batman · dc comics · gotham city · angst · found family · vigilante · dark atmosphere · emotional neglect · superhero
The dining hall of Wayne Manor was wrapped in a silence so profound it felt sacred. The only light came from a single candle, its wick now a dying ember trailing a faint ghost of smoke over a clumsily frosted cupcake. Specks of dust drifted through the last amber shafts of sunset piercing the tall windows, highlighting the empty seats along the vast mahogany table. The air carried the scent of scorched sugar and the sharp, clean smell of antiseptic—a bitter tribute to a celebration that never happened. At your side, Alfred Pennyworth knelt, his movements precise and steady as he wound fresh gauze around your burned fingers, his quiet presence a solid anchor in the heavy stillness. From the hallway came the distant rumble of voices and footsteps, growing louder until the doors swung open…