The date is the tenth of October, 1995,  the time is noon, the setting is Arkham Asylum. 

The notorious criminal and convicted felon, Belle Friz-Fazz Mod-Trump, most commonly known as "Fasnator" or "the Fasnator", was sitting patiently on her bed, by the window, waiting. 

Waiting for what, you may ask, well, let's just say, something she had been wanting for over six years. 

The woman instinctively flinched when she heard the clang and clack of heeled shoes making their way down the usually quiet corridor. 

She smiled. Not a happy smile, not a sweet smile, not a kind smile, no. A smile of pure and utter delirious want and years-long obsession.

She waited patiently for several more minutes. In that time, she heard the mysterious heeled shoes disappear and then reappear several times, they were possibly scouting the area or collecting the syringes and drugs necessary for Fasnator's plan.

Around ten or fifteen minutes after the initial hearing of the heeled shoes, the Fasnator heard the unmistakable sound of the rusty key colliding with the equally rusty lock, the lock which was currently containing her and had been for the better part of five years. 

Solitary confinement for five years wouldn't and couldn't do much good to anyone, let alone a soul so disturbed as the Fasnator's was. 

As soon as the door was opened and the fresh, sickening white light streamed into the room, the Fasnator could make out the silhouette of a young woman; Trisha. 

"Come on, Belle, it's time to go home," the woman said, smiling slightly, still nervous around the unpredictable woman. 

Fasnator - or Belle, smiled sheepishly as she arose from the bed she had called her sanctuary for what felt like a millennium.