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People were acting weirder than normal. It wasn't that she really cared what the other kids did in school, but they should at least have the decency to be consistent in their lameness. Chloé Bourgeois stared out the window as the limo drove her home. There was no Sabrina to complain to. Her assistant's sudden, 'I want to go home and eat dinner with dad tonight!' outburst had been the catalyst for Chloé's current unhappy musings. It would be a long, lonely, boring evening.
The back of her neck itched suddenly.
Unless… "Jean-Paul! Turn the car around. Take me to mommy's office."
"Mademoiselle?"
"I said turn around. I'm going to visit mommy at work!"
Her driver winced, but turned at the next light. Chloé sat back, arms crossed and pleased with herself. This empty afternoon was the perfect opportunity to show her mother how exceptional she was.
Chloé opened the car door for herself in her haste, and sped out of the limo with Jean’s, “Mademoiselle, wait!” far behind her. She pushed open the doors of the building where her mother worked, and strode into the lobby.
She froze.
Her mother leered down at her, 30’ tall in portrait form. Style Queen hung behind the reception desk; the centerpiece the vast white lobby full of normal sized humans scurrying under her nose. Chloé was now one of those people.
She’d never actually been here before. People moved across the polished floors in packs, all moving with haste like prey forced out into the open. Chloé suddenly felt the absence of Sabrina, of Lila, even of Jean; he’d waited outside. She hurried up to the desk, dodging bodies too preoccupied to look down.
“Excuse me-” she began meekly then cleared her throat. Mommy would not approve of that! “Hey! I’m Chloé Bourgeois! Style Queen is my mom, so where is she?”
A reed-thin man jumped; mommy would approve of that. Then looked down at her from across the desk. “I’m sorry. Madame Bourgeois is not taking appointments right now.”
Reality crawled up Chloé’s back. She knew how to win this fight though. You couldn’t be afraid if you were angry. “She’ll see me. I’m her favorite daughter after all. Just tell me the way up.”
He fidgeted. “Miss, I’m sorry. I can’t disturb her for-”
“You’re useless! Utterly useless! I’ll find it myself!”
She stalked off. The room seemed smaller through a film of red. She found an elevator, and while she got disapproving looks, no one stopped her. She got on and hit the button for the top floor. Where else would her mother be?
Trapped in that small steel box, some of the fight bled back out of her. The floors ticked up one after the other, a countdown in reverse. By the time the elevator dinged and opened into a sterile front office, Chloé’s step was cautious again. Her flats sank into the plush rug, extravagance sucking at her like thick mud, draining her further. Here was a woman, every bit as thin as the man below. She moved with quick bird-like motions, and her eyes never once remained still.
“Excuse me miss, you seem lost,” came the shrill greeting.
“I’m not.” Chloé raised her head up. “I’m here to see my mother.”
Rapid blinking, “Oh, I am sorry miss. I was unaware that Style Queen had any daughters in Paris. She uh- is busy at the moment. I could call her husband if you need something.”
Chloé folded her arms, but didn’t dare cant her hips. If she lost balance and fell on this carpeting she might drown. “No. I want to see mommy. Tell her I’m here. She’ll let me in.”
The woman’s hand moved to a spot on her desk. An intercom with two buttons. Her fingers almost touched one before she snatched her hand back. “I- No miss. Style Queen gave instructions. She is in a meeting. I am not to disturb her for any reason.”
“Ugh!” Chloé threw up her hands and stalked recklessly across the wide expanse of the front office. She grabbed hold of the doors with the woman’s protests ringing in her ears and yanked.
*Rattle rattle* The sound was swallowed up by the carpet but still felt treacherously loud in Chloé’s ears. Locked.
She looked back to yell at the useless woman and was greeted by such wide-eyed terror that the words died on her tongue. Standing now, one arm outstretched toward Chloé, the woman looked like an unstable Eiffel tower, all struts and beams. Her eyes darted to the door behind Chloé, and some of the woman’s terror seeped into Chloé’s belly.
They shared a squeak between them when the intercom flawed to life. “Bedilia! What is the meaning of that racket?”
Bedilia touched one of the two buttons, her voice cracking. “I’m sorry, Ms. Bourgeois. Your daughter is out here, asking to see you.”
