[hr][hr][h1][color=#a64dff][center]Folly Quinzel[/center][/color][/h1][center][img]http://68.media.tumblr.com/14fbf5780cfe02343c3a8c99eee96371/tumblr_nf4xu3rayF1qek6l1o7_r1_250.gif[/img][/center][hr][center]Location: Arkham Asylum (Isolation Ward)
Day of the Week: Wednesday[/center][hr][hr]Do you know the way blood pours out of an open wound? It isn't the way you see in the movies, the high pressure spray of a faucet, and the subsequent screams. No, blood doesn't pour as much as it pushes. The strokes of the blade drag the blood like water, flinging it in various directions--but the blood itself is passive, merely brought along for the ride. When the Joker slit Folly's throat, his arm guided the blood as it flew and hit the ground, with a thud too quiet for anyone but insects to register. 

Trapped in the room with the Joker, Folly saw her blood on the floor, and she screamed, her hands reaching up to her neck to frantically put pressure on a psychosomatic wound. As Folly pulled away her spotless hands, she saw the blood, and she screamed again, convinced she was near death. The fact that she would hardly be able to scream if blood was flowing deeply from her neck escaped the girl. The room seemed to be spinning, with enemies and dangers no matter where she looked. Her hands shaking and clammy, Folly held her head, rocking back and forth as she attempted to come to turns with [i]any[/i] reality. 

[color=a64dff]"He's in my head!"[/color] Folly cried. [color=a64dff]"Get him out, out, out!"[/color]

But the phantom of the Clown Prince of Crime continued to spin circles around her, and while it was all inside her mind, it didn't make it any the less real. As the windows of the asylum were shattered, Folly was pulling her own hair out, scratching and clawing in a desperate attempt to make the voice leave her alone. It told her to do terrible things--to kill, to torture, to destroy...

By the time Folly ceased screaming, she found herself alone, in a part of Arkham that she didn't recognize. Having no notion of how she got there, Folly tentatively tried to door, only to find herself locked inside. No matter how much she threw her weight against it, it refused to budge. Gulping, Folly looked at the dried blood on her hands, a result of her frantic and paranoid movements that brought her there. Marygold and the others were nowhere to be found. 

Glancing around the room with slow, jittery, and cautious movements, Folly spied a glowing redness in the recesses of the cell. Reaching into her pocket, she realized that her phone had been abandoned in the chaos, and with the sound of the siren in the distance, she knew that Arkham would be surrounded by the police before long. It was high alert. 

[color=red]"You're a crazy ass bitch, aren't you?"[/color] a voice in the darkness asked. [color=red]"Get that from your mama."[/color]

[color=a64dff]"Who...Who are you?"[/color] Folly asked, walking backwards, only to find herself trapped. There was no way that she could see to escape the cell, and unable to glimpse the figure in the dark, Folly assumed the worst. The Joker must have orchestrated the entire scheme, an elaborate way to get revenge upon Folly--but revenge for what? Revenge for existing? 

[color=red]"My friends call me Floyd."[/color]