Guardian of the Night

Yours, Bruce Wayne

The moon shone big and bright above Gotham, and for once, it appeared peaceful. All was quiet in the night, the stars twinkling overhead in the inky purple sky as a girl hurried down the deserted streets, a violin case on her back and an envelope clutched tightly to her breast. Her jet black hair flowed in the breeze and it was a wonder, with her small frame, that she wasn’t carried away altogether by the crisp late fall wind. 

She pulled her cardigan tighter around her, as it offered little protection against the chill in the midnight air. After walking a block or two more in the dark, she ducked into a large apartment building, letting the automatic doors draw closed behind her. The lobby wasn’t much to look at; It was charming, but not much more. The decor was kept simple — not much on the walls but a painting or two. Although the room itself was quite modest, the girl had grown fond of the coziness of the place and she smiled when she saw the fire crackling on the hearth. 

She greeted the secretary at the front desk with a smile and a small wave as she passed and the older woman looked back at her warmly. The elevator ride to the sixth floor was quite uneventful, although the girl did trip while exiting because of how quickly she’d been walking (she almost couldn’t bear to wait another second to be back in her own home so that she could break the seal on the envelope that she was still gripping with white knuckles). After sprinting down the hall and fumbling with her keys, the door to the girl’s apartment opened and she rushed to drop everything and shrug off her sweater so that she could finally, finally, get to see what was contained in the thick, official looking envelope. 

Taking a seat on the couch, her violin still in its case at her feet, the girl took a minute to stare at the piece of parchment in her still shaking hands. It was rather plain on the front — nothing but her name, first and last, neatly printed in gleaming black ink. Rosaline Finch. However simple it was, Rosaline had never seen her name look more beautiful in her life. Gently turning the envelope over, she let out a little squeak as her stomach leaped up into her throat and she was rendered speechless. The back of the envelope was shut with a gleaming gold seal adorned with the Wayne family crest. She’d known that whatever was in the envelope was from Wayne Enterprises — she’d been told that right away when it was delivered to her — but the seal on the envelope didn’t indicate a letter from the Wayne company (which was a colossal rarity in itself). No. Whatever was in there, Rosaline was now almost sure, was a message from Bruce Wayne himself. 

A shudder ran through Rosaline’s whole body and she felt her cheeks growing hot as she methodically and carefully slid a thumb beneath the seal, prying it loose so that the envelope could be opened. Then, trembling even worse than before now, she slid the piece of paper out, gently placing the envelope on the coffee table in front of her. The paper was thick and heavy — very fancy, official looking stationary. It was a dark cream color, almost a very light yellow, and it was folded in perfect, precise thirds. Heart pounding, she unfolded the letter and began to read, drawing shaky breaths as she did. Her blue eyes darted back and forth as she scanned the paper, her already large orbs only grew wider. 

There was to be a huge fundraising event at the Wayne mansion in a week, and Rosaline had been personally invited to play violin that night. She had no idea how Bruce Wayne had heard of her — she had virtually no connections to him whatsoever — but that was the last of her concerns at the moment as tears of joy sprung to her eyes. It all would have been near impossible to believe if not for the signature at the very bottom of the page that made her head spin. 

Yours, Bruce Wayne.