Disclaimer: I don't own Batman, yadda yadda yadda.

A/N: This is a songfic to the song "Mirror" by Barlow Girl. I cut out the part about God because, well, Harley isn't really a Christian. (If she was, not sure if SHE'D be goin' to heaven, with all the stuff she's done.) You should listen to the song when reading this story. It's not really... sad, as much as this story makes it, but its a good song. (So is Porcelain... That one almost fits better, really. Mirror's a short song, anyway.) But, henceforth, this story was made, so I hope you enjoy it!

Mirror, Mirror on the wall, Have I got it?
'Cause Mirror you've always told me who I am
I'm finding it's not easy to be perfect

I sat in front of the mirror laced with clothespin-held pictures, lined with smears and the occasional smudge here and there, dull from age. Was the reflection really me? There was my face, worn from the things I've done, the games I've played. But there was a mask, an imaginary mask. One that held all my deepest, darkest fears. But there was more than just this mask. My cheeks were sliced with scrapes, my eyes black and blue, my lip swollen, my face completely beaten. But the marks didn't end there.

Purple splotches covered my shoulders, my arms, my legs, my entire body. Gashes punctured my skin. All the blood had dried, but the pain hadn't subsided.

I look so horrible, but the words didn't spill from my lips. As my top fell to my waist, tears welled up in my eyes. Cuts and bruises, red marks, teeth marks, scratch marks, anything you could think of, and you'd find it. My stomach was sore, but the wounds on my back were even more raw. I could see the redness, stinging me.

Shame tinged my cheeks as well as the tears that fell, mixing with what was left of the face paint that hadn't been smudged on my lover's fists. I closed my eyes. Before this, it had been all fun and games. But that was before this. Sure, I got the occasional beating, but nothing like this.

As the rest of my outfit fell to my ankles, sadness overwhelmed me. It seemed as if everything was worse there. My leg, scratched. My hips, sore. The shock and tension from falling numerous times in my feet still plagued me. And then, there was the rape.

I stepped out of my bloody and torn ensemble and dug in my wardrobe for some clean clothes to wear. Upon seeing my white blouse and slimming navy skirt, I thought of something. The old me. Deep inside this beaten and bruised body was the old, jovial me, smiling the night away. And that gave me comfort.

I turned back to the mirror with a smile.

So sorry you won't define me
Sorry you don't own me

I didn't have to succumb to this worn down self. I was my own self. I wasn't owned by anyone. No one had control over me but me.

Who are you to tell me
That I'm less than what I should be?
Who are you? Who are you?
I don't need to listen
To the list of things I should do
I won't try, I won't try

I wasn't anyone's pet. I could be the old me if I wanted to be. I didn't have to rely on a man to survive- especially one that hurt me. I didn't have to change at all to be who I was, and I alone. I didn't have to be anyone else but myself. No one could tell me what to do, or what to say, or what to wear, or what to think, or anything; I made my own decisions.

You don't define me, you don't define me

I didn't need a man to define me, definitely not one like the Joker. From then on, I was a free woman. From then on, I was Harleen Quinzel. You don't define me, you don't define me.

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A/N: Just a little change of heart in Harley's choice to go on her own. I believe that Harley has a lot of potential (just as long as she stays out of her Puddin's path.)

I hope you guys enjoyed this story. It was short, and my very first songfic, but I enjoyed making it (however short it was). Anyway, thanks for taking the time to read. Check out my other Batman stories! (Well, story as of now). Read and review, folks!