Diana Prince, the princess of Themyscira, one of the founders of the Justice League and an icon for the world. Now she was going through a complicated, tense situation that she hoped to escape, all because of a stranger from another universe or multiverse named Victor von Doom, who came from another Earth. He had captured her in his own castle. He was her captor, manipulating her for something she could not identify. Her main suspicion was mind control, magic, or pheromone power, but given the characteristics, it pointed to pheromones, because of the sudden, non-consensual attraction she felt toward her captor, similar to the one she had once felt toward Batman's former villain, Poison Ivy.
She was following the man in the long emerald cape who walked ahead of her, guiding her somewhere as they both descended a spiral staircase. Her bare feet moved across the cold stone steps.
"Where is he taking me now? Another punishment? More of his twisted games?" Diana thought tensely, after she had already experienced Doom's punishments in the main dining hall.
She could still feel the marks of his palms on her buttocks, still red and sore. She was an Amazon; pain was the least of her concerns. But the excitement had come automatically. She was still wearing the green dress Doom had given her, though it was now wrinkled and stained with wine.
She wanted to stop following him, to halt and run. But she remembered that the man had used his control powers on her.
"Follow me." Doom had ordered, his robotic voice echoing through the mask before they climbed the stairs.
The staircase spiraled higher through the darkness, broken only by occasional torches mounted on the walls. Diana counted the steps, then saw Doom turn into a hallway and did the same. They were now in a corridor lined with several wooden doors decorated with symbols and green, white, and black flags bearing the emblem of Doom's nation. They continued until they turned into another, darker hallway with fewer doors. She tried to memorize the route, but the castle was a labyrinth. She had already learned how easy it was to get lost within these stone walls.
How many floors and labyrinths did this place have? She had lost count after navigating it all day.
Finally, Doom stopped in front of an ordinary wooden door. He made a sweeping gesture with his metal hand, inviting her to enter and look. Diana stepped beside him, close enough to feel the cold radiating from his armor, close enough to catch that strange mix of ozone and ancient stone that clung to him like a second skin. She peered through the open door.
The room was modest by the castle's standards, certainly not the dungeon she had expected. A simple bed dominated the space, its dark wood frame dressed in soft, clean green and white sheets. A nightstand stood beside it, topped with an oil lamp that cast a warm glow across the room. Against one wall, a wardrobe with glass panels revealed folded clothes inside: dresses in various colors, sleepwear, and neatly stacked towels.
The walls were adorned with black tapestries trimmed in thin emerald lines that formed scenes Diana did not recognize. There was a small sofa, a wooden chest, and a vanity with an oval mirror. An arched window covered by emerald glass prevented any view outside. It did not impress her; she had grown up in rooms far older and more carefully preserved in Themyscira, and she had stayed in centuries-old European and Asian inns during her travels.
Diana's brow furrowed. This was not a cell. It was comfortable, almost welcoming.
"What does this mean?" she asked doubtfully.
"Rest, princess. You must be tired." Doom's voice dripped with neutral calm.
"Thanks, bastard." Diana's jaw clenched.
The words slipped out before she could stop them, fueled by the rage still burning beneath the fog of her captor's domination. She braced herself for his retaliation: another order, another punishment, another reminder of her helplessness.
But Doom simply looked at her through the glowing slits of his eyes, that sinister stare making her skin crawl. Diana held his gaze, refusing to flinch, refusing to look away.
"I will not break completely," Wonder Woman told herself. "I will not."
The silence stretched between them, heavy and charged.
Diana's eyes returned to the room's decoration. It was acceptable, more than acceptable. He was not treating her like a common prisoner tossed into a damp cell. He had given her a dress, a magnificent meal, and now a comfortable room. But his plan for her was what truly unsettled and angered her.
"Why?" she wondered.
"Von Doom." She deliberately used his full surname, refusing the "Lord" he demanded. "Why are you doing this? Why are you being so kind now, you bastard?"
No anger came from him. Instead, Doom's voice carried something almost like patience, though the sinister edge never disappeared.
"It is so you will be comfortable and willing to cooperate with me. Do not fool yourself into thinking I will give you luxuries."
