She was sitting on her cot, pressing her small hands to her ears, and trying to block the noises coming from a neighboring cell. It didn’t help much. She could still hear Harleen crying her eyes out over her latest breakup with the Clown, who had tossed her out of a moving car for some minor remark she had made, a day before Valentine’s.

It weren’t mere sounds of sobbing, nor wails of anguish, that bothered Mary this much. No, it was the fact that doctor Quinzel had something Baby Doll could never have – a romantic relationship – as toxic as it was, it was still better than none, at least Mary thought so.

“Poor thing,” the guards who were passing by Harleen’s cell tend to say.

“Poor Harley, used by the Joker yet again, and thrown away like trash.” Even the doctors seemed to pity the clown-girl for some reason.

No one ever felt sorry for Mary for not knowing what was it like – to love and to have a broken heart.

It was not only Harleen’s teary story that made Mary feel bad about herself. Arkham, as unloving as it might be, held quite a few tragic lovers within its cold, brick walls.

Take Jervis Tetch, for example, the ex-neuroscientist waited for Mary to arrive at the Arkham canteen at the dinner time. He greeted her with a toothy grin as she entered the dining area.

He was kind enough to pick her up, and sat her down in a high chair that the staff had prepared for her beforehand. He joined her for the meal as he often did. And all would be nice and well, if not for Jervis rambling on about a single topic – his Alice – the girl he thought he loved.

The blonde man praised Alice’s golden locks, her innocent smile, and her curious mind. While Mary tried to eat her food, he was yapping nonstop – making Baby Doll sick to her stomach.

She quickly decided, she hated that Alice-girl for claiming this man’s stupid heart and mind so completely. The one thing that Mary simply couldn’t do.

After suffering through yet another Alice-related story from the Hatter, Baby Doll sneaked out from the canteen, right under the noses of the Arkham staff. Small, and usually unnoticed, she simply hid under the table, and when everyone else was gone, she walked out the door to find a storage room, where the belongings of the patients were stored.

Mary sorted through the rogues private staff, just to keep herself distracted on this most frustrating day. She dug out a box containing the wooden ventriloquist puppet of Arnold Wesker. She put it on top of a cardboard box and dropped a proper curtsy.

“Good evening Mr. Scarface. May I have this dance?” she asked, outstretching her arm and pretending the dummy was a real man she could have charmed with her smile.

Later on, she found one of Scarecrow’s books about fear of commitment and decided to read it.

She got a little bored soon after, so she got back to sorting through the stuff. It was when she found out that Harvey Dent still had a picture of his blonde fiance in his wallet.

Grace, was it? A kind-looking young lady, a pretty face for sure, most likely tall, long-legged, just like Mary could have been – if not for her condition.

Two-face kept receiving long letters from Grace. Mary didn’t read any of them, of course, but she entertained herself with guessing what could be written inside them.

“I still love you, Harvey.” Was that what Grace would tell him? “I’m waiting for you to get better and to return home. I’m so lonely without you.”

What would some stupid Grace, some good looking blonde bimbo, possibly know about loneliness? She had gotten Dent to put a ring on her, and she could find a new man in no time.

By the evening, Baby Doll was back in her cell, explaining to the guards that she had gotten herself lost, and the idiots actually had believed her.

Resting on her cot, much too large for her tiny body, with her short legs dangling from the edge of the bed, she looked at the evening sky through the bars at her small window. Her blue eyes looking for a sign of little snowflakes falling from the cell above hers.

Trapped in his frozen cell at the top floor of Arkham, there was Viktor Fries, the sad widower, mourning his late wife. Mary had never met him, but she knew his story, and she knew it was love that had made him a villain – because what else?

If anything at all, it had been not love but a lack of it that had made Baby Doll a bad girl. It had been rage and jealousy at everyone that had their families, their lovers to share the joys and sorrows of a daily life with. She had none of that, and it was unfair. She wished she could be someone’s Alice, and Grace, and Nora. But no matter how hard she tried to believe she could be that one day, such a miracle would never happen.

Cruel fate had robbed her of all pleasures of adulthood. She was denied her first kiss, holding hands, and feeling butterflies in her stomach.

Who would love a freak like her? Who would see a woman in this small, child-like body?

“Good evening, Miss Dahl,” the friendly voice of Kyle, the new nurse guy, snapped her out of her sad pondering. “It’s time for your meds.”

The guy must have been a fan of her show back in the days, why else would he be so awfully nice?

She sighed and jumped down from her cot, getting to the door to receive her prescribed medication. It surprised her, she had never noticed it before, but the nurse guy was crippled, missing his left hand. Was he born that way? Strange that she missed that detail about him.

Trying not to stare, she gulped down the pills, and let Kyle take her temperature and pulse, she returned to her cot, climbing on top with an effort. Then she noticed something odd, a brown ball, the size of a human fist, laying on her bedside drawer.

It caught her eyes immediately as she was certain it hadn’t been there before. She reached her hand to inspect the mysterious object.

It was soft and sticky to the touch, just like a chewing gum, and when she poked it with her finger, the ball bubbled, like a dense liquid, and shifted its shape, turning into a little heart, then into a singing bird, and then once more into a flower.

Baby Doll smiled involuntarily, as she recognized what it was.

“Let me tell you something, actor to actor,” she said, holding the flower made of clay in both her hands. The flower changed into an ear, as if ready to listen to her. “That was a damn good performance, Mr. Hagen. Your ‘Kyle’ got me totally convinced there, and I’m quite surprised by this twist.” She giggled softly, and watched the ear transforming into a pair of lips.

The mouth in her hands spoke with a rough male voice. “Why, thank you. I just thought you may want some company, Miss Dahl.”

He was right, she really wanted, but she was not simply going to admit that to Clayface.

“Did you go through all this trouble just to wish me a happy Valentine’s?” She mocked. “Or are you rather going to offer me a supporting role in your newest act?”