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Have you heard of the Mouse’s tale?
It’s a shame if not, for the old texts were erased from this world, together with what consisted of the previous tale. Not forgotten—for the Mouse is still within this realm, laying in sleep in its tightly vast space within the stringed coin—but erased and rewritten anew. Not so that a new story could be told, for that was consequential, not purposeful.
It’d be surprising if any of this had been purposeful, but consequential tales are tales deserving of a speaker; of ink to mark it onto paper; of ears to listen to the new voices, and eyes to gaze upon the new illustrations. And as far as this world will ever know, this is the Mouse’s tale…
~🐭~
Asleep isn’t exactly how Mullo would describe this feeling, but it’s the best word she has for it. She knows what it is like to sleep, and this isn’t like it. Sleeping is restful, cozy, and warm—when done right—and she can do it anytime she wants, but “deactivated” sounds way too techy for her liking, so although she isn’t in a gentle unconsciousness, sleeping is still the best word for it.
Awaken, on the other hand, is a perfect way to describe being pulled out of the formless state the Miraculous contained her in into the lightness of the world welcoming her out. That’s why, “I’m awake!” was the first sentence said from the kwami newly reassigned as of the Twilight.
First words said, she zeroed in on the woman stunned on her feet, stringed coin held just a bit over her mother’s jewelry box, pink eyes sparkling excitedly as gray eyes blinked in stupefaction.
“Hello!” Second sentence from newly awakened kwami. “I’m Mullo. And you’re the–” She paused, glancing around as if searching for guidance. “You’re one of the first humans to find a Miraculous! I’m a kwami! A fairy that can give you the power of–”
The woman threw the necklace on the wall desk—it hit the rim of the dusty mirror that makeshifted it into a vanity and fell through the breach by the wall to the floor—then turned her back to Mullo with the jewelry box gripped tightly between her hands. Marinette Cheng had wondered if the coin with Chinese markings could be a family heirloom, maybe of some value to some artifact enthusiast; but it was obviously haunted by the ghost of a mouse, as far as she could tell.
“W-wait!” Mullo zipped to Marinette’s face, who flickered her eyes to the flying mouse talking to her, then back to the glittering and non-glittering ornaments in the open box. “I know this is a bit weird—it’s also weird to me, I’m not usually given alone—b-but we can figure it out together! Maybe. We might not need to. I-I don’t think– No, wait, I know there isn’t anything that’d need my meddling–”
Eyes that revealed the several “Why me?” flashing through Marinette’s mind kept flickering from the rambling mouse to the jiggling box she kept rummaging through without grasping onto any of the objects in it.
She stopped with a yelp when an earring’s point pierced her finger; box, necklaces, bracelets, and the offensive earring clattering to the floor as she hissed and cradled her hands to her chest. Mullo ceased her ramblings with a gasp and zoomed to the woman’s hand, red dripping through her fingers as she brought the attacked index to her mouth. Mullo apologized profoundly, asking if she was alright and assuring she’d be fine even though Marinette was used to small cuts and this one wasn’t even close to the worst one she came across—but someone in this room was in dire need of assurances, so Mullo kept spilling them out as she reflexively placed her paws on Marinette’s hands.
“You– do you have some aid kit? That’s a normal thing for humans to have, right? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t mean to break anything. I–” Mullo pulled at the fingers covering the tear on Marinette’s hand, easily exposing the red smudging the sun kisses on her beige skin.
Mullo’s caresses on the cut, at first, had been almost frantic, accentuated by the awkward grin she beamed at Marinette—who just didn’t shoo the weird animal-thing away from her open wound because its frantic pats and bashful posture annulled any sense of danger she might’ve had. Then Mullo slowed down and hummed at the cut, a thoughtful look that melted off the awkwardness Marinette had started to associate with the little mouse from her posture as she moved her paws intently over the cut, a thread of pink light following the trail then fading out as quickly as it came.
A shriek sounded from the little being, followed by apologies as she pulled away from Marinette. She wiped the blood off her hand, tracing the closed cut with her thumb.
“How did you do this?” She extended her previously cut hand to Mullo, showing the pulpy rosy line over her hand.
“O-oh.” Mullo cocked her head. “I think I healed it. I mean– not heal-heal, Tikki never left scars, but…” She giggled, form falling back, then whirled vertically till she was right side up again to peek at the sewed cut like an excited child that just learned how to run with their little legs. “For a newbie, it looks great!” She recoiled, murmuring, “If I do say so myself.”
