoulder.
She pulls out of his arms, sniffling. “I’m sorry.” she mumbles. He does that same, never failing kind smile, hands on her shoulders.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He says firmly.
She bites her lip. It’s stupid. But it’s bothering her.
“What?” he asks, like he can read her mind, and he almost can. She fiddles with her broach.
“I lost my broach on the roof.” she says softly, unable to meet his eyes. “Could you- go look for it?” He nods once, and she’s hit by his fierce determination.
“Thank you.” she says shyly, looking away. “I’ll go as soon as the others get back.” he says.
She bites her lip. “What are you gonna tell them?” she murmurs, knowing exactly what he’ll say.
“The truth.” he says firmly.
“But-”
He stops her, gently but firmly. “If this had happened to one of them, would you want to know?”
She looks away. “I just wanna get up tomorrow and everything be the same as it was.” she says, knowing that she’s pouting childishly. Robin doesn’t react, isn’t fazed, but she feels that same steely determination coming off of him as before. The waves of his emotions rock her, like she's slipping beneath the water.
She wants to drown tonight.
Raven blinks, her eyes heavy. But the thought of sleeping fills her with dread. She’s always had terrible nightmares, and she’s sure that tonight won’t be any different.
“Do you- still have any of those sleeping pills?” she asks softly. He nods. “I’ll go get them.”
He gets up once more, and comes back a minute later with the pills in the palm of his hand along with a paper cup of water. She takes them, and curls into her bed. Immediately they begin to work.
Robin sits on the edge of her bed as her eyes get heavier.
“It’s all gonna be okay. You’re safe now.” he says quietly, but she’s already slipping away, into a dark, dreamless sleep.
It’s like her skin doesn’t quite fit right now.
She should be happy. It’s over. The darkness that’s loomed over her for her entire life is gone.
Her father is dead. There is no more prophecy.
Her friends are their same cheerful selves. Life continues on.
She tries to ignore the what now? that lives below her skin, like an itch. Her reflection stares back at her in her bathroom mirror, tired and circle-eyed.
She exhales. She knows that she’s not the pretty girl. That role goes to Star.
She exhales. Her reflection doesn’t waver.
Her faded pruneish colored hair hangs just past her chin. She feels frustrated whenever she looks at herself and she doesn’t know why.
That girl was cursed and afraid. That girl let herself get pinned to a wall and had her clothes ripped off. She wants things to be different, and they’re just…not. Trepidation makes her feel indecisive.
There’s nothing wrong with things staying the same. Except she can’t stand it anymore.
She picks up the scissors.
Snip, snip, snip.
Her hair is short, but she cuts it shorter. Closer to her head, short like a boy. It doesn’t hang or flutter or fall in her eyes. She struggles with the nape of her neck, cutting it close to her skin.
There’s hair on the bathroom counter and on the floor, and there’s a different girl in the mirror. She still isn’t pretty, but she’s different. She smiles faintly.
The pain is dulled, ever so slightly.
She’s almost afraid to go to breakfast, scared of her friends' reactions. But they’re a lot nicer than they used to be. Maybe she should’ve shared more with them the whole time.
But she doesn’t like pity parties.
On the roof before breakfast Robin smiles and says nothing, like he doesn’t see it. They talk for their usual ten minutes and then just as they’re about to leave he says quietly, under his breath, “You look pretty.” And then leaves.
And she blushes, and feels better.
And she wonders if he told all of their nosy, gossipy friends not to say anything because when she comes into the living room there’s no gasp or jokes, just some pancakes. He definitely told them not to say anything, because she can feel them looking at her weird.
But they don’t comment, which would’ve made her cry, and Beast Boy doesn’t make fun of her, which definitely would’ve made her cry. She knows that Starfire thinks she shouldn’t cut her hair, that she’d look better if it were long, but also that it’s not personal, that none of the people of her planet cut their hair, male or female.
They all eat breakfast and then finish with a team meeting at the end of it.
Another day.
Later in the week she’s in the garage with Cyborg, reading while he works on his car. The radio is playing some pop music in the background. Her book is good, and she’s relatively happy.
She turns a page, propping her chin up with the palm of her hand. Cyborg looks at her gently from under the hood of his car. She feels his emotions and looks up from her book.
He just smiles and shakes his head. “You know, you’re pretty cute Rae.” He says, his one human eye glinting, before returning to his car.
Raven feels blood rush to her face. But she bites her lip to keep from smiling.
She’s with Starfire, sitting on the bed in the other girl’s room, later in the week.
