Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Marinette looked down at the soft, maroon mask cradled in her hands and stared at it longingly.

Her callused fingers reverently skimmed the rich velvet fabric, reveling in the sheer indulgence and decadence of it. No expense had been spared on this mask and the exquisite gown that matched it, made obvious by the twinkling diamonds outlining the mask's shape and the pearls gleaming in the gown's intricate embroidery. Painstaking, finger-pricking embroidery that she knew as intimately as a hated ex-lover.

These two masterpieces were her pride and joy, her magnum opus. Regally red, daringly elegant, and perfect for the prince's ball. It'd taken over two and a half weeks' worth of blood, sweat, and tears. But it had been worth it. So worth it. It was too bad that none of it was hers.

Marinette sighed, reluctantly placing the mask back on the desk. She blew off a few stray specks of dust.

One day , she told herself. One day I'll finally be rich and successful. And then I'll be able to make and wear what I want. I'll be able to attend balls with Alya and Chloé.

She managed a smile at the thought of that. Marinette could already visualize it so vividly in her head, seeing her imagination tell a tale of striking splendor. Alya in her house colors—burnished orange and russet—excitedly gossiping as she drank in the sights and sounds of the ball, whilst Chloé fanned herself haughtily with her trademark gold and onyx fan, a constant, almost conspiratorial smirk on her face.

And herself, clad in...

She sighed, putting her head in her hands. No. It did no good to dream. Only when she had secured her income and career would she be able to attend such a ball, anyways. Besides, it wasn’t like she wanted to go to the prince’s birthday ball, which was the next one. 

Leaning back against the edge of the table, she leveled a glare at the door.

Prince Adrien the Agrestes was held in high esteem by not only the nobility, but also the common folk—a surprise, seeing that his father the king had always been talked of with annoyance and occasionally anger. But the prince dazzled the populace, with his shining hair and shining sword, both his charm and skill earning him a place among the revered. 

Especially the women , Marinette thought, scoffing to herself. 

A few months ago she’d been one of them, too. Starstruck and, in hindsight, an embarrassing mess of infatuation. Even Chloé’s humiliating stories of a younger, less intelligent prince hadn’t lessened her crush. Not by one bit.

It had taken what was probably the worst moment of her life to change that.

“Marinette!”

The sound of her name being called interrupted her before she could even begin to relive that horrible day. She gave a little sigh, and stood up, just as her mother—Sabine—burst into her room-turned-workshop. “Yes, Mother?”

“Alya's outsi…” Her mother raised an eyebrow, taking in the mess of fabric that completely covered Marinette’s table—and the gown and mask that lay on top of it all. Turning back to Marinette, Sabine said, “Wasn't Lady Kagami supposed to come and pick up the dress today?”

Marinette froze. She was suddenly aware of the unruly state of her hair and clothes. “What date is it?”

“Why, it’s the day before Prince Adrien’s ball!” her mother exclaimed. “And last time she and her mother came, they said they'd be picking it up today. Don't you remember?”

Marinette blanched. “What! Oh no!” She immediately scrambled to gather the dress in her hands, trying to fold it up as best as she could. “I completely forgot! I didn't know it was today !”

As Sabine retreated into the corridor, chuckling softly at her scatterbrained daughter, Marinette called frantically over her shoulder. “Mother, could you please give my regards to Alya? Tell her I'll be right back!”

“Of course, dear,” Sabine replied, scurrying off to the front door. As she left, Marinette desperately dusted herself off in an effort to look presentable. They'd be here any moment!

As if on cue, she heard the whinnying of horses and the clatter of a carriage grow steadily louder. 

“No, no, no,” she groaned, shoving aside the clutter and laying out the gown properly on the now-cleared table. She suddenly spied a black box swirled with red on the table. She frowned. What was the family heirloom doing there?

The front door swung open with a creak and she heard her mother's voice float towards her ears. Welcoming Lady Kagami, she assumed.

She quickly plopped the precious box on the stool near the door. She'd berate herself later for leaving it out in the open. 

Marinette bit her lip, so hard that she nearly drew blood. There wasn't nearly enough time to get changed and put her hair up. A quick bun would have to do.

Just as she stuck her trusty pencil into her bun to secure it, the door opened and her mother ushered Lady Kagami and her maidservant in. Surprisingly enough, Lady Kagami's blind mother was nowhere to be seen. 

(During previous visits and fittings Madame Tsurugi had watched both her and her daughter like a hawk— or maybe a better metaphor was to be had. Either way, with or without sight, her presence alone had been pure intimidation. Marinette gave a little shudder.)

“Well, m'lady, here's my daughter with your dress for the masquerade.”

Marinette jolted to attention, curtsying immediately. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

“You may leave now, Mme. Sabine,” Lady Kagami said impassively.

Marinette's mother gave a small curtsy in response and promptly left the room, throwing her daughter one last reassuring glance. Marinette grimaced slightly.

Lady Kagami of the Tsurugi family was a high-ranking noblewoman and was wildly famous for her swordsmanship—partly because she was a lady, and mostly because she was just so good. The people whispered that she might even be better than Prince Adrien. (Marinette counted that as a point in Lady Kagami's favor.)

But it wasn't the time to dwell on duels and vengeance—because if Lady Kagami wasn't pleased with the dress, she'd be doomed. And between Lady Kagami's stony stare, and her own disheveled and completely inappropriate state of dress, Marinette could only hope her presence would be tolerated long enough for her to receive the rest of her pay.

Lady Kagami cleared her throat pointedly, making Marinette jump.

“Ah— apologies, my lady!” She scurried over to drape the gown over her arm, gently taking the velvet mask in her other hand in the same motion. Marinette tried to ignore the pang in her heart, reluctant as she was to give her work to Lady Kagami.

“Here.” Marinette almost offered it to Lady Kagami, then caught herself and turned towards the maidservant instead. “I hope it holds up to your standards.”

Lady Kagami cast a glance at the dress, which the maidservant had spread out to let her see the whole of the design. 

And then, to Marinette's surprise, she smiled. She'd never seen Lady Kagami smile. Ever.