Her hand went to the other button, but didn’t press it. The speaker came to life. “Daughter? Oh right. How did they get this address? I want someone fired , you hear me Bedilia?”
First button again. “Yes, Ms. Bourgeois. Shall I…”
“Shall you what? Speak up!”
Bedilia glanced at Chloé, who remembered only now to breathe. “Shall I send your daughter in?”
“Oh. No of course not! I’m far too busy right now. Send her away.”
Bedilia looked away. “Yes, Ms. Bourgeois.”
“Oh, and Bedilia?”
“Yes, Ms. Bourgeois?”
“You’re fired too. Have them send up a replacement when you turn in your key.”
Bedilia swallowed, then slumped. “Yes, Ms. Bourgeois.”
She took her hand off the button and raised a hollow-eyed gaze to Chloé. Chloé expected anger and recrimination, but instead there was only a mix of resignation and… sorrow? The sadness started to mix with something already inside of Chloé. Something kept buried deep. She was distracted though, when Bedilia smoothed down the blazer she wore, unbuttoned two buttons to let it hang more freely, then pulled her hair out of the severe bun it had been in. The act transformed the woman. Ten years fell away, and a skeletal appearance seemed to take on the tint of life once more.
“I’d show you out, but I don’t work here anymore. Good luck.”
With that Bedilia strode to the elevator, disappearing behind those steel doors without looking back. The last expression Chloé had seen had been a smile. Happiness, it dropped in on top of the brew already bubbling and pain came with it. Chloé fought it the only way she knew how. She got madder.
She lunged the few steps back to the intercom. She slammed the second button with her fist and *ka-click* sounded from the doors behind her. Chloé turned, trying to outpace her own stomach, and burst through the doors into her mother’s office.
Twenty meters of red carpet on black marble painted a line up to her mother’s desk. Art deco sculptures of the human physique in deified poses lined the walk. At the far end stood a desk larger than most people’s beds. The high backed chair at the desk was swiveled away to face a massive TV hung on the far wall of the office. The only thing Chloé could see of her mother was one arm sticking out to the side, wineglass cradled in her palm. On the TV was Runway Blitz , a fashion show Chloé watched religiously; religiously enough to know it was in reruns only right now.
The fire in Chloé went out as if doused. She stopped, then advanced one step at a time as if expecting an ambush. “Mom?”
The image froze on the screen and the chair swiveled slowly. Audrey raised the wineglass to her lips before looking down the length of the room at Chloé. “Clarinette. Who let you in?”
Chloé advanced slowly, “I came to see you mom. I came to watch you work. I want you to see how much I can do. I’ve been following fashion since before I could even walk. I can do so much more for you than any of these ridiculous people.”
“ You? ” the word dripped with disbelief. Her mother took another languid sip of her drink. “You’re a decade too early to be even remotely interesting, Carrie. Go home.”
Chloé winced. She was Bedilia in miniature as her shoulders slumped. Then an itch pricked the back of her neck. Chloé advanced again, her pace quickening. Her eyes locked with her mother’s. “You said you were busy. You said it was a meeting.”
It was her mother’s turn to turn aside. Audrey set her glass down quickly and stood. “Yes, I uh- am. Meeting. I have a meeting I must be at. I was simply preparing. I will be on my way now, so go home and play with your sister or whatever it is you do.”
Chloé’s advance stalled. Her mother’s long-legged stride ate up the distance between them, and Chloé had to turn and hustle not to be left behind. “Wait! No- look. I- I can-”
Her mind was blank, and into that blankness a single thought. Chloé dug into her purse frantically, leaving a trail of discarded cosmetics and sundries. She found it at the bottom, folded up, having waited so long for the right occasion, ever since her mother had returned. Chloé snatched it out and unfolded it, thrusting it at her mother.
“Look! Look what I can do! I did this! I did it myself! I followed all your rules. I picked only the best and I improved on them, see?”
Audrey stopped. They were in the now abandoned front office. She plucked the paper from Chloé with one gloved hand and held it up. It was a collage, a mix of meticulously cut out pictures, notes, and modifications assembled into the perfect outfit. Chloé had spent nights all to herself making it. She hadn’t even let Sabrina help when she asked. This was all Chloé. This was her proof .
