Lost Days, Withering Ghosts
Polished gold and sparkling champagne made you sick. The domed glass ceiling reached the sky and rendered your small figure worthless among the crowd of bodies.
Adults.
They all towered in their tailored suits and delicate dresses. Women had smiles as bright as the jewels on their necks. The vibrant ballroom glimmered in chandelier-lit candles. Only, the warm light would never reach the soft skin of your face. You were a shadow, behind a towering man, small hands clasped in his. Tall tables kept you below the surface of their own world.
"Oh, Anton!" a woman shrieked, wrapping her hands around him. Her pretty red dress flowed along the tips of her heels. "I've missed you!—Oh, and who is this!?" She bent down, smiling at you, but you could tell something bothered her about your appearance. Her smile didn't reach her eyes. You simply stared back at her with big eyes, sinking into the soft garments that wrapped around your body and face.
He bellowed, "This is my daughter," placing a hand at the back of your head, carefully, strangely gentle with the pins in your hair. He was never gentle. Daughter? Does that make him your father?
"Oh! You didn't tell me you were with somebody!" She was bitter. You could care less, but his training had taught you she was bitter. She hid whitening knuckles behind her back, and the masseter of her jaw clenched.
He laughed, "I don't see why I would!" His knees shifted weight every once in a while. "Her parents were in an accident; I've been taking care of her," he said quieter this time, leaning over the high cloth table. Her shoulders relaxed.
After you were dragged to appearances like those, it was hard to fill the silence. While you hated them, you often found yourself missing the hum of chatter and laughter. The silence killed you, maybe because it wasn't ever really quiet. It was a painful ringing thruming with the sound of rushing blood. Struggling up the small windowsill, your small hands pulled at the bar of the huge French glass window.
Sounds of birds and rustling trees finaly dulled the roaring blood and sirens in your head. Warm air pushed the long linen curtains, and through the swaying tree branches, light danced in dots of shadows and sun on the wooden floor. Muffled voices from below, disturbed the singing birds. Peeking over the concrete ridge of the manor, you spotted a familiar figure — a woman, walking gracefully beside him.
Talia al Ghul... your relationship with her was strange. If you were anyone's daughter, it was probably hers. She, was gentle. Like a knife that slowly slit your skin. Gentle. Cold, yet warm at the sensation of blood. She was one of the many mentors he hired for your training.
"I've come for the girl; I'm taking her with me," her honey-smooth voice echoed through the hall. Calm.
"Hold on, that is not what we agreed to—"
"Khoa—"
"You will not use my name." He grunts, threatening. Her voice doesn't waver, "I assure you, it is for the better. I'm training another boy right now; I'm sure the practice would serve her well."
Silence.
"It's time," she says.
"She's in the library," he grumbles.
"Still so immature, you and Bruce."
Bruce?
"Yeah, right," he chuckles humorlessly. Heavy footsteps followed behind the clacking of the woman's heels.
"Anak, Talia's here." He calls out. Your... father? You were still at a loss for what to call him. Talia lightly pushed the open doors ajar. A small smile played on her face at your slightly panting chest. To most, it's impossible to notice, but she knew you had your ears pressed against the door not even a second ago.
"I'll help you gather your belongings, sweetheart." She nodded her head towards the doors.
Peering over the woman's shoulder, he hesitated. Why? "You will be going with Talia to America." The same voice that would often forbid you from leaving the house. Why was he letting you go with Miss Talia now?
"Yes, sir." You bowed your head, walking into the hallway. Talia placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, leading you to your room. Looking back at the end of the hallway, you noticed he didn't follow. He simply stared into the empty library with a hand on the door.
"I've got someone you'd like to meet." She smiles.
—
kinda based on RedHood lost days, besides that one chapter ifykyk. Just an idea cuz I saw a couple of ghost maker stuff. Lmk what we tink... supposed to be a build up for Jason x reader