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♡♦♡ AN' TO THINK I EVER HAD FEELINGS FOR A CLOWN SUCH AS YERSELF ♡♦♡
A beam of harsh sunlight hits Harley directly in the eyes, waking her from her semi-peaceful slumber. She slowly gets up and looks around her new room — well, cell. Silence lingers like an awful stench. She sits still for a moment, then closes her eyes, breathing. Tears form under her eyes, running homemade mascara she has created from Vaseline and pen ink down her face and neck.
A reflective shard of glass she frequently uses as a mirror catches her eye. She picks up the dirty piece of glass that had once belonged to a dusty pink pocket mirror she stole from Dr. Leland's purse and looks at her unrecognizable reflection.
Oh, Harls, what have you done to yerself, she silently asks herself. You silly girl. Always messin' in stuff you know you shouldn't be messin' with.
The tear-ruined mascara in her reflection has darkened around her eyes which were once upon a time as vibrant and spirited as the clear blue sky. But now they are dark and muddy like the depths of the deep, blue sea. Quinn quietly takes in the imagine, primarily focusing on the running mascara. She takes two fingers and begins to smear the runny mascara all around her eyes, her tears pouring from her eyes like a never ending waterfall. She stops when the areas around her eyes are darkened to a point that it looks like she is wearing a mask. She smiles at her reflection and sniffles. Harley sets the shard of glass down on the floor and adjusts herself on the twin-sized bed.
Her entire cell room is covered with plushies, dozens upon dozens of flowers, untouched chocolates and unopened letters, all sent to her by the Prince of Crime, himself. One letter says you've been missed. Another, it's nice to see you again.
Quinn lazily reaches underneath her bed and picks something up — a stuffed beaver gifted to her by Dr. Leland for her astonishing improvements. She sits on the edge of her bed, plush beaver pressed tightly against her chest, staring at the mess of gifts and presents from the Joker. It seems as though more cards and chocolates had arrived while she was asleep. The entirety of the four walls that surround her are decorated with taped-up images of him and various notes written on Post-Its, all saying "From: Mr. J."
Harls, frowning deeply, brings the face of the plush beaver to her eye level and begins to speak to him just like she would to her real beaver Bernie, whom Jane and Ivy are taking shifts on taking care of, alongside her two pet hyenas. "I can't stand it here any longer, Bernie Baby," she sniffles and there is a period of silence. "Not as long as he's in here with me."
Harley gently sets the beaver down and stands. She approaches a wall filled with images and the table of overflowing gifts. She walks up to a newspaper clipping of the Joker where he isn't beat up in the photo.
