RE-EDIT—PROLOGUE—

Yes! I am finally back, I know—anyway, before I continue on with newer chapters I figured I'd tweak everything up here a little—assuming everyone is still interested after my long hiatus!

DISCLAIMER—I own Batman...on DVD only! So don't be so serious, kids.


It'll be in the morning. The sky will be orange bleeding into red and crimson. The clouds will be silver edged and still as a painting. I'll be driving upwards, away from the city. I feel the rush. The slope of the hill reaches its peak.

My face is warmed by the rising sun finally shining on me. Then as I start to ride down the other side the car speeds up and it gently pulls across to the right. Approaching me on the other side is a truck; it's so close I can hear it. It eclipses the sun. A block of cold shining metal and wheels, and my arms are turning the car more and more towards it. My eyes open and I watch myself smile in the mirror. Then just as the metal grinds into oncoming metal, as the horn burns through my ears, I unclip my seatbelt.

Then most times in an intense glass shattering flash I'll wake up.

But not this day, I lived this moment with a sense of deja vu, and I stayed awake in the dream. I felt it all. I lived death in full consciousness. My body grinded through metal and glass. Ripped and stripped apart. I flew in all directions and spread my blood and bones and teeth across the asphalt. I felt it all.
And only after flying high up in the morning air, looking down upon the bloody mess and smoking debris I gradually swam into waking life.

And I awoke more than I felt I ever had.

It was a good time to be alive and lucrative. For me that is. I'm nothing extraordinary, really.

I'm not an angst-filled teenager waiting to be kidnapped. I'm not someone who is always at the wrong place at the wrong time. I don't love crime.
The truth is, I'm just a hard-working single mother trying to raise her son as best she can.

But the thing is, there's always something there. There's always something about each and every individual that defines us as who we are. The choices we make, the things we like. What we believe in - that creates our stories.

My story isn't one of exaggerated melodramatic angst, nor is it something that happens everyday. But it's common enough. Women who find themselves joined to psychopaths..

I am Adelheid-Roche Napier.

That is not an introduction. There is no need for one. You don't know me and I don't know you.

I am merely recounting my memoirs in the hopes that you will understand a little more, learn something and have a clearer knowledge that a person cannot be judged by their deeds alone, not without reason. Not only that- but this is also my job. It's only just occurred to me to write something we can all benefit from besides the mindless drivel I'm known for.

I used to be obsessed with the idea of true love. The kind you get in fairy tales or movies. But I never believed in it.

Reality loves tragedy, even if you don't want it.

Love is not beautiful. It eats you from the inside out, it manipulates and it takes control and once you're in, you can't leave because it's become a part of you. You can't leave because no matter how much it tears and hurts you, it's still the best feeling in the world. Love is a Stockholm Syndrome.

The man I fell in love with is nothing like the one you knew, the one you heard and read about.. well, they are quite similar, in certain aspects. But that's besides the point.
I want to tell you my story, Our story. In the hopes that at the end of the day, you can remember that we're only human.. and you may understand a little more than you did.

And perhaps you will. As not even I knew that the man I fell in love with and married would become what we'd later all grow to fear.

The Joker.