"Luxuries?" Diana asked sharply. "I am not the kind of woman who is spoiled with expensive things, tyrant."
"You were not complaining when the billionaire Bruce Wayne of your world gave you jewels and special dinners." Doom's mask tilted slightly, and his words cut deeper than any physical blow.
"How does he know about that?"
Diana's blood ran cold, then hot. Her fists tightened at her sides, the green dress rustling with the movement.
"How do you know that?" Her voice rose, mixing anger and shock. "Can you read minds? Is that another one of your tricks?"
Doom said nothing. He simply stood there, that damned mask hiding any expression, his silence more infuriating than any answer.
"Answer me!" Diana demanded, stepping closer. "How do you know about…"
"Doom will tell you nothing," his voice sliced through her protest like a blade. "Just enjoy what I offer."
Diana stared at him, chest heaving, mind racing.
"He knows about Bruce. He knows about us. What else does he know? How long has he been watching me? Could it be information from some database? But that's impossible; this is too personal to be in any system. What other tricks does this bastard have?"
The implications swirled. This was not an opportunistic kidnapping. He had studied her. He had researched her deeply. He knew her history, her relationships, her vulnerabilities. He had dropped hints that he knew her. The realization was terrifying and, in a twisted way, almost flattering.
"He chose me specifically. Not just any woman… me. No… no… don't let him into your head any more than he already is."
She violently shoved the thought away.
After several seconds of silence, she spoke.
"Fine." The word came through gritted teeth. "You win. For now."
Doom's posture shifted almost imperceptibly. She knew he was laughing beneath that mask.
"Doom is above you. Doom always wins. Do not mistake that, Amazon."
Diana rolled her eyes, a gesture so human and defiant it felt like reclaiming a small piece of herself.
"Fine. Please, can you give me some space now? Or are you going to keep punishing me?"
"Why?" Doom asked. The single word caught her off guard.
"Why what?" she asked, confused, blinking at him.
"Why should Doom give you space?" He stepped closer until his mask was only an inch from her face.
"Now you belong to Doom. Your space is his space. Do not forget it, Ms. Prince." His presence pressed against her like a physical force.
"You said I should rest. I cannot rest with you hovering over me like a vulture." Diana's heart pounded, but her voice stayed steady.
A long moment passed as they stared at each other defiantly. Then, unexpectedly, the villain stepped back.
"Sleep." his voice was almost gentle, tolerant, like a master indulging a favored pet. "Enjoy your temporary rest. Doom cares for the well-being of his guests."
Diana's lip curled. "I am not your guest. I am your…"
"Enough." The word cracked like a whip, and Diana felt her mouth close automatically as his influence took hold without her consent.
"Stop challenging me again or I will…" Doom's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. He did not finish the threat. He did not need to.
Diana stood frozen, trapped between fury and that terrible, insidious pull toward obedience. Words rose in her throat against her will, forced out by whatever hold he had on her.
"Fine. I am your guest, Lord Doom. And I belong to you." She admitted it with the taste of ash in her mouth. Her cheeks burned with shame even as her body relaxed, satisfied.
"Good girl." Victor von Doom's praise twisted like a knife in her gut. "Rest now. If you wish to change, there are clothes in the wardrobe, along with towels. The nightstand contains personal hygiene items, Diana."
Diana stared at him, momentarily stunned by the mundane practicality of it all. He had kidnapped her, spanked her, forced her to say she belonged to him, and now he was calmly telling her where to find soap. Pathetic.
"What a dedicated man you are, Von Doom," her sarcasm dripped from every word. "I am sure women everywhere appreciate your… consideration."
For the first time, she saw a genuine flicker of anger in his stance. His gloved hands tightened at his sides, and when he spoke, his voice was pure ice.
"Sleep." He turned toward the door and glanced back over his shoulder. "It is impossible to escape from here. If you try, I will punish you. And next time I will not be so moderate."
The door slammed shut behind him. A mechanical lock clicked into place, final and unforgiving.
Diana was alone in the room, chest heaving under the ceiling light, her mind a battlefield.
