Chapter Text
Snow fluttered to the ground like moths swarming to a light. It spiraled and spun and floated before repeating again and again before gathering on the cobbled roads of Paris.
It was four days before Christmas. Streets were full of cheer, children ran past market stalls with streamers and sparklers; their parents watching with glee. Tinsel lined the gutters, decorated with bells, baubles and little toy trinkets.
“Hey!” A woman shrieked as two street urchins ran into her, causing her to drop her bag into a snow drift. The sparkler scorched the pink faux-leather turning it into an ugly brown patch. The childish laughter turned into echoing silences as all eyes were drawn towards the entrance of the alley.
The lady wore a pristine light pink overcoat that matched her bag. She had dark hair woven tightly into a bun, her fringe gently resting just below her eyebrows. Her eyebrows scrunched as she dusted off her bag, the scorch remaining a permanent fixture on her bag no matter how hard she rubbed it. She scoffed before glaring at the two frozen children.
The girl had red hair in two scraggly braids and wore a dress made of rags; Marinette’s lips pursed at the sight of her. The boy was only a little bit better than his female companion. He had a beanie covering his greasy brown hair and an oversized coat fit for an adult, which he was almost a decade away from becoming. He looked significantly warmer than the girl although the shoes he sported were falling apart at the seams.
Her bag opened with a snap. She plucked two business cards out of it before handing them to the children. “As restitution for your vandalism, come to this address at dawn. I’ll give you some errands to run.” She turned on her heel and continued her trek down Main Street, looking at the time on her white gold watch.
She was late enough already.
“Would you consider donating, Mister? Oh! How about you young man? Thank you and merry Christmas!” The fundraiser went up to everyone who walked past their corner.
Marinette crossed the street.
“Charity! Donations for charity! Every penny counts! What about you Miss?” Marinette jumped, the little old lady appeared right next to her. She had wispy white hair and big, pleading brown eyes. “It goes toward getting children in the slums blankets and new clothes.”
Marinette checked her watch. 8:02. She’s late.
“Sorry, I don’t have time. I’m already late.” She pushed past the lady and continued on her path.
“Tsk. Scrooge!” The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The nerve.
She was late enough already.
No.
They had made her late enough already.
A shadow covered her as her destination grew closer. The buildings she walked by were shabby and falling apart, just like the people who worked there. But her business stood out among the riffraff. It had three stories and a basement. The first and part of the second floor were open to the public to buy her garments. The third floor was for tailoring, administration and her living quarters. The basement was just for storage and shipments, it was quite dingy and creepy so she didn’t go there often.
A bell rang as she entered through the glass door. “Hello Miss Marinette.” Her clerk said with a nervous smile Marinette gave her a nod of acknowledgment and threw her scorched bag to the girl before ascending the steps up towards her office.
The glorious sound of sewing machines filled her ears, their whirling and clicks made her feel right at home.
Three employees rushed up to her, talking over each other. She pinched the bridge of her nose, a headache was starting to form. She held up her other hand to silence these annoying employees.
“What?” She barked, pointing at the one on the far left.
He was tall but skinny. With flaming red hair tied into a man bun and a pencil stuck behind his ear. His eyes widened, obviously he wasn’t expecting to be called upon first.
“Ugh—” he fumbled with his clipboard, dropping papers containing
“Red is in at the moment. The colours Garnet, Ruby and Apple are the most popular amongst them, along with Stone blue, Hazelnut, Cinnamon and Pine.” He picked up some dress and jacket designs from the floor. He passed them to Marinette with shaking hands, she shifted through the pages, sorting them into yes and no. She pushed the yes’s into his chest before turning to the next employee.
Sabrina looked down at her clipboard, flicking through multiple schedules and documents before looking up at Marinette. “The Winter Collection showcase went well. Mister Stone wearing Marinette’s has been a hit. The models have been scouted for the New Years collection and we are just waiting on the final touches on the collection.”
Marinette raised an eyebrow, silently asking ‘anything else?’
Sabrina shook her head. Seems it was just a report today.
“Next.”
The last employee on the right had brown hair that became lighter at the tips. Thick rimmed glasses framed her eyes and a mole that sat on her forehead.
“Sales are up 15% due to the holidays but several workers are complaining about working on Friday.” She paused, pursing her lips. “So,” she looked down, clenching her fists. “I believe it’s a good idea to let them have Friday off to, you know, build morale?”
“Why wouldn’t they want to work on Friday?”
The three of them flinched, other workers slowed down, looking over to see what was going down. The three before her looked at each other, who would be the sacrifice?
Alya stepped forward. “Friday is Christmas Ma’am.”
“Many other businesses are closing so people can celebrate with their loved ones.” Nathaniel shyly remarked, eyes locked on the floor.
