Joker

He crouched down to her eye level, his green hair hanging in chaotic strands over his face. For a moment, his expression softened into something almost human.

“You know,” he said, tilting his head, “this is the part where people usually beg. They promise they’ll change, they’ll do better, they’ll—what’s the phrase?—turn over a new leaf.”

Clara swallowed hard, her voice a defiant whisper. “I won’t give you the satisfaction.”

The Joker’s laughter exploded, filling the room with a chilling, echoing cacophony. “Oh, sweetheart,” he gasped between laughs, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “You think I need your satisfaction? The world is my audience, and every scream, every whimper—it’s all just fuel for the show.”