///
Diana hated the ruler of Latveria with every fiber of her being.
She hated him with a pure emotion that felt like the only real thing left inside her. She repeated it in her mind: Victor von Doom, kidnapper, manipulator, and tyrant, had stolen her from her world, from her friends and battle comrades, from her life. He had touched her without her consent, made her body betray her, and forced her to speak words of submission that still echoed in her ears.
Yet he had also fed her, given her the dress, and provided this room. The bed looked soft. The towels and pajamas were clean inside the wardrobe.
She kept questioning whether she was suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. It seemed almost impossible, not after surviving multiple captures and manipulations against her will the way Doom did it. She had always emerged victorious against mind control or magic. She prayed to Hera to keep the same streak in this situation, but this felt different. What she suspected were pheromones—perhaps mixed with some other energy she could not identify—made it all very confusing and impenetrable.
She had discovered that Doom knew enough about her. She suspected that was why he used this kind of corruption on her mind. He had studied her battles.
"That's what this is. He's isolating me and being kind in his own way between the cruelty. It's textbook." she thought.
But knowing the pattern did not free her from it. The influence of the supposed pheromone still curled through her mind like smoke, softening her anger, whispering that obedience was easier, that submission brought pleasure, and that maybe there was something almost admirable about a man so dedicated to his goal.
"No… No… I am Diana of Themyscira. Princess of the Amazons. Wonder Woman. I have faced gods and monsters. No man in a mask will break me."
She thought that while holding a yellow sleep dress with white polka dots in her hands—nothing related to green. The other garments did not appeal to her; the yellow made her feel alive even while trapped in this hell.
She sat heavily on the edge of the bed. The mattress gave beneath her. The green dress she still wore felt like a brand on her skin. She needed to get it off. Her fingers found the clasps. It slid from her body in a whisper of silk, pooling at her feet like shed skin. Then she stood naked, studying herself in the oval mirror of the vanity, turning her body slowly.
The red marks had already disappeared; her Amazon physiology healed far too quickly for that. She walked to the nightstand. Inside, just as promised, she found simple toiletries: lavender-scented soap, a soft comb for her hair, and clean cloths for washing.
She slipped on the yellow dress and noticed it had pockets. She climbed into bed, pulling the green and white sheets up to her chin. The mattress was perfect—firm enough to support her body, soft enough for comfort. Her body, exhausted from the terrible day, cried out for rest.
Without warning, the ceiling light turned off automatically. She was not impressed by the man's technology or his attempt to intimidate her.
She sighed quietly, but her mind would not calm.
"Clark… Bruce… By Hera, get me out of here… destroy that copy of me."
"I will destroy that man."
"Mother… Nubia… Antilope… Donna… Yara… Cassie… Use Athena's wisdom to cross the gap."
"Zatanna… search for magical clues to reach me… He has me imprisoned… and free me from his influence."
Her thoughts spiraled, each one a thread in an endless knot.
"Rest… He has given you rest. He has given you comfort. If you cooperate, I will be kind to you. Maybe…"
Another voice whispered—the influence of Doom, or perhaps only exhaustion, or maybe a treacherous part of herself she did not want to acknowledge.
Diana squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her palms against her head as if she could physically crush the thoughts.
"No… No… I will not break. I will not yield. I will wait, and I will find my moment. And when I do, Victor von Doom will learn why they call me Wonder Woman."
She would play along. She would be his "guest," his "good girl." whatever he demanded. She would let him believe the influence had won, that she had accepted her fate.
Sleep finally claimed her eyes, pulling her into dreams of Paradise Island and her mother's arms, of training with her sisters under the sun. She clung to those dreams, letting them remind her exactly who she was.
///
Diana's eyes opened slowly after a restless sleep. The rich green-and-white sheets twisted and wrinkled around her body. She lay there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. Diana sat up slowly, the sheets pooling around her waist and yellow dress, her raven hair tousled and falling in wild waves over her shoulders. Sunlight streamed through the closed greenish crystal window, warming the air in the room.
