The wind whipped through Diana Prince's hair, lashing wildly against her face like a flag of defiance.
She stood with her arms crossed in a silvery green field, thanks to the rocks. Her pink tunic fluttered against her legs. She had not bothered to cover them. There was no point. Her captor had already seen her at her worst, tied up, helpless, and compromised.
She observed the castle from this new vantage point, her blue eyes tracing its silhouette against the pale morning sky. From a distance, it was even more imposing. The towers rose like skeletal fingers clawing at the heavens, their dark stone eroded by centuries of wind and rain. The architecture was irregular and uneven, as if the structure had been built not by human hands but by the fevered imagination of a madman. It reminded her of Frankenstein's castle. Perhaps Castle Branek. Both were monuments of fear and mystery, and this place was no different.
For a moment, the image of Shadowcrest came to mind, the ancestral home of her friend and battle companion, the magician Zatanna Zatara. She had visited it many times over the years, its warm hallways filled with the scent of ancient books and arcane incense. It was a place of comfort, safety, and magic that felt like a gentle embrace. Zatanna's house was a sanctuary.
In contrast, this green and black castle was a prison.
She turned her gaze toward the large green flag whipping in the wind atop a tall pole near the castle. The design was simple but striking: a black horizontal cross with red edges on the left side, and in the middle of the cross, inside a black circle, a green horn-shaped symbol. The colors were unmistakable: green, red, and black, the signature of her captor. The horn symbol was another mystery, another piece of a puzzle she was only beginning to assemble.
"A symbol of power? Of conquest? Or something more?"
She filed the image away in her memory. She would learn its meaning, adding it to her list.
Her gaze shifted to the landscape beyond the castle. Below, the fields stretched like a vast emerald carpet, dotted with clusters of wildflowers.
In the distance, she could see Doomstadt's spires rising from the valley once more, their rooftops catching the morning light. Another viewpoint that highlighted the capital against the Carpathians in the background. She thought her adoptive sister Donna Troy would love to capture that image from this distance, another addition to her portfolio. Diana would deny her if that happened. Nothing related to Doom in her life or the lives of her loved ones.
Her attention shifted to the robots guarding her. There were six of them, arranged in a loose perimeter, their advanced silver armor gleaming with greenish patterns that seemed to pulse with faint energy. They had a different design from the robots she had faced before: more elegant and futuristic, their weapons integrated into their frames with unsettling precision. They were not pointing their weapons at her.
They were not threatening her. They simply stood there, their eyes covered by smooth masks, but their posture meant protection.
"I don't want protection, damn creations."
In reality, she was outdoors, which meant freedom. She could try it. It was a great opportunity.
She measured the distance between herself and the robots. She was fast enough to incapacitate at least three before the others could react. Her Amazon strength was more than enough to break their metal frames. Then she could demand from Doom where his portal was, the one that had brought her from her universe. Return to the castle, find the device, and leave. She thought about it, but it was a bad idea. It meant going back to him. The maniac would have some surprise waiting, and she did not want to return to the beginning of her captivity.
Then she looked beyond the robots, beyond the castle walls, beyond the green fields. The Carpathian Mountains, their peaks dusted with snow, their slopes covered in dense forests. If she could escape, she could fly toward a village, town, or city in a neighboring country. She could find a scientist, a politician not involved in shady dealings, or especially a hero from this world, doppelgangers of her companions. A portal to return to her Earth and come back for her belongings with her allies and reinforcements.
But the pheromones held her back, and maybe curiosity too. To witness her captor's next move, a tour of his domain. According to his words.
"Not yet. I still need to play along." She repeated to herself.
A short distance away, Victor von Doom stood with his arms crossed, his green cape billowing in the wind. He was facing a narrow path that snaked down the hill toward the other side of the castle, his mask tilted slightly as if waiting for something. He had not moved for several minutes. He had only given the order to wait the moment the two of them arrived at this point.
Diana studied him from a distance. His height was a curiosity; he was only slightly taller than her. In her world, few men matched her stature. Bruce Wayne came close, Clark Kent, Victor Stone and Nathaniel Adam surpassed her.
"Is he really that tall or is it the armor? What is his true height under all that metal?"
She shook the thought away. It did not matter. He was her captor. His height was irrelevant.
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the wind and the distant singing of birds. Diana's patience frayed. She broke the ice, keeping her arms crossed.
