ROBIN. [ S1 complete and S2 in the making! ]

The Year's End

As November slipped away, winter descended upon Gotham, blanketing the city and its outskirts with soft snow. 

The Agnes Mansion was a masterpiece of old-world elegance blended with modern opulence. Nestled atop a snow-covered hill on the outskirts of Gotham, the estate seemed almost otherworldly under the winter sky. Towering iron gates marked the entrance, adorned with intricate vines and gilded snowflake patterns, which glittered under the glow of lanterns. A winding cobblestone driveway, dusted with fresh snow, led visitors through meticulously trimmed hedges and frosted topiary sculptures shaped like winter animals—owls, reindeer, and wolves.

The mansion itself was a grand structure with ivy-clad stone walls that peeked through layers of snow. Rows of arched windows, illuminated from within, cast a warm amber glow that shimmered across the surrounding grounds. Icicles dangled from the rooftops like delicate glass ornaments, and the scent of pine, cinnamon, and crisp winter air lingered everywhere. On either side of the mansion's entrance, large stone pillars stood, crowned with garlands of holly and fairy lights woven into a cascade of evergreen branches.

At the heart of the mansion grounds was a frozen pond reflecting the sky like a mirror, where a few guests glided gracefully on ice skates. To the side, a majestic gazebo draped in twinkling lights provided a cozy retreat, with fur-draped benches and fire pits crackling to ward off the chill. The centerpiece of the estate's garden was a towering Norwegian spruce, decorated lavishly with silver baubles, ribbons, and enchanted lights that made the tree look as though it had been plucked from a fairytale.

Inside the mansion, the air was thick with holiday cheer. The grand foyer, with its gleaming marble floors, boasted a crystal chandelier that scattered shards of light like snowfall. A pair of ornate staircases spiraled upwards, their railings wrapped with shimmering garlands. Each hall was an ode to winter—tall vases filled with snow-white lilies and roses, mantelpieces adorned with pine cones, and wreaths crafted from frosted berries.

The heart of the mansion—the main ballroom—was a spectacle in itself. Gleaming parquet floors reflected the glow of a massive fireplace, where guests gathered with glasses of mulled wine. The walls were lined with velvet drapes in shades of deep burgundy and silver, and crystal chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling like frozen stars. At the far end of the room, a grand piano played soft music, filling the air with delicate notes that seemed to dance along with the snow drifting down outside the tall windows.

In every corner, the atmosphere was alive with laughter, conversations, and the soft clinking of champagne glasses. Tables, set with silver candelabras and plates trimmed in gold, awaited the guests for the evening feast. It was a world of elegance, but beneath the surface, it held a sense of warmth—a place where, despite the grandeur, people came together to share joy, memories, and a little magic amidst the winter chill.

Wayne Manor looked breathtaking, wrapped in a glistening sheet of white. The tall evergreen trees around the estate sparkled under a pale morning sun, and the faint crunch of snow underfoot gave the place a serene charm. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, decorating rooftops, railings, and the winding driveway leading up to the manor gates.

At the heart of all this splendor was pure chaos: Y/n and Estelle engaged in a wild snowball fight with the Bat Family. Snowballs flew in every direction—Jason took great pride in ambushing Tim, who retaliated with a surprisingly accurate shot to the back of Jason's head. Dick laughed so hard at their antics that he tripped into a snowdrift, only to be buried under a flurry of snow from Steph and Cass.

Y/n wasn't holding back either. "No mercy!" she shouted playfully as she nailed Damian with a perfectly aimed snowball to the side of his head.

Damian, his pride dented but not defeated, wiped the snow from his face, giving Y/n a determined glare. "You're dead," he muttered, scooping up more snow.