She’s idly flipping through one of the brightly colored magazines that Star has lying around, mostly looking at the pictures of all the ridiculous clothes. It’s fun to look at, more fun than instagram, and she likes turning the pages, likes the brain numbing effect of the magazine’s subject matter.
Starfire’s busy cleaning out her closet and there’s heaps of stuff everywhere in the room. They’re trying to figure out what she should keep, get rid of, or give to Raven. So far she’s gotten a long sleeve light lavender top with an embroidered butterfly on it.
She and Star are very different sizes and shapes, not to mention their respective style choices, so sharing clothes isn’t really an option most of the time.
Starfire glances at her nervously from her closet where she’s holding two pink dresses. “If you like them both, just keep them, you have the room.” Raven says mildly.
Star shakes her head, green eyes studying her. “Yes, yes, of course.”
She puts down the dresses beside Raven on her pink bedspread. “Friend.” she begins in that wiggly Starfire way, “I have bought you a gift the other day when I was at the store, and I thought, maybe.”
Raven smiles vaguely. “What is it, Star?”
Starfire seems to brighten at her lack of reaction and darts over to her dresser, opening up one of the drawers. She returns, a little packet of hair barrettes clutched in her hand.
Raven bites back a smile. Starfire sits down beside her on the bed without a care for the pink dresses, smooshing them in the process. “I thought that they would look pretty in your new hair.” she says shyly.
Raven flushes too, uncomfortable about talking about it at all. “That’s really sweet, Star. Thank you.” She says softly. Hesitantly Starfire takes a barrette and leans over.
Carefully she brushes her hair to the side, fastening the clip in to hold her hair back. Raven bites down hard on her lip as Starfire leans back to examine her work. Apparently she’s happy with it, because she beams.
“You truly look lovely, Friend.” Starfire says, clasping her hands together. Raven blushes all the way down her neck. “Oh…thanks Star.”
“Yes! You have a very pretty neck and eyes, and it is quite noticeable now. You are truly very pretty.”
Raven averts her face, becoming quite embarrassed now, which thankfully Starfire seems to notice, as she slips off the bed and back to her closet.
She holds up a bubblegum pink dress. “Shall I keep this?”
Raven sighs.
She’s in the kitchen later, quietly fixing herself a cup of tea.
Beast Boy comes in, whistling to himself. She suspects that he hasn’t noticed her presence, but if he can’t be bothered to notice her, then she won’t worry about announcing herself either.
He opens the refrigerator and begins rummaging around in there, looking for something. She takes a careful sip of her tea, since it’s still hot. He shuts the door, and jumps about a whole foot back when he sees her.
She takes another sip of tea, unfazed by his antics.
“Beast Boy.” she says with a nod. He just stares at her, eyes wide. “Yeah.”
His mind is blank, like there’s nobody home. She resists the urge to roll her eyes. He is so weird sometimes.
His face is a slightly darker shade of green than normal. She shakes her head and walks around him and out of the kitchen.
She keeps her hair short for a while.
The rest of that year is busy, abnormally so, compared to the normalcy of the past years.
She still can’t sleep at night.
They travel to meet Beast Boy’s family, the Doom Patrol, and it isn’t memorable. They aren’t her family after all.
It’s a little regretful really, because it starts them down a whole journey around the world, meeting heroes and socializing and nothing feels right anymore and she doesn’t feel like herself at all, so it’s a good thing. It’s like armour, kind of.
It’s practical too, keeping it short, so she does. She doesn’t recognize herself in the mirrors of hotel bathrooms either.
She likes not being herself for that year; she doesn’t think that the old Raven could have made it through. Her hair doesn’t flutter, cropped close to her head, and it’s a good thing.
Finally they come home.
Nobody’s dead, and all five of them still want to be a team. A family.
Raven had feared that one or all would have changed, changed their mind, during their trips around the world, but they haven’t. Their first dinner together, the room is filled with relief.
That night in her bathroom mirror, she decides that maybe now the old Raven can come back. In little bits and pieces. She doesn’t cut her hair again. It takes a while, six months or so, til it just barely reaches her cheeks again.
It’s not long. But it’s her again.
Jason’s found a photo of her from some British newspaper from when they were over there.
She sighs and looks away. His arm is warm around her shoulders. They’re lying curled together on his bed in his room. He holds up the photo on his phone so she can see.
It’s blurry and she’s frowning.
She burrows her face into his shirt. “Hhhnn.”
He laughs under his breath, running his fingers through her hair, still short, only chin length. “You’re really cute with short hair, you know.” he says, nudging her. She groans into his shirt.
“Shut up.”