A snowy december in Gotham, teeth-chattering and bitterly cold. It was a winter where the wealthy women could finally brush out their fur coats into the blistering winds and sport double wooled stockings. One in particular was just spotted leaving Wayne Enterprise building, in a haste, rather flustered, the well-known brunette with a kind charitable soul named Martha. It seems she was waiting for her ride, unlikely for her, Alfred was running behind the clock.
Emeralds pierced through the white haze of falling ice, belonging to a child, perhaps seven or eight, with raven black hair rippling with wild curls. It was fate that had been cruel to her, leading and pushing to do this. It was a dog-eat-dog world out there, no matter how much she preferred cats. They kept to their own.
The young woman kept pacing back and forth, huddling against the warmth of her fur coat. Chapped lips and all, she stopped only to hear the ring of her cellphone in which she unzipped her purse to retrieve and get lost in a conversation. These streets made her feel alone and freighted. The familiar voice of a friend was enough to keep her distracted, and that's just what the shadow that lurked around the corner needed.
It needed to be quick, and she needed to be light on her feet. Now, this would be her break. She rubbed her hands together and then went for a full on sprint, in a blur there she was, tugging at the woman's purse, tears freezing at the corner of her eyes, but she closed them. Tugging still, her small frame no match for this lady, and it was quick for her to fall in defeat. In utter awe to the fact that she couldn't do this simple thing. And as a child does, she cried, ashamed of probably being caught, and more ashamed of not succeeding what played out so perfectly in her mind.
The older woman did what the little girl never expected; showed kindness. She took her fur coat off, and wrapped it around the girl's shoulders, rubbing up and down the shaft of her arms spreading the heat. There was a saintly expression upon her face, in which no smile was needed, just the genuine look in her eyes.
"Now don't you look dashing in that coat." Martha said, in which finally, a curve tugged at the edge of her lips.