"Who are you waiting for?" She asked, her voice flat with irritation.
Doom did not respond. He did not even acknowledge her question. He simply stood there, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the winding path below.
"Aren't you going to give me your little tour?" Diana's jaw tightened.
A pause. Then his voice came through the mask, low and commanding.
"Wait and shut your mouth."
The words landed like a slap. Diana's eyes narrowed, her anger flaring.
"You're in a bad mood, you bastard." She snapped. "What happened to you? You were speaking to me tenderly a moment ago. Do you always have these sudden outbursts of rage?"
Doom remained silent. His mask stayed fixed on the path below.
She regretted inwardly that Larin was not here to ease the tension between them.
Then Diana opened her mouth to continue her assault, but before she could speak, she heard it: a sound that cut through the silence like a drum.
Clop!
Clop!
Clop!
The rhythmic noise of horse hooves against the packed earth. She turned her head toward the sound. A robot was riding toward them on a black steed, its metallic frame strangely out of place atop the living flesh of the animal. The robot slowed the horse to a stop a few feet from where Doom stood, dismounted with mechanical precision, and stepped back, its glowing eyes fixed on its master.
The steed was large and magnificent, carrying the image of many long battles. Its coat was pure black, its mane flowing like silk in the wind. Its muscles rippled beneath its skin as it tossed its head, nostrils flaring, eyes bright with intelligence. Diana felt a pang of recognition. The size and coloring of the horse were almost identical to Discordia or the horses of Themyscira, but this quadruped had no wings. It was not a mythological pegasus. On the other hand, she felt a certain familiarity with it.
Doom approached the horse, his gloved hand extending to stroke its muzzle. The animal responded with a soft nicker, its tongue licking his metallic fingers as if recognizing him.
"Allow me to introduce Duke, Ms. Prince." Doom said, his voice carrying a warmth Diana had not heard before. "He has served Doom faithfully for many years. He is one I trust more than most mortals."
Diana watched the exchange, a strange feeling stirring in her chest. Doom was gentle with the horse. Soft in a way she had not thought him capable of.
"When you told me you were going to give me a tour of your domain, I expected a magical portal or flying down. Why waste time with your horse?" she said, her voice full of curiosity while keeping her irritated tone. She approached the ruler of Latveria and his new pet.
Doom turned toward her, his mask catching the light.
"Doom has plenty of time for you, Diana Prince. You will not escape my sight today." He mounted the steed with practiced ease, his cape settling around him like a shroud. "I assume you must be an expert rider."
"I am. You will not grant me another steed to follow you." Diana replied, lifting her chin.
Doom's mask tilted slightly.
"I will not grant you that honor today. I will not show gratitude for your true intentions. Doom repeats himself: he wants your comfort. To make you feel at home. We have all day."
Diana opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, Duke lowered his head and licked her face. The rough, warm tongue slid across her cheek, leaving a trail of saliva. She recoiled, hands flying up to wipe her face.
"Artemis! You feed him well. I hate admitting it."
"Duke approves of your comment, Amazon. It is an honor," Doom commented as the black horse neighed. "All beings in my domain are well fed."
Diana stared at him, the anger in her chest fading.
"I feel sorry for this creature." She murmured, more to herself than to Doom. "And for myself, being trapped here with you."
Doom extended his left hand toward her, his metallic fingers opening in invitation.
"Come, Diana Prince. I will show you everything. Doomstadt awaits you."
Diana stared at his hand. It was the same hand that had touched her without permission, the same hand that had wielded the pheromone power against her, the same hand that belonged to the man who had kidnapped her. She should refuse. She should turn away. She should find another way to escape from here.
The medieval city below called to her. A small treacherous part of her wanted to see what he would show her.
"He is your captor. You should not do this…"
Then, after several seconds, she sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. She stepped forward and placed her hand in his.
His fingers closed around hers, firm but not painful. He pulled her onto the horse behind him, his body warming against hers. She settled into the saddle, her thighs brushing against his armor, her hands floating awkwardly at her sides. She refused to wrap her arms around his waist for balance. She did not need it.
"Doom has not changed his mind about you, Amazon." He said, his voice a low rumble. "He will give you the opportunity to see what you will help protect."
She said nothing. She could not think of a response.
Doom guided the horse forward, and they began their descent into the valley, leaving the Doombots behind, watching their journey.