She wondered what time it was; it had to be very early for the sun to cast such light. She was a morning person, like all Amazons. The heat was already beginning to build.
Then her mind drifted to Victor von Doom. He was not here now—probably outside the room, waiting to humiliate her again. For a moment she wondered if her captor had sneaked into her room during the night to spy on her, watch her sleep, or do other inappropriate things, but he had told her he would give her space and that he would not violate her. She hated having to accept it, and she hated Doom's influence. She had to play along if she wanted to get out of here. She pushed those thoughts aside.
She looked around more carefully; everything was the same as yesterday. Nothing strange. She did not feel as if her body had been touched by the masked man while she slept. At least the man had kept his word and given her space.
The heat grew stronger. She felt her body starting to sweat and knew she would suffocate if she stayed locked in this warmth. She needed to open the window. She rose from the bed, the yellow dress wrinkling with her steps, and went straight to the arched window. She tried to open it, but there was no way—no button, no handle. She thought about smashing the glass; the heat was becoming unbearable. But then she remembered something.
"As long as you do nothing against Doom, harm my staff, or damage my property, I will not punish you. Do you agree?" Doom's words echoed in her head.
She pouted in rage. She did not want another punishment. It felt more like dealing with her father than anything else. If she did it, he would humiliate her again. Better not.
She desperately needed a shower. Her Amazon physique was already gleaming in the morning light from the beads of sweat. The cotton dress did not help either. So Diana pulled it off, letting the garment fall to the floor. She had to bathe; the heat plus yesterday's experiences with Doom made a long shower her salvation. She opened the wardrobe and grabbed one of the thick folded towels with dark-red medieval patterns. She liked that aesthetic. She wrapped it tightly around her body, securing it firmly over her breasts and letting it fall to her knees, covering her private parts. The soft, absorbent fabric of the towel was a small comfort in this grim medieval place.
She had to leave the room. She hesitated, wondering if Doom would scold her for going to bathe without him appearing. He had mentioned her space. This was her space to take a shower. She would explain her reasons if he confronted her when he discovered she had left. Besides, he had never said he would come to her room. She had two points to argue against the man.
With a deep breath, Diana moved toward the heavy wooden door. She opened it; the hinges creaked in protest. Doom had never locked the door. She stepped into the hallway that led into the unknown, the stone floor cooling her bare feet. She was used to it.
Several minutes passed. Diana was still wandering through the labyrinthine corridors of the castle, the towel wrapped around her body like an improvised toga that offered little protection against the cold drafts whispering through the ancient halls. The morning sun was climbing higher, its light filtering through the upper windows in the walls. The castle's architecture was a dizzying mix of medieval grandeur and oppressive shadow.
She opened several doors that only revealed empty rooms. Others were locked. Then she searched for the staircase she had used to reach this floor. She descended the steps and slipped down another hallway. Gold-embroidered oil paintings depicting stern portraits of Doom in various triumphant poses lined the walls. Green-and-black flags with the tyrant's national emblem. Wrought-iron candelabras jutting from the ceilings, their unlit candles dripping wax like frozen tears.
She was lost again. She needed to find the main bathroom of the castle. Surely there were several.
Dizziness gradually overtook her. The repetitive design of the hallways disoriented her like a maze built by a sadistic architect. Turn left, turn right—every path looked identical, the stone walls closing in as if the castle itself conspired to trap her. She stopped at an intersection. She opened more doors with the same result.
Frustration built inside her, her Amazon determination clashing with the persistent haze of Doom's trick.
She was going to kill the man for not being here to tell her where the bathroom was. There was no one around. Maybe she could escape now. This was her chance.
"It is impossible to escape from here. If you try, I will punish you. And next time I will not be so moderate." Doom's words returned to her mind.
Again, Doom's influence. She had to accept it forcefully. All because of him. She knew she had to play Doom's game to get out of here; one small slip from her captor and she could make it.
She kept searching more hallways. Time slipped past her, her bare feet on the stone. A faint humming caught her ear. She looked in that direction and saw a robot with an elegant metallic frame humming softly, its front plate featuring a skull with glowing green eyes fixed on her without aggression. Unlike her previous escape attempt, this thing did not raise weapons or issue orders; it simply stood pressed against the wall, watching her like a silent guard dog.
