Harleen Quinzel started the morning as any other woman would.
She drug herself from her peaceful and welcoming bed, out to scower the kitchen for food. She tripped ungracefully over her own numb feet, all while cursing herself for forgetting her slippers beside her bed. Her stomach growled and groaned at her irritably as she awaited her bagel and coffee. After they had cooked and cooled, she unceremoniously scarfed them down, and dumped her dished into the sink. "I'll clean them later." She assured herself.
She waltzed into the bathroom, where she turned on her shower; a leaky old thing with terrible pressure, but what else did she expect for so low of a rent price? She stripped down, leaving her clothes in a heap on the tile before climbing into the shower, and sliding the door shut. She enjoyed long, lazy showers in scaldingly hot water. She sighed happily, before picking up the bar of soap, and humming a little tune as she got to work.
A little longer than twenty minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom, bright red and clean. She dried off and dressed herself, applying a thin sheen of makeup and red lipstick before heading out the door, purse hung hazardously on her bony shoulder, tipping with each awkward little leap of excitement she made.
Today would be her first session as the infamous Joker's psychiatrist.
This is where her life would begin.