Predator. Prey.

Hues.

Hi everyone!! As most of you probably noticed, I have an amazing new cover for my book, and it was made by one of my amazing followers, Kelsaayy. I hope you guys love it, and if you do, tag her name below in the comments to let her know!!!

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My face was emotionless and my heart felt ice cold as I stared at the mirror in my bedroom, grazing my fingers over the thick black letters that followed up my jawline. My skin was red and sore to the touch, but I couldn't have thought of a better place to put it.

Now I would be forever reminded of who I was every time I saw my reflection.

A smile adorned my face: now it was time to learn to embrace myself.

I needed to learn to own who I had become, and leave who I was behind.

A task that was easier said than done.

It took months of forcing smiles and laughter until they became real again. My emotions were still on overdrive constantly; but rather than filled with colors and lights, they were dulled to hues of ivory and steel and muddy brown. I had to relearn my Puddin's lessons; I had to reteach myself to see the joke in it all. He was finally done testing me, but often times our rides into the city still pushed me to my limit.

My weapon of choice became a hand gun. It made for a quick, easy, painless click and my victim dropped dead. He loved guns too, but he always told me there was something beautiful about a knife: watching the light fade from someone's eyes. He said in a slow death, you know a person better than anyone else ever did- you see their true colors on display as they either cry, or beg, or scream, or stand defiant.

He wanted me to always use one, but I never stabbed hard enough, or deep enough, and he always joked,

"Cover up baby, your sanity is showing!"

He'd throw his head back in laughter, but my eyes were too trained on the body before us, moaning and twisting in pain. He'd roll his eyes, grab the knife from my shaking hands, and with one clean swipe, they crumpled to the floor. He'd throw the knife at my feet, mumbling to himself about my incompetence.

Our murder sprees happened this way for months. And then one morning I found him in his office, and I silently watched as he was lost in thought, attacking the weapons closet.

He had searched through every drawer all day, pulling out different guns and machetes and flamethrowers until he found it: hidden away in the back of the tallest drawer: a thick, durable, aluminum wood-plated baseball bat. His laughter echoed off the walls as he turned to face me, a wild glimmer in his eyes as he whispered,

"Take it."

I did as he said, and he watched me as I practiced the moves he had taught me months ago. How to use as much force as possible in one swing, how to choke up on the handle, how to hit harder than seemingly possible.

Then we took it out for a test drive that very night.

It was the usual: mob deal gone wrong. Some helpless man owed J more money than he had, and now it was time to teach him a lesson.

A lesson that always ended in blood.

We cornered him, me biting my lip and swinging my new play-thing around and around, genuinely laughing as he looked at me with fear in his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, I felt powerful.

It was funny, but whenever our victim fell captive to our taunting, they never seemed to look me in the eyes when I had a gun. It was as if I was merely an extension of Mr. J's consciousness, as if I was invisible. The only time they did look at me was when I used my sexuality to distract them. I was a shiny toy they were made to believe they could play with. Then Joker and I transformed into something evil and menacing, and before they could straighten their thoughts, there was a click and a swipe, and a laugh. Always a laugh.

And then I used the baseball bat. And then they grew to fear me. I channeled this fear into power, a power that no one could take away from me.

I was menacing too. I could be evil too.

I could be in on the joke.

The baseball bat became my new obsession. Joker and I laid together in bed, giggling after hours of rolling around in the sheets and feeling sheer ecstacy, only for him to sit up and grab a few markers off his dresser. He laid back down, reaching for the bat that had fallen on the floor. And he handed me one of the markers, purring,

"It's yours now. Mark it."

And we sat in his plush black sheets, doodling endless words and phrases and drawings all over it, silently watching each other's hands. It was the most intimate thing he's ever done for me.

And it was after this night that the colors that had so long ago faded into dulled grey hues returned, shading my vision with baby blue, rose pink, and emerald green, and my laughs became real again and my smiles were no longer forced.

Despite the blood and the knives and the death and the violence, he was always there for me, always claiming me as his and torturing any one who approached me or talked poorly of me in any way. He trusted me, letting me do some of his dirty work for him, but I never went out alone, I was always by his side, and slowly, but surely, our antics turned into a joint-effort. We had manipulation and sadism down to a science. I played off his words, he played off mine. I slowly began to understand the jokes, the humor in it all. No longer was I lost in an apathetic limbo where I felt nothing but guilt and confusion.

Eventually, I learned that there was nothing on this dull fucking earth that made me happier than being with him, and feeding off the power I felt when we were destructive together. Nothing else mattered other than his smile when he touched me, or his laughter when I obeyed him. I became a shining flash of light again, ready to strike at his beck and call, ready to laugh, ready to smile, ready to dance for his wide, passionate eyes. Slowly, but surely, I was no longer his harlequin.

He treated me like royalty, and I worshipped him like a god.

So it was no surprise when soon enough, every tabloid and article in the city began referring to us as The King and Queen of Gotham.

And it was no surprise when the caped crusader came crashing through the doors of our nightclub on a hot summer night.