(Harley belongs to D.C)

She loved him.

It was as simple as that.

For months, they had their sessions, occasionally flirting with each other, avoiding the ever-present glare of the watchful security camera.

Harleen could no longer fight her dark desires; they had kissed too many times, embracing in the gloom of the dim asylum lights, moving their eager hands over each other's bodies.

In only five short months, Harleen's sanity was ripping apart, deflating like a balloon, giving in to the possessive laughter of the clown prince of crime that she obliviously adored.

Still, there was that small, teeney-tiny part of her that was still rational; it constantly scolded her, telling her that she was being a very bad girl.

So what! How could she ever have thought that psychiatry was the key to paradise? How could she think about herself when such a wonderful man existed?

But that small bit of sanity continued to berate her.

He doesn't have feelings for you! Wake up! What about your career? This isn't you!

God, it was annoying!

Harleen didn't want to pretend anymore. She wanted him. All of him. She had been wearing a mask all her life, thinking that somehow, she could make a tiny contribution to the world. What a fool!

Peering through the glass, Harleen gazed sadly at the wounded clown in his cell, who had hours ago, been beaten up by the Bat.

The clown stared weakly at her through one good eye, monitoring her like an audience watching a play.

Harleen felt her heart ache as she felt his weary gaze, her hands balled into tiny fists as her rage towards Batman grew.

HE did this, Harley. He, like the world hates me. Your world is one, big stage and this is the final act. Help me Harley…


She wouldn't let him down.

Her love for him burned more passionately than before. Her sanity was reaching its final act.

Harleen knew that her Joker-audience would applaud her, perhaps even give her an encore.

Pressing one hand against the glass, she stared into his eyes, silently vowing her undying loyalty. Batman was gonna pay.

She turned and ran down the halls of Arkham, bitter tears streaming down her face, her feet pounding on the cold, austere asylum floor as she raced towards her car, each step making her heart race faster and faster.

Outside, Joan Leland blinked in mild puzzlement, unable to fathom why her good friend was so distraught about. In just a few hours when Harley would get back, they wouldn't be friends anymore.

Speeding away from the dreadful asylum, Harleen felt her mind shatter.

She could her the satisfied laughter of the audience, cheering as she broke into the costume store, shoving the cashier down. She relished as the crowd whooped and hollered as she reached for the pop-gun (her first weapon)

Grasping the red and black harlequin outfit, she felt the roar of the climax.

And as she began to dress in the outfit for the first time, the curtain fell on Harleen Quinzel.

Only Harley Quinn remained.

The play was over.