Marinette gazed at Sabrina, waiting for her reply. She squeaked when she noticed her boss’ stare, her clipboard clattering to the ground.
“I thought that people in this economy would want the extra hours.” She sighed, turning around and slamming the door to her office.
Hours flew by as she went over her sketchbooks, her hand stained black from the residue of her charcoal pencil. She looked out her window; snow fluttered down from the sunset sky. Her stomach rumbled since she had forgotten her lunch.
A soft knock rattled the dark wood door. Marinette called for them to come in. Jason stepped through the doorway, his usual messy appearance as cleaner than what she was used to. He was an old friend who fell on hard times and she just so happened to need a laborer.
Her lips quirked up. “Such a soft knock doesn’t fit a guy like you, I almost didn’t hear it.”
He took the wood in his arms over to the fireplace, he smiled over at her as he knelt down. “If I ‘ad knocked louder like the others you would’ve yelled at me.”
She contemplated what he said. When she was deep into her work, she hated being disturbed.
“You learn quickly.”
“I’d hope I ‘ad learned somethin’ afta bein’ here for two years!” He chuckled as he stacked the logs.
Knock Knock Knock
“What!” Marinette called out, ignoring Jason’s smug smile.
Chloe, a celebrity model, burst through the door. Her face was flushed up to her hairline. “What’s this about us working on Christmas?” She yelled, slamming her hands down on the desk.
“The models won’t be called upon until tailoring is finished with the garments. Any time that workers want off will need to be made up later.”
“Sabrina and I will be in London on Christmas Eve!”
Marinette looked down at her documents, trying to disengage this volatile conversation. “Then she’ll need to make up the lost hours later, so will you if you’re called upon for rehearsals.”
“You Scrooge! You’re not going to ruin this holiday for me!”
The bluenette flinched; her body reacted before her mind could catch up. “Out.” Chloe sputtered, Jason was quickly stepping towards the two of them. “Get out Chloe.”
“It’s best if you leave Miss Bourgeois.”
“Your services are no longer required here.” Jason & Chloe flinch as they reached the door. Jason turned to face his boss.
“Mari—“
Chloe cut him off, her actions speaking louder than words. She ran back to the desk, sweeping everything off of it onto the floor. The office was silent. No sounds of machines whirring, no footsteps, no quiet chatter. Marinette was sure they had overheard everything Chloe had said. Some brave souls even stood by the door, the blonde pushed past them as she ran out.
Jason hesitated, not knowing what he should do first. He swiftly walked towards the door, shutting it before helping pick stuff off of the floor. Marinette coffee had spilled and the mug shattered. She gasped as the broken porcelain sliced her finger.
Jason silently slid over the moment he heard her cry. He pressed his shirt to her wound, it was the cleanest fabric in his grasp. He didn’t even want to risk his life by using one of her fabric samples.
Marinette watched in hollow horror as the red grew larger and larger. Jason slid off his checkered vest and pulled his tunic over his head, further pressing it against her hand.
“I’ll go get some bandages, should I get a doc?”
Marinette, who was still in a haze, shook her head. He walked back in and knelt down beside her once more. He examined her hand; the blood had mostly stopped flowing, flakes of red floated to the floor.
She felt his shivering breath against her cold skin. Her eyes kept flickering down to his naked torso. Her cheeks flush, her employees must be gossiping like wildfires about this. ‘Maybe I should make this his new uniform,’ she thought before wincing, her eyebrows scrunching.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
He finished wrapping up her finger and flashed her a cheeky smile. “That’s good boss!” He chirped.
Her heart skipped a beat before hardening. ‘I don’t have time to act like a fool, they had disrupted her work.’
She picked herself up off of the floor and straightened up. She flinched when her finger tensed. “If you’re done with your work then get out. I have work to finish.”
He picked himself up, placed the papers he gathered on his desk and pulled his vest over his bare skin; holding his bloodied shirt in his hands. He left, closing the office door gently, bidding her a good night.
———————————————
She didn’t finish her work until late that night. The sandwich she forced down felt heavy in her stomach as she laid down in bed; pulling her sleeping mask over her eyes. Flinching again as she had forgotten her wound.
Knock. . .
Knock. . .
Knock. . .
Marinette sighed and rubbed her face. “Mmmm Plagg. . .” She groggily groaned. She sleepily wondered what her troublesome cat was running into this late at night. He was a stray that she grew fond of but you can take a cat out of the streets but you cannot take the streets out of the cat.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Plagg,” She hissed. “Come here.” She patted the space next to her in bed. Her wound made itself know again.She was irritated as she knew she wasn't getting much sleep in the first place due to her insomnia and now this would make her next day at work miserable.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
"Plagg! She yelled, swiping her eye mask off of her face. Plagg looked up at her from his spot on the nightstand. Her eyebrows scrunched as she looked around the room; everything looked normal except for the fact that her door was now open.
