twenty-five :: final

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9:07 am
the Queen's Castle

She woke and sat up, stretching outward in elegant fashion. The Queen stood and at the muffled sound of her steps, her handmaids rushed in in a flurry.

"Good morning, my Queen," they all chimed. They were like birds, carefully assisting the lady in anything she needed (which wasn't much) as they paraded to the joint bathroom.

The marble tiles were clean, the tub was spotless, the towels and toiletries perfectly aligned.

In unison, they undressed her. They piled the nightclothes into a bin in the corner and led her into the crystal clear, perfectly warm water.

They bathed her, numbly and precisely.

When they were done, they drained the bath and dressed her in a long dress. It was plain cream with small grey roses here and there.

They tied her hair into a long, sleek braid. Her makeup was patted on flawlessly as usual.

A handmaid, Marie, did the honor of painting a subtle grey spade below the Queen's right eye.

The handmaids stood back and awaited her departure before they disappeared to their shared attic bedroom.

Marie followed, holding the tail of the dress off the ground. The Queen held the front up, only enough for her to move down the stairs.

Marie let the dress go and followed her elders to the sleeping quarters.

The Queen was addressed with a small bow or curtsy whenever a staff member came into view. The Queen went to the dining room and ate and drank coffee and sipped tea (only when she had enough coffee).

She stood and went to the foyer.

The staff's move-in process was finished. The empty mansion had become her seamless castle. A simple boat became an epic ship.

Only the captain and her crew, a villain and her minions, a Queen and her Court, was left.

And she knew exactly what was to come:

Burn the Joker.
Bury the Bat.
Take over Gotham.

The end.
(Kind-of.)

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