It sort of made up for the sorrow of parting with her beloved gown.

“Marinette, right?” Lady Kagami's smile widened, and she continued talking without even waiting for a response. “Thank you, Marinette. You have gone far and beyond my expectations.”

Marinette blinked, surprised, and felt heat seep into her cheeks. “O— oh. You're very welcome, my lady!” She returned her smile hesitantly. “It was a pleasure working on your gown.”

“And a pleasure working with you.” Lady Kagami paused, then beckoned her servant closer, whispering into her ear. Her maid nodded, and went out. Presumably to leave the goods in the carriage. 

And hopefully to retrieve my pay , Marinette couldn't help but think. Hey, if she was going to give over the product of her blood, sweat, tears, and love, then she might as well get paid.

“My mother told you she would only pay the minimum. Am I correct, Marinette?”

Marinette's eyes widened. Where was this going? Of course she remembered what Mme. Tsurugi had said. She didn’t think she could possibly forget Lady Kagami’s mother’s sharp and decisive words, leaving nearly no room for debate. “Yes, my lady.”

Lady Kagami's lips quirked almost imperceptibly. “Well… my mother is not here. And I think you deserve more, just for the exquisite quality of the gown you’ve designed for me.”

“Oh, I couldn't— My lady is too kind—” Marinette flailed, shocked.

“You could.” Lady Kagami smirked. “And I will not correct your second statement.”

Marinette couldn't help the breathy giggle that burst from her. “Thank you. Thank you, Lady Kagami.”

“You looked like you could use it,” she replied softly, casting a pointed glance at the slowly rotting walls of Marinette's house.

Marinette smiled sheepishly. “We definitely could.”

A beat of silence passed, and then Lady Kagami spoke again, turning Marinette's attention from her rueful thoughts.

“Oh? If I may ask, what is this?”

Marinette whirled to see Lady Kagami inspecting her black and red box. 

“Don't touch that!”

Lady Kagami started, startled by the sudden outburst. “Oh. Alright then.” She gently replaced the box atop the stool.

Marinette's hand flew to her mouth, realizing what she'd done. She'd raised her voice at a lady! “Oh my goodness. I am so sorry, my lady! I didn't mean to say that, it's just that I'm really protective of that box. It's my lucky charm, and a family heirloom!”

Amused, Lady Kagami stared as Marinette rambled on.

“My mother told me to take good care of it—she gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday a few months ago! Can't believe I'm already sixteen—and she told me that as long as I didn't break it I'd be blessed with luck! I don't know about that last bit, but I'm certainly not taking any risks!" Marinette clasped her hands together pleadingly. "Oh, I'm so sorry I shouted at my lady! Please accept my humble apology!”

To her surprise, Lady Kagami merely chuckled. It seemed the stony facade she'd worn in the past had been just that—a facade.

“Please. Do not apologize, Marinette. I understand how you feel. In fact”—Lady Kagami lowered her voice almost conspiratorially, cupping a hand around her mouth—”I have an heirloom much like yours. Except mine supposedly grants me skill in battle.”

Marinette's mouth opened in shock. “Really?”

Lady Kagami nodded. “Really.”

But just before Marinette could open her mouth (to say something witty? To—heaven forbid— ask a lady for more details? She wasn't sure what she wanted to do herself) Lady Kagami's maid huffed and puffed back into the room, swaying unsteadily as she carried a small box into the room.

Lady Kagami let loose a soft chuckle. “Nan, didn’t I tell you to let the footman handle it if it was too heavy?”

Nan shook her head resolutely. “M'lady, I can do it myself. Don't worry your pretty little head about it.”

Marinette blinked. She'd never seen anyone address a lady in such an offhand manner and live to see another day unscathed.

And yet Lady Kagami merely smiled fondly. “Of course, Nan.”

Nan set the box down on the table with an audible clink . Marinette almost gasped. How much gold was Lady Kagami planning to give her?

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Marinette.” Lady Kagami smiled again. “In the future I will remember your shop if I need another custom design.”

Marinette grinned, near ecstatic with the news. That was exactly what she needed! A patron like Lady Kagami would surely boost her status. (Never mind that Lady Kagami had seen her rambling so inanely. Marinette just hoped she'd forget that ever happened.)

“Thank you again, my lady. Enjoy yourself at the ball,” she chirped, curtsying. 

Lady Kagami dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Good day, Marinette.”

And then they left. 

Marinette sighed in relief. That definitely turned out better than expected. (Even though she’d had to part with... No. She wouldn’t think about that. At least she knew her work was in good hands.)

And Lady Kagami, thank goodness, hadn't even commented on her attire!

“Marinette, I know I've said this a million times already. But it's gorgeous!” Alya twirled happily, letting her orange skirt flare out around her. 

It was near seven on the eve of the prince's ball, and Alya and Chloé were both finished with their preparations for said ball. Which meant that they immediately went over to Marinette's house to chat and gossip for a few moments. 

And Marinette certainly wasn't going to complain—especially since they'd decided to wear her own creations to the ball and were set on flattering her to death .

“Alya, you're too kind,” Marinette said, grinning like mad. Seeing her friend this happy was great. “But don’t give me all the credit. You were the one who helped me design it, remember?”

“Dupain-Cheng, just because she helped you does not mean she actually did any work on it,” Chloé drawled, fanning herself lazily as she lay sprawled on the one lounge chair in Marinette's living room, clad in another of Marinette's designs. She grinned. “It's not like she could ever produce this kind of quality fashion.”

Alya crossed her arms, pouting. “Hey!”

Marinette stifled a giggle. “Calm down, girls.”

 Chloé ignored it. “Anyways, Mari dear, you've definitely outdone yourself with my gown. It's gold, it's glamorous, and it's definitely better than Alya's ,” she finished with a pointed grin.

“Oh, so we're doing this.” Alya smirked back, arching an eyebrow in defiance. “Alright. Whichever dress Marinette says is better wins.”

Marinette laughed. “What will the two of you do? Model?”

Chloé stood up, snapping her fan closed. “Maybe I will.” She flashed a winning smile. But then she let it drop, and a softer, more sincere smile took its place. “In all honesty though, Marinette. Thank you for these dresses. This is probably the most beautiful thing I've ever worn.”