“Yeah.” Marinette laughed incredulously. “So…” She glanced back at the fairy as she stepped over the fallen jewelry box to the makeshift vanity, reaching a hand under then raising to stand upright with the Mouse Miraculous held between her and the fairy. “I imagine I can’t just…” She pressed on the coin’s center as if its empty hole was a button. “…deactivate this thing–”
Mullo stuck out her tongue and gagged. She shook her head. “No deactivations! Please,” she added in a smaller voice. “There’s no meddling to do, so we could just be friends! I’m Mullo, the kwami of the Twilight.”
It fitted so easily as part of her (second) introduction that Mullo didn’t realize the use of her new title.
Marinette giggled at the small mouse eagerly extending a little paw to her, then took it with her thumb and index to shake it. “I’m Marinette. Uhm…” She knitted her eyebrows together. “Owner of the Ducheng Patisserie?”
“And holder of the Mouse Miraculous!”
Marinette pulled her hand back to her chest.
“I-I mean, friends with a small mouse…”
~🐭~
In the old tales, the Mouse never played a main role. She had been assigned support, secondaries, and even antagonistic roles, but never a protagonistic one. In this retelling, however, Mullo was placed among the four most important roles of this new order. It’s a flattering and frightening place to be, especially for such a small mouse carrying the heavy burden of how she landed in this place.
“That must’ve been hard,” Marinette said, folding out a small baby blue dress in the air. “It sounds like a lot of responsibility to be pushed on you so unexpectedly.” She spread it over her thighs then turned her attention to the gashed skirt, lifting it with one hand as she pulled her sewing kit over with the other.
Mullo tucked herself further on one of the black twin buns tied on top of Marinette’s hair, straining her body to peer at the little girl flashing past the ajar door with “rawrs!” and “hiyas!” being shouted out of her mouth.
“It’s not all that bad.” Her whiskers twitched, body tensing a bit, at the yell followed by a bump. “I’m not the only one, there’s four of us now, so it should be easier than with Tikki and Plagg.”
Marinette only hummed at the waver in Mullo’s voice and shouted out, “Everything’s OK there, Brie!”
“Uhum– Argh! Why’re there so many landmines on the floor!”
“It’s your toys! Put them away before running around and there’ll be nothing to trip over.”
The grumbles of a little girl frustrated by the hindrances of her own causing stomped over to the room and brought Bridgette Cheng to the scene. Mullo hid out of sight but within space to glimpse over the little girl climbing onto the bed, short hair black like her sister’s bouncing over a big head to a small frame. She kept a safe distance away from the needle’s jabs of her older sister, then flopped onto Marinette’s back, peeking at the mending of her dress.
“Can we make a cat in this one too? A white one! A cloud cat in the blue sky!”
Marinette winced, fingers clenching over the bright yellow fabric that already had one side and a half sewed onto the dress’ gash, then reached for the chest under her legs. “Of course.”
“Wait, no!” Bridgette grabbed Marinette’s wrist, making her drop the thinner and tinier white cloth. “Better idea: mercat! Catfish? Water cat swimming in the sea! Then put shells in the–” She frowned, picking the dress and shaking it. “–the…”
“The hem,” Marinette provided, relief unclenching her shoulders as she took the fistful of cloth Bridgette had gathered and unfolded it out.
“That.” She nodded, dropping her hands on her lap. “Put shells on that and seaweed all over the skirt!”
“I could use your green ribbons, you don’t want your dress smelling like seaweed.”
Bridgette eyed the ceiling contemplatively.
“Brie…”
“Fiiiiiinnnnneeeee,” she groaned. “You–” She pointed an accusing finger at Marinette. “–don’t want me smelling like seaweed.”
Marinette laughed and pushed Bridgette to the bed by the forehead, ruffling her fingers on her sister’s fringes, then turned to the dress. “Just let me finish this,” she said, holding out what’d be scraps of the blue fabric that’d now make for cat ears. “Then you can help me make the corals for your sea dress.”
Bridgette perked up, bouncing till she was sat upright, then leaned her side on Marinette’s, legs rocking as she observed the silver needle raveling a pink thread over the blue seams.
On the crown of Marinette’s head, Mullo had her tail curled over the hair tie keeping the bun she took cover in up, nose buried under the woman’s bangs as she too turned her eyes from the little girl subtly clenching her fist in victory over her chest as she hugged the older woman’s arm, and settled her gaze on the swift movements of the needle through the dress seams.
~🐭~
When Mullo found the first piece of cheddar on the counter, she had assumed it had simply been forgotten there by Marinette. But the Parmesan plate seemed very intentionally placed in front of the door covered in glittering stickers.
Bridgette’s gray eyes—dimmer from the nighttime and brighter from her ecstasy—peeked through the door’s breach, smiling crinkles creasing their edges as she gazed at the small mouse sniffing at the Parmesan. Mullo waved at her and took the food to a crane on the ceiling.
