"All that supposed tenderness, the candy, the roses-it was nothing but a few scraps of sweetness he tossed your way when he was in a good mood, to make you all the more devoted to doing his dirty work."
Harleen stepped closer, her gaze compassionate but firm. "You were right about one thing: Joker doesn't know how to love. All he has is madness and chaos, the thrill of destroying everything. You cling to those scraps you call 'proof.' You might fool others, but you can't fool yourself."
"Harley, he doesn't even love himself. How could he love you?"
Within the Illusion, warmth and cruelty flickered in turn. Harley watched the light and shadows overlap on either side, trembling all over with anguish. On one side was the obsession she refused to let go of; on the other, the truth she dared not face.
She had mistaken his hot-and-cold behavior for a madman's unique brand of romance, his exploitation and abandonment for circumstances beyond his control, and his ordering her around at whim for proof of love.
She had seen him treat everyone with cold-blooded cruelty. Only with her did his expression occasionally show something that wasn't quite disgust, and she had clung desperately to that tiny glimmer, hypnotizing herself into believing it was love.
"He never loved you."
How could anyone expect a man who didn't even understand love to love someone else?
Only when every illusion had been exposed was Harley finally forced to confront the truth: those moments of affection she had treasured had been a carefully orchestrated exploitation from beginning to end.
Joker had seen the madness buried deep inside her and her longing to do whatever she pleased. Casually, he had tossed her bait in the name of love, and she had willingly taken it,