“And we've worn many gowns,” Alya added, propping her elbow on Chloé's shoulder. Chloé grumbled, making both Marinette and Alya grin.

“Thanks.” Marinette's smile widened. “Anything for my best friends.”

At that, Alya and Chloé's faces softened. 

“Really, Mari. You're too kind.” Alya paused, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “Will you ever let us repay you? Other than what the dresses already cost, of course.”

Chloé cut in before Marinette could decline. “And don't you dare give us any of that 'your friendship is enough' nonsense. We're rich. We have the money to spare.” 

Marinette laughed weakly. “Yeah, still. You've already given me so much.” She gestured at the large lounge chair Chloé had abandoned just a few moments earlier. “Even the centerpiece of our living room was bought with your money.”

“And it's not enough!” Alya exclaimed. “How is it fair that you have to work each day just to get by, then only receive what little payment for your time and service?”

Marinette slumped into her chair. Not this again. “Alya—”

"Alya's right." Chloé crossed her arms. "How is it fair that we get to live in luxury but you always have to work hard?"

"I don't know!" Marinette threw her hands up in the air. "I don't know. We were born into this world like this and I just have to deal with what life has given me."

"But you don't have to," Alya said persistently. "Why not just let us pay off your debts? Fund your business?"

Chloé nodded. "What Cesaire said."

Marinette sighed, folding inwards. "You wouldn't understand."

Alya crossed her arms—now she and Chloé carried the same pose. "Try us."

"I guess…" Marinette paused, sighing. 

Chloé gave her a nod, as if to say go on .

"I guess I just want to succeed on my own. Earn everything by myself. Does that make sense…?" Marinette mumbled.

Alya exhaled. She looked at Chloé, and after a few seconds of wordless deliberation, they turned back to Marinette.

"Look, we understand that you want to be your own woman…" Alya began, empathy written on her face.

"But you don't have to climb the mountain alone, Dupain-Cheng," Chloé finished. "Let us help you. Even if it's for something as small as— I don't know, going to the ball!"

While they'd been speaking, Marinette had felt a blush spread on her cheeks from the sincere care her friends had expressed. But when Chloé mentioned the ball, she couldn't help but snort.

“Yeah… maybe inviting me to Prince Prissy's ball isn't the best way to repay me,” Marinette said, another laugh punctuating her sentence.

At that, Alya snorted (though Chloé was notably silent). 

“You know, I still can't believe he did that,” Alya murmured. “I never thought he'd be the type… I didn't think he even knew you back then.”

Marinette huffed. “Yeah, well, he did. It had his signature and all.”

“Don't try to get us off topic, Dupain-Cheng,” Chloé said, changing the subject with ease. “Answer the question.”

Alya made a pleading motion, prince quickly forgotten. “Come on, let us treat you!”

Marinette sighed. Then she smiled fondly. "Fine. You guys win. But another day, okay?"

Alya and Chloé beamed, their faces becoming as radiant as their orange and yellow gowns. 

“You won't regret this!” they chimed cheerily.

At around thirty minutes to eight, Alya and Chloé finally left Marinette’s house, arm in arm as they approached the carriage.

"Do you think Dupain-Cheng will be alright alone?" Chloé called behind her, as the footman handed her in.

Alya sighed. "Maybe. She's handled herself well enough before… though perhaps we should hire a guard next time." 

Chloé let out a sound of agreement from where she now sat in the carriage.

Alya stepped forward and offered her hand to the footman—and was startled when she looked up and found golden eyes looking back at her, lips quirked into an impish smile.

Was he new? She didn’t remember ever seeing a face like his back at the castle—with that kind of eyes, it would be hard to forget someone like him.

Alya blinked, tearing her gaze away. It wasn't the time to dwell on eyes and boys. They had a ball to get to, for heaven's sake!

But all throughout the journey she found she couldn't stop thinking of golden eyes and that quirked smile. He’s handsome, that’s all, Alya told herself, over and over again. That’s it. That’s all there is to it.

The travel was short, but it felt an eternity to Alya.

When they finally reached the castle, Alya and Chloé were handed down again, by the same footman.

Was it her imagination, or did his hand linger a little longer on hers?

On an impulse, Alya turned to him. “You. What's your name?”

“Nino Lahiffe, my lady.” The twinkle in his eyes faded. “Have I done something wrong?”

Alya waved her hands. “No, no, it's just— Nothing. It's nothing.”

She practically ran to Chloé, who stood a few feet away, watching with a knowing smirk on her face. 

They glided into the castle, and as the men at the door were about to announce them, Chloé slipped in a sly comment. 

“So. Nino Lahiffe, huh?”

Alya’s face went red.

Marinette flopped back on her bed, heaving a sigh. Out of relief, or out of something else—that she did not know. 

“Another lonely night.”

She wasn't even sure what compelled her to speak out loud. It wasn't like there was anyone around to hear her; her mother and father were both long gone, having been tasked with creating the dessert courses for Prince Adrien's ball.

The same ball Chloé and Alya had earlier left to go to. The same one Lady Kagami would show up to, dressed in a creation Marinette had been loath to part with.

She sighed again. She could always make another one, she reasoned. 

Marinette forced herself to sit up and hauled herself up against the wall that stood right next to her bed, scrunching her eyebrows. No. She refused to spend the night wallowing in self pity.

She reached for her lucky charm, blindly following the seams of her apron until she found the small pocket she'd sewn just for the little box. Taking it out, she rubbed her thumb on its lacquered surface, the smooth motions easing her mind ever so slightly.

Admiring the intricate Oriental design inlaid on the top, Marinette couldn't help but smile, recalling the story her mother had told her whenever she'd let a younger Marinette play with the trinket. Back when it hadn't been hers yet. 

She'd long forgotten the where and why and how her mother had reached that topic. But she could never forget the infinitely intriguing story Sabine had told.

“It starts as any story does: the hero, forced out of their previously idyllic lifestyle, leaves to face an obstacle, whether by choice or not. They overcome the obstacle, and return home having learned more of life, their future paved with prosperity.” Sabine tapped a toddler Marinette's nose gently.

