Harley woke up the next morning, still in her costume from the night before, but safe and sound in her own bed. Clarissa had left a very naughty stick-figure doodle on their white board, and a message of "Bow-chica-bow-wow!"

Harley lied in the bed a moment longer, rubbing her forehead to try and get rid of the headache that had started to pound on her temples. It felt like the worst hangover of her life. Her face felt pasty; she grimaced when she realized this was probably due to all of the make-up she'd left on overnight,

"And now I'm going to have the worst break-out of my life since senior prom"

A little nagging part of her brain tried to make her think over what had happened the night before, but she ignored it. To think on that would make her realize how quickly her life was falling apart. Instead, she grumpily rolled out of bed. In the process, her pillow had fallen to the ground. Harley sighed in frustration as she bent to pick it up, but her mood quickly changed upon seeing the envelope.

In flawless cursive script was her name. She turned the envelope over, tore open the seal, and read the contents. In a shaky hand, the Joker had explicitly explained his final instructions for Harley Quinn. She read it through once again to make sure of everything, and then destroyed the letter. As she tore the paper into tiny scraps of paper, placed these in the trash can and lit this on fire, she thought over how tonight-opening night-would change everything. Joker's letter had put everything in to perspective for her. Now she could see that the aspirations of her drab life weren't worth pursuing. He had described a higher purpose for her, but one that she would have to work for.

She was so consumed by her thoughts, that she almost forgot to hold the metal trash bin outside the window, to prevent the smoke from setting off the fire alarm. When the last bit of paper was incinerated, Harley brought the trash can back into the room. She stared at her reflection in the mirror; she saw a stranger staring back. The eyes were wide, but not with fear-with anticipation. Her lips were dry and cracked, the last of the lipstick just clinging to the flesh. Her hair was askew and tangled, barely being held by the rubber band. The costume she wore, however, still looked flawless.

"That's how tonight will go-perfectly. Exactly according to plan"

Harley looked into the eyes of Harlequin in the mirror, and trembled. Her life would end tonight, and that of the reflection would begin.

Harley skipped all her classes that day-this was actually somewhat expected for the entire cast and crew of the show. All the professors knew that a show like Macbeth required plenty of preparation, and so they didn't fret when their theatre major students didn't appear in class that day. Most of these students spent the day fretfully rehearsing lines or cue orders, or rushing about madly. Harley had always hated the drama that lead up to an opening night-too much stress, and all for nothing. Instead, she chose to spend the day tying up loose ends. She caught a bus back to her father's house. He wasn't there, pity, she had so much to tell him. But all the same, she went into her old bedroom, and destroyed every remaining semblance of who she'd once been. Gymnastics medals, old costume and scene design sketches, her scrap book from high school, pictures of Redgie and her at the skating rink. She ripped, burned, tore and trampled. At the end of her rampage, it looked as though a tornado had torn through. She then went to her little, rickety nightstand and opened the top drawer. Inside was a deck of cards that she and her friends had spent many a sleep over playing Indian Poker and Crazy Eights with. She went through the deck, pulling out the King of Spades, Queen of Diamonds, Jack of Clubs and the black Joker. She burned the rest on the carpet. But these four, she guarded away in her pocket.

She then left the house, leaving the front door wide open. People stared at her as she walked to the bus stop. She had changed out of the costume and washed away the make-up, but she carried her self differently, strangely. Her insanity was like a beacon to the people of Gotham-they were too accustomed to maniacs to let one pass by unnoticed. But no one approached her.

Harley made one last trip to her dorm room, grabbing the costume and stealing some of Clarissa's costume make-up. Satisfied that she would need nothing else, Harley left the room and headed over to the theatre building. It was only four in the afternoon, but she still had plenty of work to do before the curtain rose.

At a quarter to seven, people started to fill in the house. Harley helped the actors get into their costumes, pinning this dress and ironing that piece of ruff, but she was not at all focused on the task at hand. But since Harley did her job, none of the actors complained, except of course for the infamous Alison Bates.

"Hello, earth to Harley Quinn? Are you even listening to me? This dress is too big! I thought I told you not to let it out any more"

Harley looked into Alison's face, then down at the other woman's waist. She was right-the dress was too big. But how was that possible? Unless Ms. Bates has decided to terminate her unplanned pregnancy.

"All the better",

thought Harley, "Means nobody innocent will die tonight"

"Can't you bring it in or something? Everyone's gonna see all this loose fabric and think, what a terrible costume manager they must have"

Harley glared, but was relaxed as she reminded herself of how tonight would end.

"It's too late to take in the fabric, but I can pin it"

Alison sighed in an annoyed fashion,

"Fine, whatever"

At seven twenty, the ushers closed the entrance doors to the house. Five minutes later, the lights went down. The curtain rose. Harley watched all of act one from the ceiling loft. Banquo muffed a couple of his lines and Lady Macbeth said everything with a nasal accent, but other than that, the show went on flawlessly. The whole time, Harley kept track of exactly where everyone was-Alison was either on the stage, or feverishly complaining to the other female cast and crew in the women's dressing room, Redgie was rushing around back stage keeping on all the techs on their cues, and Peter Quinn sat in the third row of the house. Harley waited patiently for act two. She knew the Joker would be watching her the whole time, making sure she went through with all she had to. It was a blind determination that kept her on her course. The same that had brought her this far into madness, and would bring her promptly to its gate. At the end of tonight, she would be like a whore's new born babe, left at the front gate of a church in a basket. She could only hope that someone would come outside and let her in before she died in the night's cold. And that that someone would be the man she was dangerously obsessed with.