///
The wind whipped around them, increasing in pressure as Duke descended the winding path, his four hooves striking the packed earth in a rhythmic and thundering cadence. Diana sat behind Victor von Doom, her hands floating awkwardly at her sides, her body tense with the effort of maintaining distance from his armored form. The green fields that had surrounded the castle were disappearing behind them, replaced by rocky outcrops and scattered boulders that dotted the hillside like the bones of ancient giants.
The steed was fast. Faster than she had expected. Duke's muscles rippled beneath his black coat as he navigated the treacherous path, his hooves finding purchase on loose stones and uneven ground with uncanny precision. Diana's Amazonian physique allowed her to maintain balance effortlessly, but the jarring motion of the ride was beginning to test her patience.
The capital of Latveria grew larger with every passing moment. Doomstadt's medieval towers rose from the valley below, their spires catching the morning light like golden spears. The Carpathian Mountains, which had dominated the horizon moments earlier, were now receding behind the city's skyline of stone houses decorated with wood.
Diana observed the transformation with a mix of curiosity and resentment. She did not want to be impressed. She hated admitting once again that the city was beautiful. But the truth was undeniable: Doomstadt was a wonder, a blend of ancient charm and hidden sophistication she had not expected.
Suddenly, Duke veered sharply to the left, leaving the main path for a narrow trail that snaked through a cluster of rocks. The horse's abrupt change of direction caught Diana off guard, and she felt her body shift against Doom's armored back. She clenched her jaw, steadying herself with a surge of Amazonian strength.
"Why isn't there a straight path from your castle to your city?" She asked, her voice carrying a note of irritation. "Do you make all your visitors endure this?"
"It is the challenge any Latverian must face to earn Doom's hospitality and attention." Doom's voice came back to her, low and resonant, without looking at her. "A test of perseverance and respect for the sacred land. It also serves a practical purpose: to frighten any foreigner foolish enough to attempt an invasion of my home."
"And what about those who are not fools?"
Doom's mask tilted slightly, as if regarding her from the corner of his eye while still controlling the horse.
"They do not survive my traps."
"Traps?" Diana felt a chill run down her spine.
"You have not seen them, Amazon." Doom continued, his voice carrying a note of dark satisfaction. "The hill is filled with obstacles designed to eliminate any foreigner who approaches without Doom's permission. Land mines. Lasers hidden from the human eye. Mechanisms that would reduce even the mightiest warrior to ash. You are the exception, my dear. They do not affect what is mine."
Diana's jaw tightened. "I am not your dear. And I am not an exception. I am your prisoner."
Doom did not respond. His silence was a wall, impenetrable and absolute.
"He is insane… He has turned his own kingdom into a deadly trap and expects me to be grateful for the privilege of not being killed."
Diana's mind churned with frustration.
But even as the thought formed, she could not ignore the strange sense of safety. The path was dangerous in itself. Yet Doom was guiding her through it. He was protecting her from his own traps.
The realization made her stomach twist.
"Amazon. We are going to jump off a cliff. Prepare yourself."
Without warning, Doom's voice cut through the wind, sharp and commanding.
Diana's eyes widened.
Doom urged Duke forward with a sharp kick, and the horse surged ahead, its powerful legs propelling them toward the edge of the path. The cliff loomed before them, a jagged drop that seemed to plunge into oblivion.
The horse leaped.
Diana's heart slammed against her ribs. She wanted to jump off the horse, find her own way, fly away from this madness. But Doom's armored body was a barrier between her and freedom, his presence an unyielding force that left her instinctively clinging to him.
Time seemed to slow as they soared through the air, suspended between the cliff's edge and the distant ground below. Diana's body pressed against Doom's armor involuntarily, her hands finding his waist, her fingers gripping the cold metal with involuntary strength. She looked down, and her warrior's eyes registered the distance with terrifying clarity for any human.
"By Hera, this is madness." She thought.
The three of them fell through the air — horse, rider, and captive — a strange tableau of defiance against the laws of nature. Then, with a jarring impact that rattled Diana's teeth, Duke landed on the other side of the path, his hooves finding solid ground with practiced ease. The horse did not slow down. It continued at full speed, its powerful stride eating up the distance.