“But this story is near unheard of. Because this hero was no hero—she was a heroine . And in this world men do not much like heroines.”

Marinette chuckled dryly. Her mother's words spoke true. A full decade later, they still held relevance.

“ Now, our heroine was a young woman named Mulan. I could go on and on about all that's ever happened to her, but I'd die before I'd finish.”

Marinette giggled with her mother.

“Long story short, Mulan hid her identity and took her elderly father's place in the war conscription. Through hard work and a few lies, she managed to conceal her being a woman and went on to be a great general in the army.

"One day, she found a curious little box on her desk, black and red. Like a ladybug's colors, but in reverse!" Sabine poked Marinette's cheek. "Do you know what 'reverse' means, sweetheart?"

"Yeah!" Marinette said, smiling toothily.

"Well, she tried to open the box, but it wouldn't budge. So Mulan decided it was the will of the ancestors that she couldn't open it just yet. Maybe, she thought, maybe it will only open when the time is right."

Toddler Marinette scrunched her nose. "Tha' didn't make sense."

"A lot of perfectly sensible people can think in odd ways or do nonsense things. That's just how people are."

Marinette snickered. She could confidently agree with her mother now, having had countless blunders herself.

"When did they let her open the box then?" Marinette asked.

"Oh, she never did."

Marinette drew her eyebrows together, comically confused. "Why not?"

"Good question." Sabine smoothed Marinette's hair back lovingly, a laugh lighting her eyes up when Marinette pouted at her answer. "Anyways, Mulan decided she'd keep the box in her family, until it decided to let itself be opened. She passed it to her daughter, who passed it to her daughter, and on and on and on."

Marinette yawned. It was already some time past bedtime, but she was having too much fun to sleep. "An' then?"

With an artful flourish, Sabine brought a hand from behind her back. "And now it's with me." In her hand was the box she'd spoken of.

Marinette gasped. "Whoa! Can I touch?" She clasped her hands together pleadingly.

Sabine nodded, handing it to her carefully. "Don't you go breaking it, sweetie," she said playfully. "I don't think Mulan would be too pleased if you broke her lucky charm." 

Marinette beamed. "I promise I'll be careful, mama!"

Ten years forward, the Marinette of the present clutched the lucky charm that was now hers, a fond smile on her lips. This particular memory never failed to cheer her up.

She put a thumb to the minute crevice where the box would have cracked open, running her nail against the edge. It was strangely soothing, the rhythm of it giving her something to focus on in the moment. 

Idly, she wiggled her nail back and forth, and discovered she liked the way it felt when her nail tapped the varnished wood.

Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap.

The sound was in time with her heartbeat, both sounds somewhat audible in the stillness of the empty room. She leaned back on the wall next to her bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

Tap-tap. Tap-tap.

Was it her imagination, or were her nails hitting the wood with less strength? The weaker flicks weren't as satisfying as before.

She looked down, and at first she couldn't believe what exactly she was seeing.

The box was opening . Her flicks had been cracking the box open!

In surprise, she dropped the box—

And out came something red.

Then the something red… floated into the air.

It blinked. With actual eyes .

“AHHHHHHHH!”

It was a good thing no one was around to hear her scream.

“Hey there, I’m Tikki!” the… mouse? bug? chirped, seemingly unaware that she was currently on the verge of a mental breakdown. “Where am I? What’s your name?”

“What… what are you?” Marinette’s voice shook with the blank of maintaining a sense of calm. “ Why are you? And in my lucky charm—!”

“Tikki” frowned, the all-too-human expression looking odd on her. “Don’t tell me the guardian didn’t orient you before letting you summon me.”

Marinette’s head was spinning. With each word, each second the creature stayed real, she felt dizzier and dizzier, the world she'd been so familiar with her whole life shattering, overwhelming her senses. “Guardian? What?” she said, dazed.

Tikki's eyes widened. "You… you really don't know?"

"No!" Marinette all but cried out. She was completely lost, and it both frustrated and confused her in turn. "I have no idea what's going on! All I know is that I was playing with my lucky charm and then all of a sudden you—whatever you are—popped out and scared the daylights out of me!"

Tikki's face turned worried. "So… you didn't summon me. Not purposefully. And you are completely unaware of what I am and what I can do?"

Marinette nodded emphatically. "I just want an explanation. Because I feel like I'm going mad right now."

Tikki floated a little closer, but Marinette instinctively shied away. 

Tikki winced. "Sorry. I get it. It can be a shock."

She put her head in her hands. "I… I need a minute."

After a few moments of silence, she looked up.

Tikki stared back at her, concern lining her features. Now that Marinette had taken the time to really look at her, she noticed Tikki was very much like an oversized mouse, but with smooth red skin dappled with big black dots and huge blue eyes. And Tikki also had little… flippers? Hands? Whatever they were.

It was more than a little disconcerting to see human features on a body that was so animal-like.

"What are you?" Marinette finally asked, her curiosity getting the best of her initial surprise.

Tikki smiled, all too eager to break the silence. "I'm a kwami! The kwami of good luck." Tikki suddenly swooped down, and when she flew back into view, she held a pair of red earrings spotted in black in her hand-flipper-things. "I inhabit this specific piece of jewelry called a miraculous."

"But… what do you do?" She frowned. "And where did those earrings even come from?"

"It depends! Usually I'm called upon to defend others from villains." Tikki placed the earrings in Marinette's hand. "And the earrings were in the box. You probably didn't see them fall out. I'm the more noticeable target. Go ahead, put them on!"

Marinette did so. To be honest, she wasn't even sure why she was following the instructions of a so-called kwami. Getting up, she padded over to her mirror, inspecting herself.

The earrings had turned black, she noticed. Was that normal?

"Why are they black now?" she asked, whirling around to face Tikki again.

"Oh, never mind that. It does that every time. Different colors, of course, for different people."

"So… you mentioned 'defending' a while ago." Marinette scrunched her nose. "But I don't think we have any villains at the moment?"

