-A twisted Fate?- An Art The clown x Fem!Reader

Dance Of Fear

Your body remained frozen as Art held your chin, his gloved hand as cold as death. The air between you seemed to thicken, like the room itself had shifted into some twisted nightmare. Every rational part of your mind screamed at you to run, to scream, to do something. but you couldn't. You were trapped, his silent presence holding you in place.

Art tilted his head again, studying you as if trying to decipher what made you tick. The permanent smile on his painted face mocked the terror racing through your veins. You wanted to scream, to lash out, to push him away, but fear had taken full control.

Tears welled in your eyes, and you shook as his cold fingers trailed down from your chin to your throat, applying just the faintest pressure. You gasped in response, your breath shallow and rapid. Your mind spun with images of what he might do, images pulled straight from the films you'd watched so many times before. Those had been fiction. This was horrifyingly real.

You had never felt so small, so helpless.

He leaned in closer, his face only inches from yours. You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the moment where he would plunge a knife into your chest or snap your neck in a cruel twist of fate. The moments ticked by, agonizingly slow, but the blow never came.

Instead, Art let out a soft, breathless sigh, like he was savoring the terror he'd evoked in you. His hand dropped from your throat, trailing down your arm, and you flinched. But the pressure remained light, almost teasing.

"W-What are you doing?" you whispered, barely able to choke out the words.

His head cocked at the sound of your voice, and he smiled wider. It was as though he enjoyed hearing the fear in your voice as much as he enjoyed the look in your eyes.

Your legs wobbled beneath you, and you stumbled back, using the couch for support. But no matter how far you tried to inch away, Art followed. Every time you moved, he was right there, no faster than a casual stroll but impossible to shake. His presence loomed over you like a dark cloud, suffocating your every breath.

"Please... just go away," you pleaded, your voice trembling. But even as you begged, you knew it was useless. He wasn't leaving.

Art reached down, retrieving the knife he had dropped, and for a moment, your heart leapt into your throat. This was it. You were sure of it.

But instead of raising the blade, he held it up like a toy, twirling it in his fingers as he watched your reaction with keen interest. He was playing with you, relishing your fear. The deadly dance was far from over.

You backed away further, heart pounding in your chest as you inched toward the hallway, hoping to put some distance between you and him. The logical part of your brain screamed that you wouldn't make it out of the house. Not with Art blocking your path. But you had to try.

As if sensing your intent, Art's hand shot out and grabbed your wrist with surprising strength. You yelped in surprise, but before you could react, he yanked you toward him with terrifying ease. You stumbled, nearly falling into him, and your breath hitched as you found yourself face-to-face with the clown once again.

The way he looked at you was maddening. Like you were a puzzle he wanted to pull apart, piece by piece.

"Please... I don't want to die," you whispered, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Art's smile faltered ever so slightly at your words. He blinked, cocking his head again, as though he hadn't quite expected you to beg for your life so soon. But that look of surprise vanished quickly, replaced by a glimmer of something far more chilling.

Amusement.

His hand released your wrist, and he raised his finger to his lips in a shushing motion, the same one you had seen him do in the films. The universal signal for silence.

But your mind wasn't silent. It was screaming. Every nerve in your body was on fire with fear.

You swallowed hard, trying to stop the trembling that had overtaken your entire body. He watched you intently, waiting for your next move, like a predator toying with its prey.

"Why me?" you asked, your voice shaky, though you doubted he'd answer. It was a question thrown into the void, desperate to make sense of the madness before you.

But Art only smiled.

He stepped back, giving you a small amount of space, but you knew better than to believe this was a reprieve. This was part of his game. He pointed to the living room window -an invitation. Your pulse quickened as you realized what he wanted: a chase.

And he always loved to win.

Your body screamed in protest, every instinct warning you against running. But the moment Art stepped back further, his eyes glinting with sadistic glee, you knew you didn't have a choice.

Without another thought, you bolted for the door.

You didn't get far.

Before you could even turn the handle, Art's hand clamped down on your shoulder, dragging you back with frightening speed. You screamed as you were yanked against his chest, the cold steel of the knife pressing against your side.

Tears streamed down your face as you squirmed, but Art's grip was unyielding. He twirled the knife once more, this time much closer to your skin, and you knew this was the moment where he could end it all.

But he didn't.

Instead, he leaned close to your ear, breathing softly against your skin. His silence was more terrifying than any scream. And then, as if to make his twisted intentions clear, he brought the knife up to your throat, grazing the blade across the skin, just enough to draw a thin line of blood.

You gasped, freezing in place, knowing that one more push, one slip, and it would be over.

But Art didn't push.

He simply grinned, releasing you once more, watching as you crumbled to the floor in a mess of terror, trembling and broken.

And as he backed away, leaving you there, he gave a slow, mocking bow.

This was just the beginning....