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

Internal Bond....

The room was silent. Only the soft drip of blood echoed off the cold concrete, a slow, rhythmic beat in the otherwise still air. Your body lay crumpled on the floor, lifeless now, your chest no longer rising and falling with the shallow gasps that had marked your final moments. The knife was still lodged in your abdomen, the dark crimson of your blood pooling around you, staining the floor beneath.

Art knelt beside you, unmoving, his head tilted as he stared at your pale, lifeless form. His expression was frozen in that eerie grin, but there was something different now, something hollow in his gaze, as if he couldn't quite grasp what had just happened.

You had been his. You had surrendered to him. But in the end, you had taken the one thing he could never control. You had taken your own life.

Art's eyes traveled down to your hand, still entwined with his, the small plastic rings clinging to your fingers like a macabre wedding band. He stared at the way your fingers intertwined with his, the silent bond that even in death seemed unbreakable.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Art didn't know what to do.

He let go of your hand, slowly, carefully, as if afraid that even in death you might vanish from him. His gloved fingers traced the outline of the ring on your finger, the small plastic band that had been his symbol of ownership, of connection.

The clown's gaze flicked back to your face. You looked peaceful now, your body still and calm, no longer consumed by the terror and exhaustion that had defined your life for so long. But Art's twisted game, his hunt, his sadistic joy, it was all meaningless now.

The final piece had fallen into place. The chase had ended, but not in the way he had anticipated.

Art stood slowly, his gaze lingering on your still form for a long moment. His mind, if it could be called that, whirled with confusion and something else.. something deeper, something he had never felt before. Loss.

He hadn't been able to finish the game, hadn't been the one to take your life. And yet, there was something about this, about the way you had made the choice to end it yourself.. that left him with a strange sense of closure.

You had belonged to him, and in the end, you had given him the final gift of your life. A twisted, tragic gift that he had never expected.

Art's hand drifted toward his jacket, pulling out a small piece of fabric, a tattered scrap of your shirt, a keepsake of sorts. He tucked it into his pocket with an almost reverent gesture, his head tilting slightly as he stood over your body.

His eyes flickered once more to the rings on your fingers, and he knelt down again, his movements slow and deliberate. He slipped the small plastic ring from your lifeless hand and, with a silent motion, placed it back on his own finger. The other ring remained on your hand, a final, eternal reminder of the bond you had shared.

With one last glance at your still form, Art stood up fully, the soft sound of his shoes echoing as he stepped away from your body. He walked toward the door of the room, his movements no longer carrying the same playful energy that had once defined him. He paused at the doorway, turning back one last time to look at you.

There was no need for words. There never had been.

And then, without another sound, Art vanished into the darkness, leaving you behind.

The room was still again. The air was thick with the scent of blood, the silence almost suffocating. But there was a strange sense of peace now, a finality that hung heavy in the air.

You had won your final battle. You had ended the game on your own terms. And now, in death, you were finally free.

But even in that freedom, the bond between you and Art remained. The rings, the symbols of the twisted love and ownership he had claimed over you, would forever bind your souls in a way that neither of you could have anticipated.

And so, in the stillness of that cold, dark room, you found your peace at last....