Soon, the clatter of pots and pans came from inside the house. Through the kitchen window, they could see the family setting the table, with the cake already placed on it.
The lady of the house was taking a pie from the oven. Even through her gloves, the heat made her hurriedly pull them off after setting the dish on the table and pinch her ears with her fingers.
Batwoman's attention was not on the man's beautiful wife, but on the pie that had split open along one side. It was a blueberry pie, not a flavor Gotham locals favored. She must have married in from elsewhere, and from some small town at that.
She wore cowboy ankle boots at home, a Texas custom. And once blueberry jam was baked, it took on a purple hue. Gothamites were generally allergic to that "Joker purple," unless they were fanatical followers of that madman.
So the purple things she had seen in the dream before, as well as the wax that formed the Nightmares' bodies, were purple for this reason too?
As they continued watching, nothing else stood out. The family shared the cake, and the children smeared cream on Christopher's face. He only laughed heartily and tickled his little troublemakers. It was a scene of perfect domestic happiness.
Batwoman began to move. She circled the house along the edge of the woods, seeming to inspect something, but said nothing.
Time in dreams had no fixed units. In what felt like only a moment, the sky over the forest clearing had turned to night. It was a rare clear day in Gotham, and even the moon was visible.
Based on this, Christopher's home was not in the city proper, but somewhere near Gotham's western outskirts.
The east and south of Gotham