Harley had been counting the moments between his breaths. While J. skipped around in giddy delight for the sake of the violence unleashed upon the boy in a matter of hours, the clown Contessa couldn’t help but watch the little bird. Nagging rationale urging her to scoop him up— to run away with him —to SAVE HIS LIFE. But then his chest went still. Half-lidded eyes set deep behind purple, swollen sockets glassed over to the tune of silent panic buzzing in her head. && it was all she could do to laugh. To squawk a shrill chirp of mocked excitement in the rattling echo of his final exhale.
She would cry about it later. In the bottom of a shower with the water as hot as it would go. Pounding down on her head in a vain attempt at drowning out the sound of his voice. SCREAMING. Remorse for her inaction— - for Joker’s cruelty - —shuddering between her ribs with her face buried into her kneecaps.
My muse is dead. Tell me how yours is dealing with it. @carnivalqueen
all i keep imagining is jason looking at harley with tired pleading eyes and i cry
