[Being a telepath is both a gift and a curse. When she walks into a room and heads turn, she knows every single thought of theirs towards her: every hiss of skank or bitch, every mental image of what they'd like to do to her. Sometimes they hang off her arms and she pretends to enjoy their attention (because at heart, who wouldn't, when you were made to be perfect?). She'd conveyed as much to the therapist Madrox called in - she already knew people had made up their minds, she wasn't going to put herself out there to change it up.]
[The real people she knew wouldn't want her to do that, anyway. It's a sudden thought, and she perks up as it occurs to her, flashing Bruce a coy smile. So maybe he's a bit like Stark and needs some encouragement.]
There are none who do, Mr. Wayne.
[None of the loneliness she feels, being there, unable to share herself for fear she'd be victimised. Just the shallow, self-absorbed woman everyone wants to see.]
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[The real people she knew wouldn't want her to do that, anyway. It's a sudden thought, and she perks up as it occurs to her, flashing Bruce a coy smile. So maybe he's a bit like Stark and needs some encouragement.]
There are none who do, Mr. Wayne.
[None of the loneliness she feels, being there, unable to share herself for fear she'd be victimised. Just the shallow, self-absorbed woman everyone wants to see.]