"Thea, sweetheart, we're going to the funeral. We'll get everything ready and wait for you downstairs."
The middle-aged woman struggled to finish her sentence. Covering her mouth, she turned away and quietly made her way downstairs.
"Okay, Mom. I'll be down in a minute."
Sitting on the edge of her bed, Thea Queen watched her mother disappear down the stairs. For a moment, she remained perfectly still, her hands resting in her lap.
It had been three days since she had died—or perhaps merged with another soul—and she still hadn't figured out how she was supposed to feel about any of it.
She had gone from being a young woman with an established career to a fifteen-year-old girl belonging to a wealthy but troubled family. Her previous life, if she could still call it that, felt like a collection of disconnected movie scenes: childhood, school, graduation, marriage. The memories were intact, yet strangely distant. She knew those things had happened to her, but remembering them felt no different from recalling the biography of a stranger.
She couldn't even remember her original name.
That realization bothered her more than she wanted to admit.
Had she really lived another life, or had those memories simply become another collection of experiences attached to her consciousness? Sometimes she wondered whether the woman she had once been was still somewhere inside her, watching helplessly as someone else took control.
And then there was Thea.
The original Thea's emotions were not memories she could simply examine and put aside. They were much more intrusive than that. Grief, affection, fear, anger, and longing surfaced without warning, sometimes so intensely that she couldn't distinguish them from her own feelings.
She missed Robert.
That was the strangest part.
She knew she wasn't the original Thea. She hadn't spent fifteen years growing up under Robert's protection, hadn't experienced every birthday, every family dinner, or every small moment that had made him her father.
And yet the thought of never seeing him again hurt.
Perhaps the distinction between the two souls had already become meaningless. Or perhaps she was simply inheriting the grief of a girl who had lost the only father she had ever known.
Either way, the pain was real.
Whatever she had been before, she was Thea Queen now.
Just Thea.
Ignoring the black dress that had been laid out for her, she chose a white blouse, black tailored trousers, and a pair of black mid-heeled shoes her mother had selected. Fortunately, she was still fifteen. Anything higher would have been an unnecessary challenge, especially on a day like this.
Standing before the mirror, she examined her reflection. Long, thick, dark brown hair framed her face, while her light green eyes contrasted with her pale complexion.
She looked like a girl who had lost her father.
The thought made her uncomfortable.
Was that really her expression, or was it Thea's? Was the sadness in her eyes something she genuinely felt, or was she merely responding to emotions left behind by someone who had died?
She stared at her reflection for a little longer before looking away.
It didn't matter.
A dead man deserved to be mourned, regardless of whose memories were responsible for the tears.
After watching the news on the first day following her arrival in this world, Thea had begun to understand her circumstances. This appeared to be a world similar to the one depicted in the television series Arrow—although she couldn't be certain they were identical. She simply didn't have enough information yet.
If her assumptions were correct, she had become the younger sister of Oliver Queen, the future Green Arrow. The original Thea was known for being rebellious, impulsive, and troubled.
Considering everything that had happened to her family, perhaps that reputation wasn't entirely surprising.
Picking up her bag, she headed downstairs.
Fortunately, the original Thea was still relatively young and hadn't yet developed many of the destructive habits that would later become part of her life. The merging of their souls seemed to have strengthened her mental resilience, giving her a greater sense of control over her emotions.
At least, that was what she kept telling herself.
Because sometimes, when she caught sight of Moira, an unfamiliar urge to run into her arms would overwhelm her. Other times, she felt like an intruder, someone wearing another girl's face and occupying a place in a family that had never belonged to her.
She didn't know which feeling was worse.
Although she was still a slender fifteen-year-old girl, her steps were steady and confident.
When she reached her mother, she spoke softly.
"Let's go, Mom."
Moira didn't answer. Instead, she pulled her daughter into a tight embrace.
For a brief moment, Thea froze.
The woman's arms were warm, and the familiar scent of her perfume stirred something deep inside her. An almost overwhelming desire to hug her back rose within her, accompanied by a sudden ache in her chest.
She hesitated before returning the embrace.
It felt natural.
That frightened her more than it should have.
Neither said another word as they walked to the car.
The funeral service began with the pastor's speech.
"Robert Alan Queen was born in 1958 and passed away in 2007 at the age of fifty-one. He was a respected businessman, a devoted father, and a generous friend to many in Starling City. His passing leaves behind a grieving family and countless people who will remember his kindness and contributions..."
"Oliver Jonas Queen was born in 1985 and passed away in 2007 at the age of twenty-two. He was a beloved son, brother, and friend. His loss is deeply mourned by all who knew him..."
