[It's wild what that lack of history can do for burgeoning new friendships. She knows she's going to have to dip her toe into getting to know the rest of the Batfamily at some point - sooner, rather than later - but she's been on the fringe for so long that she can't wrap her head around becoming whatever the opposite of a fringe is. The sleeve, if this was a suede fringed jacket metaphor, maybe.]

I know Edith Wharton's never met a sad, tragic ending that she didn't like enthusiastically love, but this the one she wasn't able to give an ending to. Very meta, I know, but I find that weirdly relatable. Unfinished book, unfinished Bette. Though maybe it's time for something a little bit fluffier than Wharton.

[Most people wouldn't consider Bette a book nerd - between the constantly trying to become a respected crimefighter, remaining a pro tennis champ, and spending her nights partying, she gets why people in different circles consider to be some variation of an airheaded, athletic flake - but she does enjoy a good book. As long as it's not something she's forced to read for class. That's when the charm goes flying out the window.]

Or, I don't know, maybe it's time to give the reading a break and be more of a social bird. I used to be good at that, back when I knew my place in the world.