The beat of her heart fills in the silence of the room. Otherwise, Diana is certain she would suffocate in her own mind. Although, whether from her guilt or anticipation is anyone's guess. Anyways, the silence is horrific when she knows Arkham's walls hold screams within their bricks. Screams that rip apart the throat to come to life. These walls know secrets that could rot the soul, too. Perhaps the silence is playing the role of serenity, but true peace needn't disguise itself. And the truth is this: this is not a place of healing. It is a Hell where reality surrenders to nightmares.
And then there is him, there is them, the friend she left behind. The years since she saw Harvey and Two Face have been defined by wars and wonders, delights and devastation. She wonders, not vainly, what she must look like to him. With her black hair flowing like a river across her back and her soft dark eyes that have cried for him. Sobbed for him. She almost wore black, too, as though she was in mourning, but she thought she'd leave the dramatics to the Batman. Instead, Diana is in a white dress, something muted but not bleak. All this just to say she wonders if he remembers her like this, or if she's a caricature of the woman he knew. Maybe even loved?
❛ Hey, ❜ she speaks softly. Too softly. This isn't the voice of a warrior who has brought empires to their knees. It is the voice of a woman with regrets, perhaps. She looks at him before her, not separated by glass but by time, and all the apologies, all the proclamations she had in mind to say, fade from her lips. Instead, she says: ❛ It's me. ❜ Whatever that means anymore.
@dosdeux