As the pastor continued, Thea's thoughts wandered.
Her father, Robert, received an abundance of heartfelt praise. Oliver, on the other hand, was remembered with little more than a handful of conventional words.
It wasn't entirely surprising. Oliver had been young, reckless, and irresponsible. He hadn't accomplished much with his life before the accident. He had been more interested in parties and romantic adventures than in taking responsibility for anything.
Still, who could have imagined that the same lost young man would one day become a hero capable of saving countless lives?
The thought brought no comfort.
In fact, it made her angry.
Oliver would eventually become a hero. He would survive, endure unimaginable hardships, and grow into someone worthy of admiration. But none of that changed what had happened here.
Robert was dead.
Moira was grieving.
And Thea was standing beside an empty grave, pretending she knew how to mourn a man whose daughter she had never truly been.
She knew Oliver might still be alive. She knew the future, or at least parts of it. She could even tell herself that things would eventually work out.
But what good was knowing the future if she couldn't prevent the pain happening right in front of her?
She could have tried to warn someone. She could have searched for a way to change events. Yet she had spent the last three days doing little more than trying to understand her own existence.
The helplessness was infuriating.
She pressed a hand against her mouth, trying to suppress her sobs.
She missed Robert.
Not because she had known him in her previous life, but because somewhere inside her, his absence felt like the end of something precious. Perhaps those feelings belonged to the original Thea. Perhaps they were becoming her own.
Did it really matter anymore?
Robert Queen had raised a daughter who loved him.
And now that daughter was crying at his funeral.
There was another painful truth she couldn't ignore.
She wasn't Robert's biological daughter.
He had known the truth all along, yet he had never treated her differently. He had given her the same affection, protection, and unconditional love any father could give his child.
He had chosen to be her father.
That thought hurt more than she expected.
Her biological father was still alive. Somewhere nearby, he was standing among the mourners, offering condolences to the family he had helped destroy. Meanwhile, the man who had actually raised her, protected her, and loved her without conditions was lying beneath the ground.
What kind of cruel joke was that?
She wanted to hate Malcolm. It would have been easier if she could simply direct all her anger toward him.
But the situation was complicated. He was her biological father, and that fact carried an uncomfortable weight. She didn't feel any affection for him, but she couldn't completely ignore the connection either.
More than anything, she hated that he had any claim to her at all.
All the logic and emotional distance she had been relying on finally crumbled.
Thea leaned against her mother's shoulder and cried until her head began to ache.
"Go ahead, sweetheart. Let it out," Moira whispered, gently stroking her hair. "You don't have to hold it in."
Thea closed her eyes.
For once, she didn't try to analyze the emotion, question its origin, or convince herself that it belonged to someone else.
She simply cried.
The funeral eventually came to an end. Two empty caskets were lowered into the ground at the Queen family cemetery.
"I'm sorry, Moira. I'm sorry, Thea."
Thea turned toward the voice.
A middle-aged man stood before them, his expression solemn and restrained.
She recognized him immediately.
Malcolm Merlyn.
Her biological father.
A ruthless strategist and ambitious businessman, Malcolm was the true mastermind behind the sinking of the Queen's Gambit and the primary antagonist of the first season of Arrow.
The man standing before her appeared composed and sympathetic, but Thea knew better than to mistake his reserved demeanor for weakness. Behind that polished exterior was a dangerous and highly capable fighter.
As the Dark Archer, Malcolm was an expert in archery and swordsmanship. During the first half of the series, he had even managed to defeat the Green Arrow twice.
He remained an important figure throughout the first four seasons of Arrow. The original Thea had died before the events of the fifth season, so she had no idea what happened afterward. Still, considering Malcolm's remarkable ability to survive seemingly impossible situations, she wouldn't have been surprised if he had somehow escaped death once again.
Her gaze wandered across the funeral guests until it stopped at a familiar name.
Wayne Enterprises.
If her memory served her correctly, that was Bruce Wayne's company.
Bruce Wayne.
Batman.
Thea's expression remained unchanged, but her mind was racing.
What kind of world had she ended up in? Was this simply the universe of Arrow, or did it follow a broader DC continuity? The presence of Wayne Enterprises suggested that the latter possibility was worth considering.
There were still too many unanswered questions.
She also couldn't remember whether Malcolm knew that she was his biological daughter. Moira certainly knew the truth, but had she ever told him?
The television series hadn't made that particular detail clear in Thea's memory.
If Malcolm didn't know, revealing the truth could create an entirely new set of problems.
And, truthfully, Thea wasn't particularly eager to tell him.