Then she noticed five more robots with the same features, staring at her just like the first one, standing harmlessly beside the walls and doors. At least she had found a solution to her need.
"Where is the bathroom?" Diana asked the nearest robot, stepping closer to Doom's creation. Her voice echoed in the hallway, frustration edging her tone. The robot remained silent, its head tilting slightly as if processing, but no programmed response came.
"Tell me, where can I find a shower?" She insisted, growing more frustrated.
The Doombot's green eyes blinked, but it offered nothing, its mechanical posture impassive. She cursed under her breath. Doom's influence prevented outright rebellion, but not her rising irritation.
"By Hera. Answer me now, you damned Doom creation."
"I am not programmed to respond to you, guest of the master. I only answer to my lord." The robot's metallic voice addressed her.
She clenched her fists but did not attack. She decided to keep moving so the robots' green eyes would keep her on their radar before she disappeared down another hallway. The robots did not follow.
Her dizziness intensified. The corridors blurred as she rounded another corner. Her towel slipped slightly downward; she adjusted it hastily. The soft fabric was inadequate for modesty in this vast, echoing prison.
She saw a large oil painting hanging on a wall and studied it closely: Doom riding a huge brown bear in the middle of the snow. The art was not bad at all. The man had an enormous ego for his castle to be decorated with his own images everywhere. Black Adam did not suffer from such ego the way von Doom did.
"What are you doing here?" A serious female voice, laced with authority, spoke behind her.
Diana spun around, muscles tensing, and found herself face to face with the reddish-brown-haired woman once again. The other woman loyal to Doom. Her yellow armor gleamed under the torchlight, her green cape swirling behind her like a flag of resentment. Her yellow trident-like staff was in her hand, and her helmet was present yet did not hide her striking features: sharp cheekbones, piercing blue eyes filled with suspicion, and the poise of a warrior.
The woman approached Diana with measured steps, her free hand resting on her stomach, still wary of their previous clash with the Amazon but unflinching.
Diana could not remember her name at that moment.
"What are you doing here, prisoner? Go back to where Lord Doom left you." The reddish-brown-haired woman spoke as if she were her superior. "How can you wander here with total freedom? If you are thinking of escaping, you will not succeed. I have my eyes on you."
Diana simply ignored her, but her mind tried to recall the woman's name. A spark appeared and the name Zora came to her, spoken by Doom's words during yesterday's dinner.
"Zora… Zora… Victorious."
"Did you hear me, woman? You cannot be alone without supervision!" the woman spoke again.
"Zora!" Diana said naturally.
"What did you say?" the woman replied in the same tone.
"Zora! That's not your name. Victorious?" Diana continued.
"You have no right to speak my name, prisoner." Zora spoke with fury, raising her trident toward Diana, ready for a fight and to drag her back to her place.
"Zora! I don't have time to fight. I don't want another punishment from your boss." Diana sighed in annoyance, crossing her arms and tightening the towel more firmly around her body. "Can you tell me where the bathroom is? Or maybe guide me there?"
"You have no right to demand anything here, woman." Zora's expression hardened and she was close to launching a cosmic attack from her staff.
"But now I belong to Doom, so please answer me." Diana's mockery slipped out, fueled by frustration.
"That's not true! You're just a simple prisoner."
"Tell that to your boss. He told me I belong to him now." Diana smiled mockingly, provoking her.
"How dare you."
"Don't attack me. I don't want to hurt you again."
Zora, filled with rage at Diana's words, lunged forward, her staff crackling with energy and aimed at Diana. The Amazon braced for the attack.
"Stop!" A deep male voice rang out, interrupting them. "Please, Lady Zora, calm yourself."
Both women froze and turned toward the source. A bald monk stepped into the torchlight, his simple brown robes flowing like a mendicant's garment, his face serene with the quiet wisdom of ages. He moved with unhurried grace, bare feet silent on the stone, hands clasped before him in a gesture of peace.