Diana's hands were still wrapped around Doom's waist. She could feel the cold metal beneath her palms, the inflexible hardness of his armor. She should have pulled away, reclaimed her distance, maintained the illusion of independence.
But she did not.
Something held her there. The warmth of his body through the metal. The strange feeling of protection his presence offered. The knowledge that, despite his cruelty, he would not let her fall.
How far the mighty Wonder Woman had fallen. She was weak on this new Earth.
She tried to free herself. She flexed her arms, attempting to pull away from him. But her hands betrayed her. They remained where they were, clinging to his waist like a lifeline.
"What am I doing?" She thought, her mind reeling. "What is happening to me again? Doom stop using your influence on me, damn you."
All she knew was that the sensation of his armor beneath her palms was not unpleasant. It was cold, yes. But it was also warm, heated by his body, by the intensity of his presence. She could not reconcile the contradiction.
Her mind wandered, unbidden, to a memory from long ago.
She was a child, perched on her first steed. Her mother, Hippolyta, walked beside her, one hand resting on the animal's bridle, guiding her with gentle patience. The horse had been old and slow, but to Diana it had felt like flying. She had been afraid at first, but her mother's presence had been a shield, a comfort, a promise that she would not fall.
Now, she felt that same comfort in the presence of her captor called Doom.
The realization tore through her. She was not a child. She was not vulnerable. She was Diana of Themyscira, Princess of the Amazons, Wonder Woman. She did not need protection. She did not need comfort from him. She did not need him.
With a surge of willpower, she finally forced her hands to release his waist. She leaned back, creating distance between them, her body rigid with tension.
"I hate you." She whispered, the words barely audible over the wind.
"Keep lying to yourself, Diana."
Doom's voice came back to her, low and calm, carrying a note of dark amusement.
She fell silent. There was nothing to say. Everything was chaos in her mind, a whirlwind of anger, confusion, and something else. Something she did not want to name.
The horse continued its descent, weaving through the trees that lined the lower slopes of the hill. Doomstadt's medieval buildings rose around them, their stone facades eroded by centuries of wind and rain. The everyday sounds of the city drifted through the air like a promise of normalcy.
Diana was grateful for the noise. It drowned out the chaos in her mind.
Suddenly, the horse stopped. Duke's hooves skidded against the cobblestones, and Diana felt herself lurch forward, her body pressing against Doom's back once more. She opened her mouth to protest, but the words died in her throat.
Doom was clutching his own chest. From her position, she could see it behind his body.
His armored fingers dug into the green tunic covering his torso, his body rigid with pain. A low groan escaped his lips, a sound of such raw and unguarded agony that it seemed impossible. Another groan followed, louder, more desperate. His shoulders shook with the effort of containing whatever was happening inside him.
Diana stared at him, frozen. She had never seen him like this. In all their encounters, he had been imposing, controlling, and invincible. Even when she had torn the mask from his face, revealing the scarred horror beneath, he had recovered quickly, reasserting his dominance with ruthless efficiency.
She could not see or hear what was happening behind the man's metal body. She wished she had Kryptonian powers now. She could not sense his magic either since they had fought at the Watchtower.
Doom's gesture was a sign of weakness and vulnerability.
She felt a strange pang of something. Concern. She pushed it away, but it lingered at the edges of her consciousness, refusing to be ignored.
"Are you all right?" She asked, her voice sharper than she intended.
Doom did not respond. He continued clutching his chest, breathing ragged, his body trembling with the effort of containing his pain. Then, slowly, the trembling subsided. His breathing evened out. He straightened, his posture regaining its imperial bearing.
He reached over and adjusted his green cape, pulling it forward to cover his body.
"Do not ask questions." He said, his voice a low growl.
"I cannot ask? Is there something inside you causing you pain?" Diana's eyes narrowed.
Doom's head turned toward her, and she saw his brown eyes burning through the slits of his mask, fierce and unyielding.
"You are on my lands, Amazon." He said, his voice rising. "I am the authority here. There are no questions during the tour."
Diana recoiled as if he had struck her. Her anger flared in her chest, hot and immediate. She opened her mouth to respond, to defend herself, but the words would not come. She could not find the right weapon, the right phrase to cut through his arrogance.
"Diana! He is your captor. He is your enemy. He does not deserve your concern."
She thought and sighed in annoyance, cursing herself for worrying about him.