Looking at him now, she felt something she hadn't expected: resentment mixed with a strange, unwelcome curiosity.
Was there supposed to be some instinctive connection between a father and his biological child? Was she supposed to feel something when looking at him?
Because she felt nothing resembling affection.
All she could see was the man responsible for Robert's death.
The man who had manipulated her mother, endangered her family, and set countless tragedies in motion.
Yet another thought disturbed her.
If she hated Malcolm because of what he had done, what did that make her? She shared his blood. Did that mean anything? Could she inherit his worst qualities? Was she destined to repeat his mistakes simply because they were connected by biology?
The idea was absurd, but she couldn't stop thinking about it.
She didn't want to be Malcolm Merlyn's daughter.
She wanted to be Robert Queen's.
And she hated that the world had made those two things mutually exclusive in her mind.
Whatever his reasons, Malcolm's decisions had contributed to the death of the man who had raised her and brought unimaginable suffering to her adoptive brother.
The road to becoming a hero might be difficult, but that didn't mean everyone else had to pay such a terrible price for it.
For now, she had no intention of getting involved in that mess.
There was no point worrying about problems she wasn't ready to solve.
Still, as Malcolm offered another quiet apology, Thea found herself wondering whether he would look at her differently if he knew the truth.
Would he see a daughter?
Or merely another piece of a family he had already destroyed?
She quickly pushed the thought away.
She didn't want his recognition.
At least, that was what she told herself.
Standing quietly beside Moira, Thea watched as her mother greeted the guests and accepted their condolences.
Moira Queen was a complicated woman.
She had known about Malcolm's plans, but did that mean she hadn't loved her family?
Thea didn't think so.
Moira had devoted much of her life to her husband and children. She had been willing to sacrifice her career, reputation, and even her own life for them. Yet, despite that love, she had allowed the events surrounding the Queen's Gambit to unfold.
Her husband's death, Oliver's disappearance, and the years of guilt that followed had undoubtedly left deep scars.
Her grief was genuine. So was her regret.
But Thea couldn't help wondering how much of that grief Moira had earned through her own decisions.
It was an uncomfortable question, especially when she remembered the way her mother had embraced her earlier.
She wanted to comfort Moira. She wanted to believe that the woman beside her was simply another victim of Malcolm's manipulation.
But she also knew that Moira hadn't been entirely powerless.
She had made choices.
And those choices had consequences.
Thea wasn't sure whether she could forgive her.
More importantly, she wasn't sure whether she had the right to judge her.
The original Thea had loved this woman. Whatever complicated feelings existed between mother and daughter, they had been built over fifteen years of shared experiences. Thea had inherited those feelings, but she hadn't lived through the moments that had created them.
Was it fair to accept Moira's affection while silently questioning everything she had done?
Was it fair to reject her because of decisions made before Thea had even arrived in this world?
She had no answers.
Perhaps Moira had simply convinced herself that everything would somehow work out. As long as she didn't have to witness the consequences directly, she could pretend that Malcolm's plans wouldn't destroy the people she loved.
It was a form of denial, a desperate attempt to avoid facing the inevitable.
And Malcolm had known exactly how to exploit it.
"Thea, I'd like you to meet someone," Moira said, gently drawing her attention away from her thoughts. "This is Walter Steele. He was one of your father's closest associates and worked alongside him for many years."
Thea looked at the man standing in front of them.
Walter Steele.
A familiar face from the original storyline.
According to the events she remembered, Walter would eventually become her stepfather.
She studied him briefly before giving a small nod.
"Nice to meet you."
Walter offered her a polite smile.
"It's a pleasure to meet you too, Thea. I wish the circumstances were better."
She returned a faint, courteous smile but didn't say anything else.
Her feelings toward Moira were complicated now. She wasn't particularly close to her, but neither did she feel any resentment toward her. At least, that was what she wanted to believe.
As for the possibility of another man becoming part of their family, she had no strong opinion.
Or perhaps she simply didn't know how to feel about it.
Robert had been her father. No matter what the truth of her biological parentage might be, that was something she refused to surrender.
The idea of Walter taking his place felt wrong, even though she knew that wasn't necessarily what he intended.
She didn't want another father.
She didn't want to replace Robert.
And she certainly didn't want to become a stranger in her own home.
Perhaps that was the greatest difficulty of all. She had inherited Thea's family, her memories, and her emotions, but she still hadn't figured out how to belong to them.
For now, she neither welcomed nor opposed the idea of Walter becoming part of their lives.
She simply wasn't ready.
Perhaps that was how the original Thea would have felt, too.
Or perhaps, for the first time since waking up in this world, the feelings were entirely her own.