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Her mother sang her songs. Quiet, hushed. In the night, songs passed down from mother to daughter, songs her mother's mother once sang to her. A generational link. Songs, whispered in her hair.
Long hair. He liked them like that; with long hair. He liked to pull them by it.
In her memories, her mother was always smiling. She couldn't have been happy, but she smiled regardless. A smile to cover her anger, her despair, her heartache. A smile to cover the noose closing around her neck. A smile as she died, a smile as she lied, a smile that was a lie. A smile just for her.
Dick Grayson smiles like her mother.
It terrifies her.
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Teeth. Biting, biting. Teeth. Holy, cursed, black liquid, black blood, burning her mouth, burning her alive. She kept biting. She kept ripping, pulling, fighting, clawing, thrashing, using her teeth, swallowing down his blood. She is not a meal. She is not a victim. She will be avenged, and her hands will be the weapon, her mouth the tool. She won't let it happen. Not again, not again. She will not be a helpless babe caught in an older man's jaws.
So she clamps down her own. On his neck, on his neck. Her little human teeth. Tearing out his throat.
It burns, like shattering into pieces. But she is the one who shattered herself, and she's always been able to put herself back together. Her mother didn't save her, but Hannah will save herself. She swallows.