"Is there really no big enemy to fight against?" Tikki furrowed her eyebrows, as if she couldn't imagine such a thing. "No bad guys to defend people from?"

"No?"

"Oh… well… then that's odd. Why did you summon me in the first place, then?"

"I didn't summon you!" Marinette pointed accusingly at the box. "It just… opened on its own."

Tikki raised an eyebrow. "Well… I can't exactly go back in, you know."

Marinette couldn't help laughing. "Sorry?"

Tikki let out a giggle at that, too. "Don't be. We might as well make the most of our time here."

"How exactly do you help people defeat villains, though?" Marinette turned back to her mirror, blank her earrings again. "With the earrings? Or…?"

"Yep! The earrings are how I lend you my power. They’re called miraculous. This one’s the ladybug miraculous." Tikki swooped forward, landing tentatively on Marinette's shoulder. The kwami tilted its head, wordlessly asking if she could stay there. Marinette gave a small nod, smiling. Tikki beamed.

"Basically, I use it to transform you into a heroine and enhance your senses and ability," Tikki continued, from her perch on Marinette's shoulder. "Oh, and you get powers too!"

Marinette raised an eyebrow at her reflection in the mirror. Now that sounded interesting. "What kind?" 

"Well, you can use my magic to heal battle wounds and damage to objects. However, it usually takes a lot of skill and effort for my wielders to be able to do that well, so I don't recommend trying that out just yet."

Marinette's mouth fell open. "You can do that?"

Tikki shrugged nonchalantly. "I mean, I am the kwami of creation after all."

"Wow." Marinette put a hand to her ear, touching an earring. Its surface was smooth and unassuming. "That's… a little terrifying to be honest. That something as small as you could be that powerful."

Tikki grinned innocently. “You’ll get used to it. Besides, it’s not like I’m the only one.”

“Wait. There are more of you?”

“There are a lot of us,” Tikki said. “Your partner would’ve had my counterpart as their kwami. Plagg, the kwami of destruction. His miraculous is the black cat miraculous.”

Marinette’s heartbeat quickened, and she felt the fragment of an idea come to her. “Is Plagg also out of his box?”

“Let me check.” Tikki concentrated, squeezing her eyes shut for a second. “Oh!” She grinned happily. “He is.”

“Hold on. You said black cat. As in, Chat Noir?” Marinette’s face turned hopeful. “Chat Noir, the guy who steals from the rich and gives to the poor? Is Chat Noir Plagg's wielder?”

Tikki raised an eyebrow. “Well... that sounds like something Plagg would encourage. I wouldn't be surprised if it were him.”

“So we're looking for Chat Noir, then. I bet he'd be able to explain all this to me! Maybe I can even join him on his heists.” Marinette smiled, feeling a rush of trepidation. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

Tikki chuckled at her eagerness. “Don't get too excited, Marinette.”

Marinette laughed. “Yeah, alright. Where is he?”

“Um… a castle, I think?” Tikki thought. “At a ball… no, a masquerade! He’s got blonde hair and he’s wearing all black. It won't let me tell you any more than that.”

The blood drained from Marinette’s face. “Wait. Did you mean Prince Adrien’s ball? But I don’t have an invitation! How am I supposed to get in?”

Tikki frowned, thinking. “That does pose a problem...” She brightened. “Oh! I almost forgot to tell you! I’m the kwami of creation, right?”

Marinette nodded, unsure of where the conversation was going. “Yeah?”

“So my powers also grant you the ability to create.” Tikki continued, excited. “Which means—”

Marinette gasped. “I can create an invitation for myself!”

Tikki beamed. “Exactly! You’d be a great Ladybug, you know.”

“How do I do this? I don’t exactly know how to do magic...” Marinette said sheepishly.

“Don’t worry, it’s not that hard.” Tikki left her perch on Marinette’s shoulder and hovered in front of her. Cupping her flippers together, she continued. “Just put your hands together. Imagine there’s something there, some energy from around you. Of course, it won’t work since I haven’t transformed you yet, but this will prepare you for later.”

Marinette nodded, copying the kwami’s movements. Maybe on another day she’d have felt really dumb doing this, but compared to all that had already happened tonight, this was almost mundane.

“When you’ve got more practice, you won’t need to close your eyes anymore. But for now, it’s easier. So close your eyes,” Tikki said. 

Marinette did so. “And then?”

“Now imagine the energy in your palm changing shape. Make it your own, place your will on it.” 

Marinette tried to follow, her eyebrows furrowing. “Okay…?”

“Okay, this is the easiest part. Or the hardest. My wielders have all had different opinions on it,” Tikki said with a fond smile. “Let go of the energy. Like, not physically, but mentally. Let it grow without your continued urging.”

Marinette tilted her head. “So, I’m more of a catalyst for the energy?” she asked, eyes still closed.

“Yes! That’s exactly it!” Tikki’s smile was audible. “You can open your eyes now.”

“Thanks for the help, Tikki,” Marinette said. “Anything else I should know?”

“Once you let go of the magic and let it be, it’ll take the form of whatever object you need most. In this case, it’ll be an invitation. But it won’t always give you what you ask for. Magic works in mysterious ways,” Tikki said, shrugging. 

Marinette nodded. “Got it!”

Suddenly, the chiming of a clock broke the relatively still silence of her house. It rang one, two, ten times. Ten in the evening.

“Maybe we should get going,” Marinette said. “It’s getting late now. Chat Noir's civilian persona might leave the ball already if we stay here longer!”

“Alright! Just say ‘Tikki, transform me,’ to… well, transform yourself,” Tikki said with a giggle. “And the words for detransformation are ‘Tikki, detransform me’.” 

Tikki gave her a cheeky grin. “I assume it isn’t too hard to remember?” 

Marinette smiled. “Of course.”

“Okay! Then what are you waiting for?”

“Tikki, transform me!”

Tikki squealed excitedly, and then she swooped into Marinette’s earrings. Suddenly, a bright flash of pink overtook Marinette’s body, the magic bubbling and fizzing against her skin.

There was no time for her to even gasp before she found herself outfitted in a gown to rival the one she’d given Lady Kagami earlier.