"Forgive my attitude, Larin." Zora said, now calmer, lowering her trident slightly from Diana, though deep down she still felt uneasy with the Amazon's presence.
The monk nodded gently, his bald head reflecting the flickering light, his kind yet penetrating eyes as he approached Diana. He stopped at a respectful distance; his presence radiated an aura of trustworthiness, a calm anchor in the storm of the castle's intrigue.
"Miss Diana." The older man said softly, his voice warm and soothing. "Would you accompany me? I know what you're looking for."
Diana hesitated, instincts at war: Zora's hostility was palpable, but this monk named Larin (as Zora had called him) emanated genuine serenity, like the elders of Themyscira or the wise scholars she had met on her travels. His aura felt pure, untouched by Doom's darkness, and in her current vulnerability it was a lifeline.
She nodded slowly, adjusting her towel for modesty. "Yes. Lead the way."
Larin smiled faintly.
"Lady Zora, do not forget you have your meeting with King Namor in Atlantis, as you mentioned to Lord Doom yesterday. Do not be late." The man spoke with his calm voice.
Zora nodded courteously. Diana caught a clue about this Earth, universe, or multiverse the madman Doom had spoken of. She pieced it together in her mind: Namor and Atlantis. Namor is the king of Atlantis, which meant he was a doppelganger of Arthur. Maybe she should go to him for help. But that wasn't true; that king was negotiating with this tyrant. They were allies. It was impossible. She pouted in disappointment.
Larin gestured for Diana to follow him, turning with an elegant sweep of his robes. Diana obeyed, casting one last glance at Zora, who was still staring at her defiantly, staff still gripped tightly. Diana now hated that unstable woman. The labyrinth welcomed her once more, but with Larin's guidance the path felt less daunting, promising a shower.
Diana followed the monk through the winding corridors of Castle Doom as he walked ahead of her. She saw more medieval decorations covering every surface: sentinel suits of armor standing in alcoves, visors closed and swords crossed in eternal vigilance; more oil paintings hung in ornate frames depicting melancholic landscapes of misty mountains and stormy skies—fortunately no more images of Doom. The heat returned.
Diana remained silent, her mind racing with questions and suspicions, the towel clutched tightly around her chest. The confusion of the labyrinth gnawed at her as always; every turn seemed familiar yet led nowhere she recognized, a deliberate design meant to trap intruders or prisoners like her. She needed to get some information.
"Why are these labyrinths so confusing? It's as if they're meant to drive someone insane." She broke the silence.
Larin glanced back over his shoulder without slowing, his kind eyes crinkling at the corners with a gentle smile.
"They are meant to disorient anyone experiencing Lord Doom's castle for the first time, Lady Diana," the bald man replied in his soft, measured voice, carrying a faint accent that hinted at distant Eastern origins. "The design is ancient, woven with architecture and subtle enchantments to protect the master's secrets. In time, one learns the paths, as you will."
"How do you know my name?" She asked, her tone sharpening with caution. The monk's knowledge of her name unsettled her. Maybe Doom.
"I know enough, Lady Diana. Let us hope we get along well, all thanks to Lord Doom's grace." Larin's smile remained unchanged, warm and reassuring.
The mention of her captor again ignited a spark of anger in Diana, her Amazon instincts surging despite the persistent haze of control over her. She studied Larin's calm demeanor, his non-threatening posture, and wondered if he was another victim.
"Is Doom manipulating you?" She pressed, lowering her voice as they passed a pair of Doombots stationed at an intersection, their green eyes studying her impassively before resuming patrol. "Are you following his orders out of fear?"
"Lord Doom is my savior, and the savior of everyone here in Latveria," he said with quiet conviction. "He has a different way of viewing life, one that often clashes with the heroes, villains, and leaders of the world. He seeks the good of humanity in his own image, though he has his flaws—even if he denies them. But his vision is for a better order, Lady Diana."
Diana absorbed his words, her mind spinning.
"Heroes here on this Earth? It had to be obvious. A tyrant like von Doom would have enemies."
