Send “👩🏻+ Question” and my muse’s Mother will answer // Do you keep tabs on your son nowadays?
Talk to my muse’s parents (mother)
"I don't have a son. It's just me and my girls now." The woman said, watching as two young women browsed over some nearby goods. One of them was older, almost in her late twenties while the other was barely out of her teens, possibly early twenties. They seemed to have a good relationship in spite of being watched closely by their mother. It can't be helped. It's a habit she'd always had what with coming from Gotham and despite the distance she'd put between herself and the damn place, somehow it always seemed to come back to haunt her. Thinking about him, the boy she'd left behind. Edward. Her thin features grow sharp, pinched. As though angry at having been caught in a lie. She tried never to think about him. It got easier as the years passed by, when she'd settled down and started a new life far, far away from that crime-ridden shithole but every now and again there would be subtle reminders, that she'd had three children and not two. Living so far away from Gotham, hardly anyone knew the truth. It had only ever been them before their father passed away some years ago, leaving them on their own. Still, the past had ways of catching up to you no matter how far you think you've run. Even living this far from Gotham, she'd been unable to escape it completely when it could slip into her home like a thief in the night. A few years ago, a news report flashed on the television, talking about a new criminal making a name for himself in Gotham. Normally Andrea wouldn't have cared, would have switched the channel to avoid hearing anything about that damn city but the name Edward gave her a moment's pause, just long enough for the news report to conclude. She remembered sitting there, dumbfounded. She hadn't misheard, but the name... it was all wrong. Who was Edward Nigma? Andrea had stared at the screen for a long time, the image she saw having burned itself into her memory. A young man in his late twenties, calling himself the Riddler of all things. She'd scoffed. Absolutely ridiculous, just as everything was when it came to Gotham but she could never quite off the unease she'd felt when looking at his photo. He was roughly the same age as her boy would be, if he was still alive, and his face was the spitting image of her own, right down to the pinched features and dark, mouse brown hair. No, it couldn't be him. Andrea shook her head, as though doing so would shake the memory out of her head and went to catch up with her girls but not before glancing back at who questioned her with a nasty look on her face. "You must have me mistaken for somebody else. Please refrain from bothering me or my daughters with silly questions like this again."