Doom did not wait for her response. His face turned forward. He urged the horse onward, and Duke continued his descent, his hooves thundering against the cobblestones.
Diana remained silent, her mind a storm of conflicting emotions. She was angry with him. She was confused by him. And she could not stop thinking about the look in his eyes: the pain, the vulnerability, and his desperate effort to hide it.
"What is wrong with you? He is a tyrant. He kidnapped you. He wants to use you as a broodmare. Why do you care if he is in pain?"
She had no answer.
Several minutes passed. The three of them reached the beginning of Doomstadt, the hill behind them. The Carpathians disappeared completely from view, hidden by the imposing buildings lining the streets. Diana watched the city unfold around her with a mix of wonder and resentment. The cobblestones were smooth, worn by centuries of footsteps. The buildings were old but well maintained, their facades adorned with intricate carvings and green flags, the symbol of Latveria.
"Let's begin." She thought, her voice echoing in her own mind.
Diana took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on the present.
///
The wind whipped around them as Duke moved at a calm pace now, his hooves clicking against the worn cobblestones in a rhythm that felt almost meditative. Diana sat behind Doom, her body still tense from their previous descent. She continued to keep her distance from him. The confusion in her mind was a storm she could not quiet.
Doom kept his green cape pulled over his chest, the fabric drawn forward to hide what had happened during his episode of pain. Diana could not see his face or read his expression, but she could feel the tension in his shoulders, a subtle stiffness that betrayed his effort to maintain control.
"He is still hiding it. Something he does not want me to see."
She filed the observation away.
Her attention shifted to the city surrounding her. The streets of Doomstadt were alive with activity, a tapestry of medieval charm and bustling commerce. Men in simple tunics carried goods to the market: baskets of fresh vegetables, bolts of colorful fabric, clay pots filled with aromatic spices. Merchants called out to passersby, their voices rising above the noise of the crowd. Children darted between the legs of adults, their laughter bright and unguarded. Dogs chased each other through the alleys, their barks echoing off the stone walls.
Doomstadt was trapped in time, but everywhere there were Doombots. It had something modern.
They stood at intervals along the streets, their metallic frames gleaming in the morning light. Their green eyes swept over the crowd with mechanical vigilance, but they did not interfere. They simply watched, a silent reminder of who ruled this land.
Diana observed the Latverian women with particular interest. They wore tunics similar to hers: simple garments in a variety of colors. Some were adorned with embroidered patterns, others plain and utilitarian. She saw no fear in their eyes, no cowering in their postures. They moved through the streets with the confidence of people who felt safe.
"Is this really a tyranny?" She wondered.
As they advanced, the city began to notice its ruler. The first recognition came from a merchant who paused mid-stride, stopping his fruit cart. His eyes widened, and he dropped to one knee, head bowed.
"Hail Doom!" He called, his voice carrying across the street.
The cry was taken up by others, spreading through the crowd like a wave. Men and women turned toward their sovereign, their faces lighting up with devotion.
"Hail Doom!"
"Welcome, Lord Doom!"
"Master, we missed you!"
Diana heard the words in a dozen different voices: some in English, others in Latverian which she still did not understand, and still others in what sounded like Romani. These people loved their ruler. They revered him.
Doom acknowledged them with a simple gesture: a raised hand, a slight nod of his masked head. He did not stop. He continued his slow progress through the streets, accepting their devotion as his due.
Diana felt a strange pang of envy. Her own people, the Amazons of Themyscira, loved her mother with similar devotion. But that love had been earned through wisdom and compassion, not through fear and control.
"Was that it?"
She pushed the thought aside.
As they passed through a particularly busy square, Diana heard the murmurs begin. People were looking at her now, curiosity written on their faces. She caught fragments of conversation, voices rising and falling.
"Who is she?"
"The Master's companion?"
"She is beautiful. Look at her black hair."
"Where does she come from? She does not look like one of us."
"She does not seem Symkarian."
Diana's ears perked up at that last word.
"Symkaria?"
She filed the information away in her mind.
A woman's voice cut through the murmurs, sharp and curious. "She is very attractive. Too attractive. She cannot belong here."
Diana bristled at the words. She was not something to be evaluated. She was not a possession.
And then she heard a child's voice, clear and innocent, rising above the noise.
"Could she be our next queen?"