It had been when Marinette was tending to the garden outside and Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir was playing on the TV inside that Mullo perched on the couch’s armrest, close to where Bridgette sat with her plushies of the two heroes squeezed to her chest. She spared Mullo a single glance before turning back to the TV in time to shout “Lucky Charm!” with Ladybug, then set off to retell the show’s story from the very beginning—featuring reenacts with her dolls—since Mullo wasn’t there for the first two seasons.
~🐭~
“OK…” Marinette breathed, grasping the door handle. “No distractions this time–” She shot Mullo a side-glance, who looked away innocently. “So no reason to just not– do this thing.”
“What thing?” Mullo asked, hovering over Marinette’s head as she stepped into her parents’ bedroom.
“The jewels.” She gestured tiredly at the jewelry box still toppled on the floor from their first encounter, a hand massaging her temple. “I was going to gather them up to sell them at the market, but a small mouse decided to cause a mess around here.”
“I did? Where? Did I break anything and didn’t notice? I can try doing the glowing thing again if–”
“Mullo, I’m joking.” Marinette chuckled, kneeling by the jewels scattered over the floor. “If anything, you’re the most clean mouse I ever saw.”
“O-oh.” Mullo drew up her paws, dipping her head in them as pink tinted under her silver fur. “Thank you, Marinette. You’re very kind.”
“Oh wow.” Marinette’s grin felt strained on her face as she picked up rings and bracelets in a fist to put them in a pouch. “Saying you’re clean compared to other mice is really that much of a compliment to you, Mullo?”
“Well, Plagg still calls me a dirty little mouse even though I haven’t–” Mullo trailed off, small blemishes left by the eraser flashing over her eyes. “Oh, I…” She looked over her paws and chest, silver fur glittering as if undercoated with the moonlight. “I guess I won’t be called that anymore, actually.”
There was silence. Usually, these kinds of silences are the ones that amplify Mullo’s thoughts and rattle them over her mind’s bars, but the little mouse was too lost in the emptiness in another part of her being to notice the emptiness of the sound in the room.
Once she did, though, thoughts immediately rattled and jittered her form, coiling in itself, as she plastered on a smile to Marinette, who frowned at her. “Good on me, huh?” She forced out a chuckle.
“Mullo–”
“Hm?” Mullo perked her head up and snapped it around, searching the ceiling and walls for a shapeless sound. “What was that?”
“What? Mullo!” Marinette reached up for the kwami zooming away. “Hey–!” Her fingers clenched, then she let her arm fall, sighing, and turned back to the now empty-of-jewels floor. She tucked her mother’s jewelry under her elbow, standing up, as she attempted to mentally weigh the jewels in the beige pouch balanced on her palm and upper arm.
As for Mullo, while her escapade to search for shapeless sounds was, indeed, an excuse to get out of the awkward situation, the sound was also indeed soared through the fairy’s being. She heard it in her core, but couldn’t pinpoint its speaker. A starting note, the Dawn of a new song, one she was too far to sight it with her eyes, but not far enough not to notice it. Never far enough not to notice it.
~🐭~
The song shimmered with the sunlight as two sisters walked over the cobblestone paths to the commercial center. It swept over Marinette’s hair and the fabric of the shirt, disturbing her as much as the breeze caressing her face; it sprang through Bridgette’s wide hops with gusto, breaking out of her lips in syllabus without meaning as it meandered through a chorus few could hear; and the mouse, the smallest of the trio, could hear, feel, and almost see it in the sunrays.
Marinette laughed at her sister’s jumps and wide hand movements, playfully pulling at her wrist and spinning her in place. Bridgette sang louder at each cheer and whoop from familiar and unfamiliar faces alike in the market’s crowd, blowing kisses and bowing to her audience. And the mouse twitched restlessly in the nest she made out of Marinette’s hair as she searched for a shape to this song.
“Mullo,” Marinette whispered for only the fairy in her hair to hear, covering her mouth from the shopkeeper attending to the customer on the other side of the stall, “hide in my purse if the crowd’s too much, you’re going to attract attention like this.”
“It’s just–” Mullo turned her muzzle this way and that, tipping it up and down. “There’s something in the air, I– I think it’s the others?”
“What?” Marinette coughed over her almost outburst, smiling dismissively at the shopkeeper that had just turned to her and handed them the jewel’s pouch. Once they were preoccupied again, she turned her face away to whisper to Mullo, “You said no magical problems to solve!”
“There isn’t.” Mullo’s fur bristled, pricked by a foul racket thrashing through the air. She shook her head and tuned her whiskers to the warm ode threading the blossoms in the cobblestones. “This one’s a friend.”
“This one?”
“Marinette!” Small hands clasped around Marinette’s wrist. “Junior saw a dragon! Can we go see it?”