A cold sweat ran down her back. Plagg can't open doors, she didn't open it; so who did? She grabbed the brass candlestick and slowly slipped out of her cotten peach sheets. The floorboards creaked under her tiptoes.
Her bed had drawers below it so she knew that was safe so she edged closer to the walk in wardrobe. The candlestick was held over her shoulder with her arms tensed, ready to swing at the intruder.
She opened her wardrobe, her room was still shrouded in darkness so her eyes squinted to peer inside. A moth flew out and she pelted it with the candlestick.
More erupted from the closet. Greyish purple in colour with silver veins running along its body before converging on its head; it looked like a helmet. She had never seen anything like it. Her mentor used to collect all types of bugs and pin them up in picture frames. He especially liked the butterflies and moths, each one of them is burned into her memory.
As the moths swarmed the window shutters and doors fluttered and slammed. They spun and spiralled until they formed a tall human shape. It reached out towards her and she swung again, but this time, the moths parted around the candlestick.
"Good swing but not good enough." The Mothman spoke and stressed its last three words; they hissed through its teeth on their now humanised face. The back of its pointer finger brushed against her cheek before gently lifting up her chin.
It was the face of her deceased mentor. "Gabriel?“ she gasped, taking a step back and raising her forearm as a shield. She pinched herself. Still there. Pinched again. Still there.
His skin was purple like the moth’s wings and occasionally fluttered if he made a sudden movement. His eyes are grey and hair is white, just like how he was when he was alive.
“This is why Papa didn’t want me to drink coffee."
“My dear, coffee didn’t cause this, you did.” He leaned down, their noses barley two inches apart, his cheeks fluttered. The chains clanked as he moved. She only just noticed it now but, in juxtaposition with his freely moving moth form, he had dozens upon dozens of chains tying him down.
They clanked and clicked as he raised his arm, pointing at the lady in her frilly pink nightgown. Bugs exploded from his tailored suit sleeve, they swarmed towards her and picked her up into the air, bringing her back to him.
“Listen well Marinette.” His grey eyes flashed lilac as he uttered her name. “This is no illusion. These chains—” he gestured to his body. “—are not a mere fashion statement. I earned these through my greed, anger and wrath.”
“You told me—”
“I know.”
“—that I needed to be greedy and angry—”
“I know!”
She continued to ignore his words “—and selfish—” she spat, “—to survive in this ‘cutthroat industry’, that it didn’t matter how many people I stepped on if it meant I could climb my way to the top.” She seethed, her words hissing through her teeth.
“I WAS WRONG!” Gabriel bellowed, glass shattering from the windows, mirrors and ornaments.
The moths that held her up, dropped her onto the hard wooden floor. He flung his boney hand towards her. A sharp, clawed fingernail was millimeters from her nose. His chains clattered loudly as he spun. His floating figure towered over her.
“You will soon be like me. Brilliant but alone. I’ve made these chains; link by link; yard by yard. And these moths have eaten every shred of money I thought I had left.”
She opened her mouth but he cut her off.
He crouched down in front of her, his fluttering face had such an uncanny valley that made bile rise up in her throat.
“It’s too late for me. If I was given another chance I don’t think I would’ve taken it.” He paused, pursing his lips, his eyes looked downward. “Heed this warning my protege,” His voice was soft now, regret evident in his eyes, “you have the time and the ability to reverse what I did to you. And what you’re doing to yourself.”
Moths brushed against her skin again. She looked down at them as they picked her up and placed her on the edge of her bed. Her sore backside appreciated them greatly.
“I’ve pulled some strings—”
Her hollow chuckle filled the room. “You even have connections in the underworld.”
“They prefer ‘The Afterlife’.”
“Who?” Marinette’s eyebrows raised in curiosity. ‘This can’t actually be really right?’ She wasn't sure why she was still entertaining the notion that this was reality. She tensed her hand. It hurt.
“My friends on the other side. The three of them are willing to help you along this journey. One will visit you each night leading up to Christmas.”
DING DING
“My time is up—” DING “—midnight is here. I—” DING DING “—must go.”
The moths swarmed, spiralling around the room. Only his head and upper torso remained within the eye of this bugnado.
DING DING
“Remember! You are capable of changing my protege.”
DING
SLAM
Her window was forced open, curtains blew out like arms embracing the moths as they exited outside. She sat on her bed in the same position that he left her, just looking out the window.
DING DING DING DING
When morning came; her eye mask was strewn across the bed, sheets were crinkled and messy, her window was still open and the door was ajar. What a crazy night she had. Because it was a dream, right?
She flinched as something fluttered towards her. A moth was hitting itself against the wall opposite her window, trying to follow the light.