Her hands went to her mouth in shock.

Tikki was gone, but now she was dressed in a gorgeous piece of art. Energy thrummed in her veins, and she could feel a mask on her face, whispery soft against her skin. 

Her dress fit like a dream in red and black, embroidered silk patterned with designs that called back to her Chinese heritage. Cherry blossoms entwined with intricately detailed dragons, and the occasional ladybug could be spotted here and there. 

At first, the shape and form of her gown had confused her. But then she realized— this was no ordinary kind of gown. This was a cheongsam, like the ones she’d seen her mother wear on special events; with loose, half-length sleeves, a high collar, and a comfortably loose fit. The skirt of the cheongsam was straight, and loose around her body—nothing like the skirts the nobility favored—plunging all the way down to her ankles, and had small slits on each side for mobility, baring an inch or two of her stocking clad legs. It was a little revealing, but it was simply gorgeous . She’d never thought of making a cheongsam for herself, and she deeply regretted it now. 

She peeked down at her feet, and was pleasantly surprised to see a pair of comfortable black shoes. Still heeled, but definitely not as high as the shoes she’d seen other ladies walk around in. They were comfortable, too, flexible and molding to her every movement. She could probably run in them if she wanted to, and she supposed that was the point.

And finally, the mask. She lifted a hand to her face, her fingers skimming the endlessly soft fabric. Turning to face the mirror, she gasped as she took in its rich red color, the sea of red only broken by a few well-placed spots of black. Like a ladybug’s shell, she realized.

Her hair was up in a bun, much like a ladybug too. A thin ribbon tied it off, the ends of it curling to look like mini antennae. Slightly concealed by stray locks of loose hair were her earrings, red and black spotted once more.

“Wow,” Marinette finally said. 

There was nothing else she could say. In the mirror, she looked near unearthly, breathlessly beautiful. And she’d never felt this alive , something thrilling coursing through her entire self, giving her a heady rush. 

“Eh? What’s this?” 

She shifted, trying to catch a glimpse of what she’d seen in her reflection. There, at her back. It was a… a hilt?

Tentatively, she reached behind her, fingers grasping for the hilt. Then she tugged at it.

It pulled out with ease, steel singing. Marinette wasn’t strong—not nearly enough to wield a sword . But transformed, the newly unsheathed weapon felt just right in her hands.

“Nice,” Marinette said, smiling. The sword was thin and slender, yet something told her it was unfathomably strong. Red swirls engraved the black as ebony hilt, again hinting at a ladybug’s colors. The blade itself was shining steel, silvery and bright and definitely very sharp. If she hadn’t felt so capable then and there, she’d have been terrified to even hold the sword. But as it was, Tikki’s power had invigorated her, filling her with a strength she’d never known before.

Turning her back to the mirror, she looked over her shoulder and her eyes found the scabbard that rested across the back of her dress. 

“That’s a little awkward, don’t you think?” she mused aloud. 

She set the sword down on the floor then reached back for the scabbard, finding the impossibly thin string that bound it to her dress and untying it with nimble fingers. Now that was a skill she knew hadn’t come from Tikki. She reattached the scabbard at her left hip, retying it around her waist. 

It was almost invisible like that, lost among the more obvious, eye-catching parts of her cheongsam.

That is, the string was. The scabbard… wasn’t. She frowned, then leaned down and took the sword, sliding it back into the scabbard.

It seemed like there was really no way around it. Any place she put the scabbard, it’d be clearly visible.

Marinette sighed. “Oh well.” She’d gain nothing by fiddling with it any longer. It was past time she went to the ball.

“Okay, imagine the energy...” she muttered to herself, cupping her hands together and closing her eyes. Much to her surprise, she felt something tingling in her hands. It only grew ever more intense, until it felt like she was cradling a ball of fizzy energy.

Her eyes flew open of its own accord, and she found her world was lit in gold. In her palms was vibrant, yellow magic, tendrils of it snaking in the air, humming ever so softly. As if it was alive.  

Nerves alight with barely contained excitement, she forced herself to close her eyes again and concentrated, trying to remember what Tikki had told her. With her mind, she willed the magic to take form, willed it to help her.

And then, once she felt her grasp over it growing sure, she let it go. Just how Tikki had taught her.

She waited, her breath caught in her throat, her eyes stubbornly squeezed shut. Then the tingling faded, and suddenly there was a whisper of something on the skin of her palm.

Something that felt like paper.

“Could it be…?”

Marinette dared to open her eyes.

In her hands lay a cream envelope affixed with the royal seal, addressed to a mystery masquerade attendee. 

She almost screamed. “It worked! Thank you, Tikki!”

Giddy, she bounced out of the room, intent on making her way to the ball and find Chat Noir.

But then she skidded to a stop, just as she reached the front door of her house.

Because she’d just realized: she had no way of going to the ball. Well, no proper way.

She groaned. This is what she got for not thinking ahead. Guess she’d have to take the horse.

After an eternity of riding side-saddle, Marinette finally reached the gates of the palace. By this time, the ball was in full swing, and the guards were all half-drunk. The journey hadn’t messed her attire up, thankfully. She suspected Tikki’s luck had a little something to do with that.

“Hey! Who’s there!” one of the guards shouted.

Marinette waved her invitation in front of her. “I’m here for the prince’s masquerade.”

“Lady, that started hours ago,” another one of them slurred. 

She tried to use her most commanding tone of voice. “And so? Let me through.”

A chuckle sounded from a third guard. “Ooh, mademoiselle’s mad. Well, boys, let her through. She does have an invite, after all.”

Marinette huffed. Rude.

Without any further ado, they let her in, allowing her horse to trot up the last few meters to the palace doors. Slipping off the horse, she led him the rest of the way, handing him off to a stable boy who approached meekly as she drew near.

The (thankfully sober) guards at the door let her through without argument, seeing as her invitation was visibly clutched in her hands. One of them broke away to escort her to the ballroom.

As she walked through the palace, Marinette couldn’t help the artist in her that marveled over each and every thing. The high ceilings, the intricately tiled floors, the grandiose chandeliers—each and every part of the castle would forever be etched in her memory. She could feel the inspiration already. 

