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

Questions Without Answers

The cold, stifling air between you and Art felt thicker than ever, your heartbeat deafening in your ears as his fingers lingered on your cheek. The grotesque grin he wore twisted something deep inside you, a cocktail of fear, confusion, and a sickening realization that nothing about this encounter was normal.

You stood there, unable to move, staring into those dark, unblinking eyes that held no answers, only more questions. You didn’t understand any of this, why he had kept you alive, why he had given you that absurd ring, why he had killed everyone else and left you untouched.

Your lips trembled as you forced yourself to speak, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Why are you doing this?” Your throat was dry, your words shaky as you took a small step back, trying to create some distance between you and him. But Art didn’t move, his eyes following your every motion with that same unsettling amusement. “Why won’t you just kill me?”

Art’s head tilted slightly, his expression never changing. That grin, that awful, blood-streaked grin, was still plastered across his face, as if your words were some kind of joke he found hilarious.

You swallowed hard, the weight of your fear pressing down on you, but you couldn’t stop now. You needed to know. “You killed them all- everyone. Jake…” Your voice cracked as you said his name, the memory of finding your boyfriend’s lifeless body still fresh in your mind. Art’s knife buried in his chest, his blood staining the floor. You had already suspected why, why Jake had to die. “Why him..."

Art’s grin twitched. His silence, that eerie, suffocating silence, seemed to stretch on forever. He never spoke, he never needed to. Every question you asked felt like a pebble thrown into an endless void.

But still, you pressed on, even as terror clawed at your insides. “Why did you kill Jake?” you whispered, your voice cracking with the weight of the question. “Was it because of me? Because he was with me? Was that it?”

Art’s eyes widened, just slightly, like a predator recognizing its prey’s helpless realization. He raised one hand and mimed a dramatic shrug, his expression almost taunting. His eyes sparkled with dark amusement, as if you had just uncovered some secret joke.

Your stomach twisted. You knew why. Deep down, you had always known. Art had killed Jake because he saw him as an obstacle, a distraction. Jake was in the way, he wasn’t part of this, whatever this was between you and Art.

The truth, as horrifying as it was, settled in the pit of your stomach like a stone.

“You… you killed him because of me,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Art. Your hands trembled as you clutched the toy ring tighter in your fist. “But why?” Your voice cracked again, louder this time, your desperation seeping through. “Why am I still alive? Why haven’t you killed me like the others?”

Art’s expression remained unchanged, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. He reached out again, his cold fingers brushing against the ring you still held, as if reminding you of the twisted gift he had given you.

You recoiled, panic surging through you. “What is this?” you cried, holding up the ring, your voice trembling with fear and anger. “What is this supposed to mean? Why give me this? Why won’t you just kill me already?!”

The words spilled out of you in a flood of confusion and terror, the questions that had been swirling in your mind for what felt like an eternity now tumbling out in a frantic rush. You needed answers. You needed to understand why this nightmare never seemed to end, why he was doing this to you.

But Art… he only grinned.

He tilted his head, almost thoughtfully, before his eyes flickered down to the ring in your hand. He pointed at it with exaggerated enthusiasm, like he was sharing an inside joke with you, one that only he understood. His shoulders shook with silent laughter, as if your confusion was the punchline to his twisted game.

The sight of him laughing, so casually, while you were standing on the edge of breaking sent a wave of cold terror crashing over you. He was enjoying this. Your suffering, your fear, it was all part of the game to him. And no matter how many questions you asked, no matter how desperately you searched for answers, he wasn’t going to give them to you.

Your breath came in short, ragged gasps as you stared at him, helpless and terrified. The ring in your hand felt like a brand, a mark of ownership, and the weight of it was suffocating. Art’s silence was worse than any words he could have spoken. His silence was the answer.

You were his.

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you dizzy and breathless. He wasn’t going to kill you because that wasn’t the game he was playing. He was toying with you, keeping you alive because you were his, a prize, a possession, a twisted object of his obsession.

Tears stung your eyes as you stumbled back, your legs shaking beneath you. “Why won’t you just kill me?” you whispered, your voice cracking with desperation. “Why keep me alive? What do you want from me?”

But Art didn’t answer. He never did. Instead, he simply smiled, his gaze never leaving yours as he reached out and tapped the ring in your hand once more, his silent laughter bubbling up from his throat like a sickening melody.

Your heart sank.

Whatever Art wanted from you, it wasn’t your death.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your breath shaky as you tried to make sense of the madness swirling around you. There were no answers here. Only more questions, more fear, more hopelessness.

And Art, he would never stop.

Tears blurred your vision as you turned and ran. You didn’t know where you were going. You didn’t care. You just needed to get away from him, away from the suffocating feeling that you were trapped in a nightmare you couldn’t escape.

But even as you ran, even as your feet pounded against the pavement and your heart raced in your chest, you knew one thing for certain.

Art wasn’t finished with you.

And no matter how far you ran, no matter how hard you tried to escape, you would always feel the weight of that plastic ring pressing against your palm.

A constant reminder that this was far from over.