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♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀ ╰┈➤ ❝ you got a heart from heaven, but your burning like hell.❞
Blaring light hurried in soaring against harsh features and begone company. Frankie's icy glare burned into her own intrepid nature.
Anxiety was burning through her veins, coating every morsel with unabated worry. The once unkept scrawl that marked out a complex shadowy man, now typed up and ushering sweet nothings lay tapered in his calloused hands.
His eyes diligently scanning the words written before him, left her with an uneasy sense of dread broiling in the pit of her stomach.
"I like it Lisbon."
She sighed a pent up relief at his long awaited words.
"You've captured and new found sense of loss and undeniable grief, and humbling a man so prominent that it's bound to leave the city reeling."
"Thank you Frankie, that means a lot."
"I must say you've far exceeded my expectations Lisbon."
She loathed this man with searing rage, but hearing validation seeping from his mouth she felt pride, that relished in underlying stupidity for simple words she knew were true long ago.
Days relinquished past and she acted with a gnawing sense of interminable deprivation. She both longed and abhorred her days spent with Bruce but now left in the absence of it, she grew weary of solitude. Quiet no longer held solace it held whispering secrets, secrets she couldn't bare to listen to. One's she wished would remain in the dark, bleary corners of clandestine rendezvous spots.
She was passing more time at the tabloid, half hearted congratulating and forgotten well dones, becoming second nature to her. If people here liked it, surely that meant the city would too.
Morana wanted Bruce to have the comfort in knowing he no longer had to hide away, that once again the Wayne's could relish in their fortune of philanthropy.
And succinct in black and white replacing the perplexed title of the forlorn mystery of batman, the words now stood :
𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙻 𝙱𝚁𝚄𝙲𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚈𝙽𝙴?
It was seething and unopened, teeming with animosity his nature of dark earthy blue lay coddled in ink etched deep into parchment the tears he shed for his parents seeping into each arch and curve of every letter.