However much she hated Prince Adrien, she had to admit: his family had taste.

Minutes turned into moments, as her feet blindly followed the guard around the palace and took in all she could, and all of a sudden she was standing in front of two huge, ornate doors.

“Here we are, my lady. I’ll take your invitation now.” The guard’s voice brought her to attention, and Marinette quickly handed him the envelope. 

“Nice costume, by the way.” He nodded at her sword. “What would you like to be announced as?”

“Oh!” She fumbled for a name, and then suddenly, the most obvious one came to mind. “Ladybug. Announce me as Ladybug.”

The guard nodded, then turned towards the doors. He pushed them open, letting the sounds of the ball waft out.

“Presenting Ladybug,” the guard shouted. 

The whole room hushed, and all eyes turned to the entrance. Who on earth had had the nerve to arrive at the prince’s ball this late?

Marinette’s nerves were abuzz. For some reason, she’d forgotten that this was one of the things she’d have to do. 

It was too late to back out now.

Straightening her back, she took a deep breath. This is nothing, she told herself. You have Creation on your side. This is nothing.

She took a step forward into a dazzlingly bright new world.

The ballroom was like nothing she'd ever seen, both fulfilling and going high above what her imagination had dared to dream of. The ceiling soared high into the sky, crystal panes letting in patches of starry night peek in on the revelers. Hundreds of noblemen and women were scattered across the expansive room, each and every one of them masked and dressed in their finest, the floor underneath their feet tiled in blinding white marble. 

Right across from where she stood was the royal dais and the throne—gilded in gold and exquisitely elegant. Sat upon it was King Gabriel, ruler of the kingdom, a stern look on his face and a goblet of wine in his hand. A few steps down, Prince Adrien stood chatting with a few of the ladies, outfitted in a sharply cut suit and a midnight mask that made his golden hair shine even brighter. 

(Could he possibly be Chat Noir? He did match Tikki’s description of blonde hair and black attire, after all. Just as soon as she'd thought it, Marinette shook her head and laughed inwardly, dismissing the thought. That was impossible.) 

She began to descend the staircase, and with a frightening surety she knew, somehow, that in that moment all eyes were on her.

Her heart thundered as she put one foot in front of the other, terrified of any small mishap. She knew, from Alya and Chloé's gossiping, that even a small slip up could devastate someone's entire reputation. Literally. 

With everyone's eyes on her, she couldn't help feeling like a butterfly pinned to a display—couldn't help feeling such intense anxiety.

She wasn't even sure what to do next. Did etiquette demand one to socialize once one entered the room? Did one have to pay respects to the king, first? What was she to do?

She swallowed a scream and kept on. Halfway there.

Marinette reckoned it was her gown that had helped fuel their stares. After all, it was unusual to wear such a… different type of clothing than what was expected. Most in the court favored European fashion.

Oh. And the sword. That would do it.

She smiled, and wondered if Lady Kagami would have approved of her masquerade outfit. After all, she was a swordswoman.

She was almost there. Maybe twenty, fifteen steps more. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Alya and Chloé, each decked out in her own designs. Alya as a fox, and Chloé as a honeybee. They had a curious look on their faces, almost as if—almost as if they thought they knew her.

Marinette gulped and looked away. Ten more steps.

Her eyes landed on Prince Adrien's, and to her surprise, he stood agog. He looked… starstruck.

Was he… was he looking at her?

Enemy or no, Marinette couldn't help the blush that pinked her cheeks ever so slightly. She hated it.

Three steps. Those directly in her way silently made way for her, clearing a space that went straight towards King Gabriel and the prince.

Her teeth found her lip and she made a decision. She'd go to the king, first, and then mill around and look for Chat Noir. There was no way she'd risk the king's wrath.

The floor stretched out in front of her, and her shoes clicked sharply against the marble as she made her way to the dais, heart in her throat.

And then she was right in front of the throne, the prince standing by her left.

She curtsied, in what she hoped was an elegant manner. “Your Majesty.”

The king, strangely, narrowed his eyes. But then he nodded. “Rise.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Marinette curtsied again, her heart thundering in her ears. 

She turned toward Prince Adrien. He still seemed stunned. She hid a frown—from annoyance, or some long borne resentment, she knew not. “Your Highness. Happy birthday.”

Prince Adrien started. “Oh— thank you.”

Was that a blush coloring his cheeks?

Marinette chose to ignore it, instead curtsying once more. “You are very much welcome, Your Highness.” She didn't mean a word of it.

She turned to leave, ready to melt back into the crowd—but then, all of a sudden, Prince Adrien spoke again. 

“Ladybug?”

Marinette raised an eyebrow, then spun back around to face him. What now? “Yes, Your Highness?”

Prince Adrien smiled— Prince Adrien smiled shyly . “May I have this dance?”

If she hadn't been so stunned, Marinette might've let out a few not too kind words.

Instead, what came out was a startled “Pardon me?”

Behind her, the sounds of an orchestra started up again, signaling the beginning of a waltz. And as the music swelled, so too did the gossip, all attention on the girl whose appearance had shaken up the whole room. 

Prince Adrien extended a hand toward her, the stars still in his eyes.

“Um— it would— it would be my pleasure. Your Highness,” she added, almost forgetting to address him by his title. Quickly, she took his hand, while she still had the nerve to.

His hand felt warm and soft. She gritted her teeth. Don’t forget what he did to you.

Prince Adrien pulled her closer with a gentle tug, and she reluctantly followed his lead. They swept onto the dance floor, cutting through the crowd as easily as a warm knife slid through butter. 

The orchestra was in full swing now, and the prince led her through the steps of a waltz, the nobles partnering one by one to dance alongside them. As she endeavored to get the steps right—after all, she wasn’t exactly trained in ballroom dancing—she felt Prince Adrien subtly slowing to match her pace.

Marinette bit her lip. Why was he doing that?

Before she could ponder on it, the prince spoke up.

“Ladybug,” he said awkwardly, “That’s quite an unusual costume.”