She desperately hoped for doppelgangers of her allies on this Earth: a figure like Superman soaring through the skies, a Batman-style vigilante lurking in the shadows or the rest of an equivalent League ready to challenge this self-proclaimed savior.
She needed more information, and this monk seemed her best source. Doom was evasive; his ego was a barrier to truths.
"How did you meet Doom?" She asked.
Larin stopped at a landing where the corridor branched into a staircase, his calm aura unbroken.
"That story begins in the mountains of Tibet." He said simply, his voice carrying a note of reverence. "My entire tribe owes him our gratitude. Soon you will learn everything Master Doom has endured, Lady Diana. But it is not my place to tell it fully; I have no intention of saying more than is respectful."
Diana nodded in frustration, her bare shoulders tensing.
"At least I tried." she thought.
The monk's evasion was as impenetrable a wall as the castle stone. They ascended the staircase, the steps spiraling upward in a tight coil, the air growing cooler with hints of moisture—perhaps near a water source. At the top, another hallway stretched before them, lined with more Doombots patrolling in silent vigilance, their metallic footsteps a rhythmic echo.
Larin led her to a sturdy wooden door, its surface carved with flowing water motifs and inlaid with silver runes that shimmered like ripples in a pond. He opened it with a gentle push, the hinges creaking softly, and gestured for her to enter.
Diana stepped inside, eyes widening. It was a single shower room, expansive and elegantly decorated in a medieval style that blended functionality with art. Five shower stalls lined one wall, each enclosed by frosted glass panels etched with aquatic designs: swirling waves, mythical sea creatures, and Latverian symbols evoking cleanliness and renewal. The floors were tiled in smooth marble veined with green and gold like emerald rivers, gently sloped toward ornate grille drains. A wooden shelf held stacks of fresh towels. Hooks lined the walls for hanging clothes, and at the far end, two private bathing stalls stood behind carved wooden doors, their handles shaped like flowing water spouts. The room was humid from recent use, the air fragrant with lavender and eucalyptus—a kind of sanctuary amid the castle's gloom.
Larin remained at the threshold, his expression kind.
"This bath is reserved for the master's guests." He explained. "It is one of many in the castle."
"How many bathrooms are there?" Diana turned to him, curiosity stirring despite her caution.
"Ten or twelve, perhaps... I've lost count over the years. The castle is enormous, Lady Diana." Larin chuckled softly, a warm sound that eased the tension slightly.
"Thank you, Mr. Larin." She offered a sincere smile, gratitude breaking through her guarded demeanor.
"Just call me Larin, Lady Diana." He replied.
"Okay. Larin…"
"I will call for you in forty minutes to bring you fresh clothes. I do not wish to interrupt your privacy. Enjoy your shower, Lady Diana." He nodded kindly.
"Thank you." She repeated, her voice serious, appreciating the monk's respectful manner amid the chaos of her captivity.
Larin bowed his head slightly and stepped back.
"Larin, before you go. With all due respect, do you know what happened to my armor and my valuables?" She was asking about her Wonder Woman suit and her bracelets.
"Lord Doom has them in his possession. Trust him," Larin said, closing the door with a soft click and leaving Diana alone in the bathroom. She stood there thinking.
"Doom still has my belongings… for what? Maybe for something perverse?"
She knew that men in her world were attracted to Wonder Woman, especially her suit. A fetish. She hated it with disgust. She had discovered it through Plastic Man and various online videos of disgusting men fantasizing about her and her fellow heroines. She remembered that Doom had told her he was not a pervert. But the man had touched her inappropriately, through his trick. She had accepted it because she had liked it and her body had reacted in favor of it.
"What am I thinking?" She pushed those thoughts about the ruler of Latveria out of her head.
She returned to reality, looking at the showers, their faucets shaped like ornate dragon heads ready to dispense steaming water at a turn. The space was beautiful in its antiquity, far from the modern comforts of the Watchtower, yet functional and welcoming. With a deep breath, she let the towel drop, walking toward the nearest stall, her mind already turning toward the relief of washing away the sweat and remnants of Doom, and plotting her next move in this labyrinth of stone and secrets.
"I need this…"
She turned on the shower, and the water cascaded over her body.