Diana's blood ran cold. She looked down at the speaker, a boy of perhaps six years old, with wide eyes. The child stared at Diana with an expression of pure, unguarded fascination.
Diana did not know how to respond.
"Queen. The child thinks I am going to be his queen."
Queen. The word echoed in her mind, a chill spreading through her veins. She looked at Doom's back, at the green cape that hid his body, at the mask that concealed his face.
"Was that your other plan? To make me your queen? To trap me in a marriage I had never chosen? This idea is even more terrifying than you getting me pregnant. Now everything starts to make sense."
They continued through the streets, moving from the main avenue into a narrower passage. The crowd thinned here, replaced by the quiet hum of residential life. The buildings were older in this part of the city, their facades adorned with faded murals and intricate carvings.
Ahead, Diana saw a small stable built against a stone wall. A Doombot stood at its entrance, its glowing eyes fixed on their approach. It was waiting for them.
Doom slowed Duke to a stop and dismounted with practiced ease. Victor turned toward Diana and extended his hand to help her down.
His gesture was simple, almost chivalrous. Diana hesitated. She did not want to accept his help. She did not want to acknowledge his courtesy.
But her legs were stiff from the ride and the horse was tall.
She sighed and placed her hand in his. His gloved fingers closed around hers, firm and unyielding. He guided her down, keeping their hands locked.
She should have pulled away. She did not.
"Thank you." She said, the words escaping before she could stop them.
Doom said nothing. He released her and turned toward the Doombot, his voice flat and commanding.
"We will return at night. Make sure Duke is well fed."
"Yes, my lord." The Doombot replied in a mechanical monotone. It extended its hand and placed it on the steed's back, guiding him toward the stable.
Diana watched the animal disappear into the shadows of the stable, a strange feeling of loss tugging at her heart.
Her attention shifted to the street around her. The people here were respectful toward Victor von Doom. They bowed as they saw their ruler, their eyes following him with devotion.
Then Diana saw a little girl standing at the edge of the crowd, her face lit up with excitement. She could not have been more than ten years old, her brown hair tied back with a simple ribbon. She wore a pale blue tunic and an inverted golden U-shaped helmet on her head, a miniature replica of Zora's helmet. In the girl's hands, she clutched a yellow flower, its petals bright against her small fingers.
Little girl ran forward, her voice high and bright.
"Lord Doom! Lord Doom! We missed you!"
Doom observed the girl, his masked face tilting slightly. He did not seem annoyed. If anything, he looked almost pleased.
"Hello, dear girl." He said, his voice even softer than Diana had ever heard it. "You should not have worried."
The girl shook her head, her eyes shining with determination. "I wanted to. My mother always tells me that when you see the Master for the first time, you must give him one of our flowers. Then he will protect us in return."
Doom crouched down, bringing himself to her level. He extended his hand and took the flower from her small hands, his metallic fingers gentle against the delicate petals.
"As long as you live here or abroad, Doom will protect you. It is an honor to receive gifts from my people." He said, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed impossible. "Doom likes it very much."
"Thank you, Lord Doom." The girl smiled.
"I will keep your flower as a reminder of your kindness. I admire your helmet, little Victorious." Doom reached out and touched her brown hair, his gesture almost paternal. "What is your name, dear child?"
"My name is Loana, Master." The girl's smile grew impossibly wider.
"Loana." Doom repeated the name as if tasting it. "A beautiful name. Now you must return to your mother, Loana. She will be worried. Doom blesses you."
"Thank you. Hail Doom!" The girl nodded, her expression radiant.
The girl turned and ran back toward a woman waiting at the edge of the street, arms open to receive her. The woman bowed to Doom, her face a mixture of gratitude.
Meanwhile, Diana watched the scene unfold, her emotions a tangle of confusion and disbelief. She had seen Doom cruel. She had seen him calculating. She had seen him possessive and controlling.
She had never seen him gentle with people around him.
He rose from his crouch, his cape swirling behind him. He placed the yellow flower in a pocket of his cape, his movements careful and deliberate.
"This is reality, Diana." Victor said, his voice carrying a note of quiet satisfaction.
Diana nodded, unable to find words. Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts.
"He is a tyrant. He kidnapped me. He wants to use me. He is not kind. He is a monster." She reminded herself.
But the image of him crouching before a child, accepting a flower with such tenderness, refused to leave her mind.
"Who are you, Victor von Doom?"