“Dragon?” Mullo murmured, attention snapped to where Bridgette was attempting to drag Marinette to, the foul racket overloading Mullo’s senses.
“I don’t know if we have time,” Marinette told Bridgette, squeezing her hand, then turned to the shopkeeper. They didn’t have any space in stock to buy new jewels, but they all were in good form and there was always some willing buyer around during rush hours.
Something’s wrong, Mullo thought, and considered saying it, as the racket kept buzzing in the air. A scent that versed almost in the same rhyme as the threads in her core, but with an insidious echo just nudging it out of her grasp.
“Something’s wrong…” she finally said out loud. “Marinette?” She slid to the woman’s shoulder to speak in her ear. “If– If there’s some magical problem to solve would you please wield the Miraculous?”
“Excuse me?” Marinette hissed, rummaging through the jewelry pouch as she walked through a quieter corner of the market.
“P-please? You’d be so good as the Mouse! And I don’t know where the others–” A song. Versing right along with Mullo’s threads. “This one’s a friend!”
Marinette squawked, swinging her pouch over the silver blur zipping out. At that moment, a man seemed to have materialized in front of her and had his skull connected to the pouch full of jewelry, sending him plummeting straight to the ground.
“Oh my gosh! Sir?” She gave the offending pouch to Bridgette and crouched next to the blond sprawled like a fallen scarecrow on the ground. “I’m so sorry, are you alright?” She snapped her fingers in his face as he dazedly opened his eyes and flicked them around. “Can you hear me?”
“Marinette, you killed a man,” Bridgette said as she cradled the pouch in her arms, earning herself a flick to the forehead with the affronted, “I didn’t kill anyone!” from her sister.
As Marinette assured the not-quite-conscious man that he wasn’t dead and she wasn’t the angel that came to take his soul—“Too bad… Heaven seems pleasant enough and the angels there are quite lovely.” “Please, spare me the pick-up lines. Think you can walk?”—Mullo slipped out of the pouch sliding out of Bridgette’s small arms, whiskers attuned to the song that she found the shape of.
But as much as she wanted to focus on the single red comb over what was visible from the Rooster fairy’s head gleefully peeking at his holder’s interaction with the sisters, the foul racket was closer than ever, and no amount of shaking would unstick it from her fur.
“Something’s wrong.”
Before Marinette could process the small mouse tugging one of her ribbon ties, the racket arrived. A foul and insidious perfume broke through the air with heavy wings that could barely hold its twisted body in the air, screeches that tore at eardrums and hauled terrified screams out of the bystanders.
Within the creature’s head, the rumbles and crumbles caused around it, caused by it, were nothing more than thin veils hanging from the doorway to its objective. It couldn’t see the colorful hues it smudged, and the clamor it inflicted was trivial in the face of the sweet smell it detected in here. It couldn’t see the frightened glow in the little girl’s eyes as it pounced in her direction, and the cries for help and for it to go away were trivial—for its objective was within maw’s reach.
~🐭~
“Mullo… how do I save Bridgette?”
“You– with the Mouse Miraculous–” Mullo squeezed her eyes shut, thankful that Marinette wasn’t looking at her, and searched deep within the Twilight in her, and the Twilight connected to the other phases and provided her with the ink to continue her story. “–you’ll have the might and magic to fight misuses of the Miracle Court. This–” She glanced at the murky back of the chokingly strong perfume grown by the Daylight. “–is the Bee’s doing. You might– We should– We will be able to defeat it.”
“I see,” Marinette murmured, and with a deep breath turned to Mullo; Mouse Miraculous gripped tightly in her fist and face set firmly in determination. “OK… I’ll wield the Mouse Miraculous.”
As Mullo’s form glowed and faded into twinkling stars, trailing to the coin in the Mouse holder’s hand, a small, “Thank you,” drifted through the air as gently as the Twilight threads embracing Marinette’s entire frame, covering her torso in silver plates over a black undergarment and slipping pink boots and gloves over her limbs. Her eyes were covered by a helmet visor attached to the sides of her head by large, circular, clasps, pink ribbons swaying behind her with the cape draped over her left shoulder and fixed under her right shoulder plate.
There was tenseness in the way Marinette gripped the needle-sword’s handle that materialized in her hand, but there wasn’t time for doubt and second-guesses; not with Bridgette screaming in the distance and the roar of other monsters crashing into the market filling her senses. And so, the Mouse accepted her role as the protagonist of this tale, and took a stance next to the Rooster that too had just been embraced by the Dawn of a new song.
With a deep breath, the mouse knight—soon to be assigned Madamouselle—brandished her needle and took off against the monsters endengering her sister and Paris.
