Teen Titans, Oppressed Rebellion, holidays
It was Raven’s eighteenth birthday and the worldwide celebration of the fact couldn’t have been more depressing.
It has been two years since it all began, and two years is more than enough to become utterly devoid of hope for a better tomorrow, especially, when each passing day brings nothing but more misery. Trigon won, a soul-crushing, calamitous victory, and it wasn’t at all surprising there was no flame, not even a spark, left in people’s hearts. It would be trampled too soon, a venture not worth the risk. Too many scars, gravestones, and sorrows were its proof.
Raven walked through the abandoned streets. Dust-covered wrecks of once-loved cars created a labyrinth of forgotten reality with their owners now either dead or in hiding. In moments like that Raven felt like the only person in the universe, and in a way, that’s what she was. A bad omen. The destroyed or worlds. A harbinger of grief.
Her father won, and it was her fault. Being the only one who could’ve faced the challenge, she suffered a humiliating defeat, and now all was gone. All besides...
“Psst, here!” The voice came from her left. It was a bit sickly, but oh so warm and familiar. When she turned, a pair of green eyes stared into hers intensively. The figure, covered in shadows, peered out from behind a corner, and behind him, she could see the silhouettes of three others. Beast Boy took a step closer, leaning out into the remnants of what used to be the sun. “It’s high time you showed up.”