"Who-who are you?"

"That's your first question, Harlequin? Who am I? Not, 'what are you doing here', how'd you get into this security enforced college building' or maybe 'how do you know my name'?"

She stared at the strange man. He stood center stage, the very center, where the tragic hero would stand to give his soliloquies to the audience. Before, he'd been looking at the floor, his face cast in shadow. But now he looked up, straight at her, even though she sat in the dark, he knew where she was. She couldn't stop the gasp that escaped her lips as the main spot light illuminated his face. It was painted white with the mouth overemphasized in red, like a clown's. Even at this distance, she could see huge scars running from the edges of his lips up his cheeks. She'd always known the limelight could be cruel, but this was overkill. There was also blackening around his eyes, to cast them in shadow. It was a common stage makeup technique used on villains-to make them look evil and dangerous. But on him, it was-attractive. She felt a shiver run up her spine as he smiled.

"Although, were I in your position, I would want to know whether or not that strange man was dangerous"

At this point, he produced a pistol from an inner pocket of his jacket. Harley gripped the arm rests of her chair tightly.

"But don't worry, Harlequin, this gun is for you. But not to hurt you. For you to fulfill your destiny"

She narrowed her eyebrows at the strange man. He produced a small pair of gloves from another pocket, then set these with the gun on the stage. He then bowed to her, blew a kiss, and exited stage left.

Harley sat stunned for a few moments. But then reality kicked in, and she rushed up the aisle to the stage. The man was gone, as though he'd never been there. Except, of course, for the pistol and gloves. Harley walked cautiously towards them at first, then coyly. By the time her feet were in front of the gun, she felt bold enough to pick it up. She almost did-but then the gloves caught her eye. Why gloves? Then it dawned on her-to not leave fingerprints. She pulled them on; they fit perfectly over her small hands. They were silk, and had a black and red design reminiscent of cubism. She bent over and picked up the gun. She handled it firmly, feeling its weight in her palm. She held it aloft, aimed and pretended to let a shot off.

"Sorry Redgie, I just don't think things are gonna work out between us anymore"

She pantomimed another shot,

"Oops, my bad, Alison, but that dress just wasn't made for you"

And a third,

"I've been waiting twelve years to do that, Daddy"

She smiled, then burst out laughing. She then executed a perfect flip off the stage, into the house, and cart-wheeled up to her bag. After wrapping the gun in a sweater, and stowing it away in her backpack, she headed back to her dorm.

From the rafters, the Joker watched with a smile on his face. Finally, his loneliness would end. Two more weeks until the curtain lifted, which was plenty of time to make his lovely Harlequin's fantasy a reality.

She would be like soft putty in between his fingers, with all the potential of a masterpiece. All she needed was molding. He'd followed her over the last few months. She'd been one of the only students to stick around the Gotham Fine Arts campus, which meant she'd been a complication in his latest heist. But, fortunately, she'd spent almost every waking hour in her room. After his initial plans for the science building had been taken care of, he began following her. He'd even been able to get into her dorm building, and stand outside her doorway as she slaved away on that beautiful gown. That dress; he'd seen glimpses of the fabric through her window. It was flawless, a truly original masterpiece. She'd chosen scarlet chiffon for the base fabric, and put a layer of black lace over the bodice. She'd used the same lace for the trim of the skirt. When she'd finally completed it, he'd seen her don the gown, as though it were for herself. In truth, it was for her, or would be. He couldn't stand the idea of anyone wearing it any more than Harley could.

When the other students returned to the campus, he continued to follow her. He'd pretend to read the paper outside of her art class, and then he'd impersonate an aspiring actor, sipping coffee, in the drama building while she worked on set designs. All the while, learning about every facet of her life. Her boyfriend, Redgie, was a complete idiot. The jerk had been cheating on dear Harley for weeks before tonight. It was only because he, her destined lover, had told one of Redgie's friends that he'd heard Harley wasn't going to rehearsal that night that she'd even been able to discover Redgie with Alison. He'd setup the master plan to rescue his Harlequin from her drab life. She loved the Renaissance, white chocolate and rock music. Her life dream was to become the head costume designer for Broadway shows.

But learning about the cruelty of her father? That had been difficult. He'd searched through years of newspaper archives to find the reports on domestic violence against her family. Neighbors called in at least twice a month to report bruising on Mrs. Quinn, and then after her death, on little Harley. Apparently, both father and daughter contested that the marks were from gymnastics. But Joker saw through that-madness knows madness. Hearing her talk in her sleep helped put more pieces of the puzzle together. And tonight, after seeing her pretend to shoot some phantom of Peter Quinn, Joker understood the full truth. Strangely, he didn't despise Peter. After all, the man had helped make Harley the beautiful, twisted creature she was today. But, the man had to go. It was time for Joker to take over this work of art, to finish out the final sculpture that would be Harlequin.