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

After the Fall

The world was blurry when you woke up, the edges of reality shifting in and out of focus. It took a moment for your senses to return, the soft hum of white noise filling your ears, and the smell of antiseptic stinging your nose. You blinked, trying to make sense of your surroundings, and slowly, the room around you came into view.

It wasn’t the police station. You were lying in a hospital bed, the sterile white sheets pulled up around you, the steady beep of a heart monitor ticking away at your side. For a moment, you let yourself believe that it had all been a nightmare, that Art, the rings, the blood, the terror, had been nothing but a horrific hallucination.

But then you moved your hand.

The weight on your finger was unmistakable. The cheap, plastic ring Art had slipped onto you still sat snugly in place, the gaudy little toy a reminder that none of it had been a dream. Your stomach churned as the memories came flooding back. The police station, the murders, the way Art had watched you with those dark, gleaming eyes as you cried and finally passed out in front of him.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the flood of images, but it was no use. You couldn’t escape it. You couldn’t escape him.

The door to your room creaked open, and you flinched, your heart racing. But it wasn’t him. A nurse stepped in, her expression kind but cautious. She must have noticed the fear etched into your face because she hesitated before speaking.

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly, her voice gentle.

You didn’t know how to answer. How were you supposed to feel after everything that had happened? You opened your mouth to respond, but your throat was dry, your voice barely a whisper. “Where… am I?”

The nurse stepped closer, glancing at the heart monitor as she spoke. “You’re at St. Joseph’s Hospital. You were brought in a few nights ago, unconscious. Do you remember what happened?”

You nodded slowly, your mind still foggy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say the words. How could you explain any of it? How could you tell her that Art the Clown had hunted you down, slaughtered a room full of police officers, and marked you as his in some sick, twisted way?

The nurse didn’t push you. She offered a sympathetic smile before adjusting your IV and turning to leave. “If you need anything, just press the button. The doctor will be in to see you soon.”

As soon as she was gone, the room seemed to close in on you, the sterile walls suffocating. Your hand drifted to the ring again, tracing its edges with shaky fingers. You couldn’t get it off. You had tried, the moment you realized it was still there. But no matter how hard you pulled, it wouldn’t budge. It was as if it had been welded to your skin, a permanent reminder of him.

The hours passed slowly, each tick of the clock a painful reminder of your isolation. You couldn’t sleep, couldn’t relax. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Art.. his grin, his eyes, the way he had slipped the ring onto your finger as if claiming you.

And then there were the questions. The ones that kept gnawing at the back of your mind, pulling you deeper into a spiral of confusion and fear. Why had he marked you? Why hadn’t he killed you like he had everyone else? And more than anything, why did you still feel that strange connection to him, even now, even after everything?

You couldn’t shake it. No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself that it was just fear, there was something else there, something darker, lurking just beneath the surface.....

*Time skip?*

A few days passed in a haze. You were discharged from the hospital eventually, sent home with a long list of therapy recommendations and a prescription for anti-anxiety medication. But none of it could quiet the storm inside you. The police had questioned you briefly, but you told them as little as possible. What could you say that wouldn’t make you sound insane?

Jake was gone. His death was a dull ache in the back of your mind, overshadowed by the horror of your encounter with Art. You couldn’t even process the grief fully, it was buried beneath the weight of everything else. Your apartment felt too quiet without him, too empty. The silence only amplified the chaos inside your head.

Every night, you locked the doors, checked the windows, and tried to convince yourself that he wouldn’t come back. But you knew better. Art always came back. He was always watching, always waiting. And the longer the days stretched on, the more certain you became that he wasn’t finished with you yet.

The ring was still there, refusing to come off no matter how hard you tried. It had become a constant presence, a reminder that he was never far away. You had begun to avoid looking at it, but it didn’t matter. You could feel it, like a ghost pressing against your skin.

And then, one evening, as you sat alone in your apartment, the weight of it all finally came crashing down. You couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine. You couldn’t keep running from the truth.

Art was going to come for you again. And this time, there would be no escape.

The thought sent a wave of despair washing over you, and before you could stop it, the tears started to fall. You buried your face in your hands, sobbing quietly into the stillness of your apartment. It was too much, too much fear, too much loss, too much him. You were exhausted, physically and mentally, and it felt like there was no way out.

But as the tears flowed, there was a soft sound from the other side of the room, a faint honk, the sound of a horn. Your heart skipped a beat.

You froze, your blood turning to ice in your veins.

Slowly, you lifted your head, your breath catching in your throat as you saw him.

Art stood in the corner of your apartment, his figure shrouded in shadows. His eyes gleamed with that same unsettling intensity, and his grin stretched impossibly wide across his face. He watched you, motionless, like a predator stalking its prey.

Your chest tightened with fear, but you were too tired to run, too drained to fight. You just stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest, tears still streaming down your face.

And then, slowly, Art moved. He crossed the room with that same eerie grace, his eyes never leaving yours. You wanted to scream, to push him away, but you were frozen in place, paralyzed by a combination of terror and exhaustion.

He knelt in front of you, his eyes glinting in the dim light as he reached for your hand.

You flinched but didn’t pull away. His touch was cold but gentle as he lifted your hand, his fingers brushing over the ring still stuck on your finger. You watched in a daze as he took his other hand, the one with the matching ring, and slipped it off. He held it up for a moment, as if admiring it, then slowly slid it back onto his finger.

The two rings, side by side, one on you, one on him.

It felt like a twisted ceremony, like he was sealing some unspoken bond between the two of you.

Your chest heaved with sobs, and you shook your head, not understanding, not wanting to understand. “Why?” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “Why are you doing this?”

But there was no answer. There never was. Art just watched you, his eyes gleaming with that same terrible intensity, his grin never faltering.

And then, as the weight of everything pressed down on you, you couldn’t take it anymore. You broke, collapsing into a fit of uncontrollable sobs, the exhaustion and terror overwhelming you. Your body gave in, and before you knew it, the world faded to black.