Chapter 2: The Subtle Shift: A Heroine's Preparation
Diana stared at the open wardrobe, the morning light catching dust motes dancing in the air. Her fingers brushed past the sturdy, practical leggings she’d worn just… yesterday? It felt like yesterday. Yet, the space where they should hang was empty. A faint prickle of unease touched her spine, cool and quick. Where did I…?
Shaking her head slightly, dark curls bouncing against her shoulders, she dismissed it. "Too much time with Bruce and his paranoia," she murmured to the empty room, her voice softer than usual. "Of course, this is standard." She pulled out the familiar star-spangled blue battle skirt. The fabric felt smooth, almost slippery under her touch, the cut higher than… than what? She couldn’t quite place the comparison. It felt… efficient. Streamlined. Practical for movement.
She dressed quickly, the cool air of her minimalist bedroom raising goosebumps on her exposed thighs before the suit settled. Moving to her dressing table, she reached not for her usual minimal skincare, but for the small, ornate cosmetics bag – a gift from Lois Lane months ago, barely touched. Today, her fingers moved with unfamiliar purpose. Foundation smoothed over her skin, a shade lighter than her natural olive tone. Blush, a soft rose, dusted her cheekbones. Her focus was intense, almost warrior-like, as she carefully lined her eyes, making the striking blue seem even brighter, wider. Finally, the lipstick: a glossy, vibrant pink. She pressed her lips together, the waxy-sweet scent filling her nostrils.
The reflection was… different. Softer. The sharp angles of her jaw seemed gentler framed by the perfect curls she’d painstakingly set. The pink on her lips was jarring against the fierce glint in her eyes. A dissonance she didn’t consciously register. She tilted her head. It looked… appropriate. Professional, even. A modern hero. "Ready for the boardroom and the battlefield," she said aloud, the phrase sounding alien even as it left her mouth. A quick, sharp laugh escaped her, surprising herself. Where had that come from?
Her communicator buzzed, Alfred’s voice slicing through the quiet. "Miss Prince. Further developments on K Street. The localized distortions have intensified. Significant structural stress reported in the Garvey Building. Emergency services are establishing a perimeter, but they're… hesitant."
"Hesitant?" Diana clipped the comm unit to her belt, the move automatic. She caught her reflection again in the darkened glass of her large city-view window – the pink lips, the perfect curls, the expanse of leg below the short battle skirt. All detail, sharp and clear. She blinked. "Define hesitant, Alfred."
"Objects are phasing through walls, Diana. Gravity appears selective. One officer reported his coffee cup pouring upwards. It's causing understandable… consternation."
"Right. Selective gravity. Monday indeed." Her voice was crisp, businesslike, that unfamiliar softness momentarily buried under urgency. "On my way."
Stepping onto the balcony ledge, the city sprawled below, the Garvey Building a distinct block of grey a dozen blocks away. The usual calm focus descended, pushing the lingering unease about her attire, the makeup, the empty space in her wardrobe, far down. Her Amazonian core asserted itself. Innocents were threatened. Reality itself was fraying. That superseded everything.
She leaped.