She frowned. Was that the best he could do? “Thank you, Your Highness,” she replied coolly. 

Prince Adrien reddened. “Uh… you’re welcome?”

Some time passed in silence, broken only by the clicking of Marinette’s heels.

They neared the end of their circuit around the ballroom. Marinette tried to ignore the stares she knew were on her back. As they danced, Marinette caught the king glowering at her.

“Wonder why he’s mad,” she muttered to herself.

“Who? Father?” came Prince Adrien’s curious reply.

Marinette’s head jerked up, eyes wide. “You— you heard that?”

He chuckled. “Ah. So you were talking about Father.”

“Oh, oh my goodness. I am so sorry," she said, automatically apologizing. It seemed even resentment couldn't halt her constant need to apologize. "I'll— Never mind.”

Prince Adrien let out another laugh. “It’s alright, my lady. My father can be a… hard man to love.” 

“And a hard man to please,” he mumbled, the words half a sigh. 

But Marinette’s powers seemed to include heightened senses, and she heard it anyways.

“I’m sorry about that,” she blurted out, before she could even think. 

Prince Adrien blinked.

Something in the back of her mind told her she shouldn’t have tried to meddle in the prince’s family affairs.

But just as their first waltz ended and they broke apart, Prince Adrien spoke.

“Thank you, Ladybug,” he said softly. “It’s quite alright. Besides, there are others more troubled than I am. Save the sympathy for the commonfolk.”

Marinette couldn't help the incredulous snort that escaped her, then. He said he was aware of the troubles of others? How hypocritical. Just when she'd started feeling sorry for him, he'd gone and said that. As if he cared . 

“Seeing you speak of them with such kindness, surely it wouldn't be a stretch for me to assume you've at least tried to help the people?” she said, half-sarcastic. “After all, you are the prince. Maybe you could even fund Chat Noir!”

He smiled a secret smile at that, almost as if he was in on something. “Now that'd be something. But I'm afraid that being the prince, surprisingly, doesn't bring as much freedom as one would expect. I'm sure they'll be fine with just him there, anyways. It's not like they particularly need me. ”

She hated this, hated him. How could he be so casual and so— so flippant about it? They were fine with just Chat Noir? They didn't need any more help? Who was he to talk of these topics as if he knew anything of them? Here she was, in the company of an insufferable prince who pretended he cared, when he definitely hadn't cared that day when he'd gone and done her in.

Marinette bit her lip hard enough to taste blood. And then, before she could think better of it—

“Don't even pretend you feel sorry for them, Your Highness. I've seen what you've done to girls like Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” her voice suddenly a savage whisper.

Prince Adrien had the audacity to look taken aback. “What?”

“Don't. Don't do that,” she hissed, all too conscious of the fact that they were just standing there, right in the middle of the ballroom. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she sighed, the rational side of her winning over her emotions. “Look. Your Highness. Can we forget I said that and just... go on?”

Prince Adrien, confused, extended his hand for the second time that night. “I'm confused. Have another dance with me?”

So we can talk was the unspoken reason.

She took it with a little too much force. “Fine.”

They took up the dance once more, Marinette trying to hide a scowl, and Prince Adrien baffled and worried. 

“My lady, would you please tell me what I’ve done to offend you so horribly?” Prince Adrien finally asked, the look on his face both pleading and devastated.

Marinette narrowed her eyes. It would take more than just a pretty face to fool her. “What game are you playing? Your Highness. Surely you remember how you so cruelly rejected my friend Marinette and then proceeded to have her sacked from her job.”

And there it was now, out in the open: finally, she let herself relive that fateful day.

Prince Adrien looked at her aghast—and most infuriatingly of all, confused . As if he hadn't even deigned to remember what he'd done. “What?”

“Surely you remember how you had her bodily thrown out of the bakery where she worked?” She hissed incredulously, her words borderline hysterical. “Surely you remember how you didn’t. Even. So much as. Give a valid reason for my dismissal!”

“I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about—gah!” Prince Adrien stumbled, throwing them both off their rhythms. They staggered together, and then suddenly, the prince lost his balance and fell, bringing Marinette down with him.

Marinette let out a shriek, and those who hadn’t already been watching with wide eyes whirled around just in time to see Ladybug and Prince Adrien fall to the floor, entangled.

The first thing she registered was hot breath fanning across her face. Then an arm, pillowing her head. And then she opened her eyes from when she’d instinctively closed them, and saw Prince Adrien’s reddened face right in front of hers—close enough to count the fluttering eyelashes that swept across his cheekbones when he blinked.

Her eyes widened. That seemed to bring him to his senses, and quick as a flash, he backed away, gently laying her head down at the same time. “I am so sorry, Ladybug!” His face seemed to get redder by the minute, his voice maddeningly remorseful.

Slowly, Marinette hauled herself up, a hand instinctively lifting to her face to check her mask. Huh. It hadn’t shifted one bit. She cast a quick glance around the room, and cringed. Near everyone had seen the fall. Fortunately, King Gabriel was nowhere to be seen—he'd retired early, apparently. She hoped he wouldn't be informed of this mishap. 

Prince Adrien stood up, and tentatively offered her a hand up. She glared at him, then pointedly pulled herself to her feet, dusting off her cheongsam resolutely. Thankfully, not a single piece of her outfit—not even her hair—had been ruined. It must’ve been Tikki at work again.

“Save the apologies for Marinette,” she whispered sharply, soft enough so only he could hear.

Prince Adrien nodded empathetically. “Yes, I will. I’m so deeply sorry. I had no idea that had happened to her— I never would have—”

Marinette leveled a pointed stare at him. 

Prince Adrien closed his mouth, looking for all the world like a wounded puppy. “I apologize.”

Marinette’s lips pursed, taking a glance around them. “...I apologize, too,” she said, sullen. “I’ve made a scene.”

The prince raised an eyebrow, some amusement returning to his face. “There’s no need. I’ve contributed to some of the chaos, too.”

There was a ghost of a smile on Marinette’s lips, and for just a moment, she thought she might actually still be able to enjoy this ball.

And then lightning struck the glass panes on the ceiling, and she felt a sudden dread within her.