Malla Pietro was a character role-played by KittyAlyy.
Backstory[]
Malla Pietro, age 22 (original name unknown), found herself ensnared in the dark underbelly of a strip club, where she toiled late into the night under the oppressive thumb of her abusive boyfriend, the club's owner. This was a nightly ritual, a grim routine she begrudgingly adhered to without question.
One stormy night, as the clock struck 2 a.m., Malla found herself ill-prepared for the tempest raging outside. Using her bag as a makeshift shield against the pelting rain, she locked up the club and ventured toward her car parked in the distant reaches of the lot. The eerie sound of a horn, akin to a squeaky toy, pierced the night, causing her to startle and gaze toward the lot's entrance. There, a garish yellow van with a peculiar red ball adorning its front headlights crept into view, deviating from the designated parking spaces. Frustrated at the interruption, Malla raised her hands and shouted, "Hey! We're closed!" But her words fell on deaf ears as the van halted, its occupants seemingly undeterred by her proclamation. She braced herself for another confrontation with a disgruntled customer, assuming the van's occupants were inebriated.
To her horror, the van's door swung open, and from its depths emerged a sinister figure cloaked in darkness. As the figure drew closer, illuminated by a nearby streetlight, Malla's heart sank at the sight of a ghastly clown mask adorned with crimson hair and a haunting blue nose. Its attire, a macabre blend of red and black, seemed to mock her with every step, accompanied by the unnerving clatter of chains and wet boots.
Frozen in fear, Malla watched as the clown closed the distance, his voice piercing the silence with a chilling greeting. Her instincts screamed at her to flee, but before she could react, she was overtaken by a wave of terror as the clown tackled her to the ground, sending her spiraling into unconsciousness.
When she awoke, disoriented and surrounded by dilapidation, her memories had vanished like mist in the morning sun. She found herself in the company of the very clown who had assaulted her, his presence both familiar and unsettling. Clinging to him in desperation, she sought solace and answers in his embrace, unaware of the twisted reality unfolding before her.
Thus began Malla's descent into a shadowy existence, her identity reshaped by the whims of her enigmatic companion, now known as Chatterbox. With each passing day, she navigated a world shrouded in mystery, clinging to the name Malla Pietro as a beacon of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to consume her. Together with Chatterbox, she embarked on a journey fraught with danger and uncertainty, her past slipping further from grasp with each step into the unknown.
The Death of Giggles[]
On February 14, 2022, my world shattered into a million pieces. It started with a call, anonymous and chilling, accusing my husband, Chatterbox, of forsaking his true family for newfound friendships. The voice, my voice, spoke with a familiarity that sent shivers down his spine, yet he couldn't place it. I threatened harm upon our clown family unless Chatterbox obeyed a sinister demand: a meeting at the Grapeseed P.D. torture room.
When Chatterbox arrived, shadows enveloped the room, casting a pall over our reunion. It had been eight agonizing months since I last saw him, since Barry Benson and Irwin Dundee's cruel flames engulfed me. The torture room, the very place where my nightmare began, loomed ominously. As Chatterbox stepped into the dim light, I struggled to reconcile the man before me with the husband I once knew. His face contorted with fear and confusion as I accused him of abandoning us for Barry, now CrackerJack, his newfound friend.
With a hatchet in hand, I confronted him, my heart heavy with betrayal and hurt. How could he prioritize Barry over his own flesh and blood? But before I could make him understand, he drew his gun and fired. Pain ripped through me as the bullet pierced my heart, and I crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath.
Through the haze of agony, I begged him to see the truth, to recognize me beneath the mask I wore. As he knelt beside me, the realization dawned on him too late. His anguished cries echoed in the torture room, mingling with the sound of my fading heartbeat. In his arms, I took my last breath, leaving him to grapple with the consequences of his choices.
As I slipped into oblivion, I prayed that someday he would understand the depth of my love and the sacrifice I made to teach him a lesson he could never forget.