Batfam x Neglected Tomie Reader
English version
In the Wayne Manor, there was a room without history. It had a small window, a neatly made bed, and a mirror without fingerprints. And in that room lived her.
She didn’t have a cape.
She didn’t have gadgets.
She didn’t have battle scars or soul wounds that others could see as worthy. She only had a face.
And in that house of masks, that meant nothing.
Since she was little, she learned not to make noise. When she walked through the carpeted hallways, she tiptoed, as if the echo of her steps were a crime.
When she spoke, she did it in a soft voice, afraid of interrupting the conversations between the heroes. When she laughed... she stopped. No one laughed with her.
She didn’t belong to the "team." She didn’t have official training. She wasn’t Nightwing, Red Hood, Robin, or the new girl from the orphanage with a perfect memory. She was just the daughter. The mistake. The useless shadow.
Her mother had died giving birth to her. Bruce raised her out of duty. Alfred was polite but distant. And the rest... simply didn’t see her.
"Since when has she been here?" Tim once asked aloud, not realizing she was right behind him.
Jason mocked, "She's always been here. She's like a nice piece of furniture.Looks good, but isn't useful for fighting."
And they all laughed.
She didn’t.
She just looked at her hands, delicate and soft, then lowered her head.
Bruce never trained her. He said he didn’t want to "put her in danger," but everyone knew he didn’t trust her strength. He didn’t consider her useful. He taught her to keep silent. To observe. To read books instead of reading bodies in combat. And she did. She learned to see without being seen. To understand without asking. To lock everything she felt in a corner of her chest where no one could enter.
But there was one thing she inherited: the gaze. That deep and sharp look. The one that made the guilty tremble. Hers was different, yes. Softer. More beautiful. But just as hypnotic. And no one in the house dared to hold it for too long.
---
One day, she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She was fourteen years old.
She had the darkest eyes in Gotham.
She had lips as soft as silk.
She had skin that seemed sculpted. And she felt nothing. "What’s the point of being beautiful if no one sees you?"
Someone knocked on the door. It was Damian.
—Move, useless. Some of us have things to do.
She didn’t answer. She just lowered her gaze. But that night, she broke the mirror with her fist. She didn’t cry. She just bled.
---
Time passed. She turned fifteen. Then sixteen. She knew no one would go to her room on her birthday. She knew no one would say "I’m proud of you." She knew that, to them, she was a mistake without scars. So, she left.
She didn’t scream.
She didn’t leave a note.
She didn’t seek drama.
She simply made the bed.Closed the door. And disappeared.
Bruce didn’t search for her. "If she wants to come back, she will," he said coldly. And the rest continued with their missions.
No one imagined she would find another way to exist.
And to shine.
---
First came the photos. Self-portraits on lonely streets. Her face surrounded by shadows. Her silhouette reflected in puddles. Her lips slightly parted as if whispering secrets. Someone found them. Shared them. And the world… listened.
“They call her the Marble Girl.”
They said she had an impossible face. Too symmetrical. Too pure.
But what attracted them the most wasn’t her beauty. It was what she hid.
A silent sadness.
A threat without violence.
A sweetness that was poisonous.
---
At seventeen, she was in Paris.
She signed contracts without giving her real name. She modeled without saying a word. And every time the camera focused on her, the world stopped. Not because she smiled.
But because it seemed she didn’t need to.
She denied it.
And that... drove them crazy.
---
She lived alone. In a small glass apartment with black curtains.
She slept little. Dreamed a lot. And never looked back at Gotham.
She never mentioned her family. Not because she hated them. But because... they no longer existed for her.
They had died the day they forgot her.And she... had been reborn.
---
One night, an artist asked to paint her face.
—You have something tragic about you —the woman said, as she traced her jawline—. Like a broken virgin. Or a sad goddess.
She just smiled, without answering. And when the painting was displayed, people cried in front of the canvas. They didn’t know why.
It just... hurt.
---
At eighteen, the world already knew her. Magazines. Art videos. Red carpets.
But never interviews.
Never words.Only that presence. Mysterious. Distant. Unreachable.
And then... Bruce saw her.
---
He was working in the Batcave when her image appeared on the screen. An irrelevant article. A gossip piece.
But there she was. Sitting in a velvet chair. Dressed in black. Surrounded by photographers. And smiling. That smile. Calm. Unbreakable.
Free. Bruce blinked.
—It can’t be… Dick looked down.
Jason clenched his fists.
Tim swallowed hard.
Damian, for the first time, said nothing.
Because they all remembered her. And she didn’t remember them.
—Why didn’t she come back? Dick murmured.
Jason clenched his fists. —Because we didn’t make her feel part of this.
Damian whispered: —She seems happy.
Bruce didn’t answer. He just looked at the screen. And inside, something broke.
It wasn’t guilt.
It wasn’t love.
It was fear.
Because she didn’t need them. And that... was unforgivable.
Batfam x Neglected Tomie Reader Part 2