Audrey let it flutter to the floor. “It’s Hideous.” She tapped the elevator call. “Stripes went out of fashion this morning . Spots are in. You’re hours behind, Cumberbun, and you expect me to be impressed?”
Chloé's eyes were glued to the paper's descent. It alighted gently, too insubstantial to sink into even this carpeting. A pain like a mix of hunger and a cramp twisted inside of her. Stripes are out . She folded her arms across her middle, hiding new shame. The elevator dinged. The back of her neck burned.
"What is wrong with you?! "
They both stopped cold, neither able to believe the words that had come from Chloé's mouth. Audrey frowned, but Chloé wasn't done. The sparks at her neck prodded the pain in her belly.
"I've done everything, everything I can to be what you want. I've followed all your work. I've learned every one of your tastes. I've copied how you stand, sit, speak, and laugh. The only thing you love in the whole world is yourself so I became you , and it's still not enough? What kind of a poor excuse for a mother are you? I can't do anything else. I don't even know if I can be anything else! I threw it all away, just to be more like you. You still don't care. You're a hole in the shape of a human. You're dishcloth sheets in 500 thread count packaging! You're pee in a perfume bottle. I can't believe I spent my life trying to make you care."
Chloé stomped into the open elevator and stabbed the button for the lobby. As the doors closed she glared at her mother one last time.
"Go back to New York."
She held it together in the elevator. Anger carried her through the lobby. By the time she was in the limo she was teetering. Her 'Take me home, Jean' was thick and wavering. As the car began to move she barely whipped her cardigan off in time. She bawled into it. She bawled, she screamed, she shook, but she kept it muffled into that yellow pillow.
Realization set in when emotion burnt itself out. Dread made its home in the ashes. Chloé lowered her cardigan, searching the air for some clue with eyes still throbbing. What do I do?
A list of impossibilities scrolled in her mind. She knew plenty of things she couldn't do; foolish notions entertained and rejected. Then oww that burning again. Chloé slapped a hand to the back of her neck even as her other hand pulled out her phone and dialed.
Voicemail greeted her.
Chloé swallowed around a lump. "He-hello? Zoé? It's Chloé. I need you. I'm going to be in my room. You don't have to knock."
She hung up, still mostly numb, and her eyes focused on the world outside for the first time.
"Jean, this isn't the way home."
"Akuma attack, mademoiselle. I am taking you home a safe way. It should not be long."
Chloé let her hands fall into her lap and lost herself for the rest of the ride in the passing buildings. Today was happening to someone else.
Home, and no Zoé. Chloé paced the hall between their suites.
Voicemail. “Zoé? I could really use a sister right now.”
Out to her balcony, the fight was distant but sounded intense. Chloé could make out shapes, a giant black silhouette in the distance.
Voicemail. “Wherever you are, I hope you’re somewhere safe. Call me back when you get this.”
Back and forth, back and forth.
Voicemail. “Please call me back. I’m sorry.”
She stared at the distant carnage. A shockwave rocked the city, knocking her down. Fires flared up.
Voicemail. “Zoé, just be okay.”
The fires spread. The battle raged and Paris burned. Chloé called again and again without success. She threw her phone off the balcony in frustration. She rocked while hugging Mr. Cuddly and watched sunset in the daytime. She rubbed her neck, the itch was insistent. She had to see Zoé.
Nothing else mattered.
The sky turned a more familiar red for an instant. Paris was restored. The itch was gone. Chloé stopped mid-rock. The nervousness evaporated from her belly, only for abject terror to swim in its place. What have I done?!
She was up in a flash, her phone… her phone was gone! She dashed in a circle, no where to go but a desperate need to be anywhere else driving her feet. Chloé gripped her head as recent memory played itself out in her mind.
Go back to New York.
Chloé felt sick and seconds later, hunched over her sink, she was sick. Splashing the marble with liquid horror. She staggered back towards the balcony, air. She was suffocating. I can fix it. I can- She won’t- There has to be some way. I can be twice as good, try twice as hard! She’ll see then, It was all-
She sagged against the railing, the world spun around her. She could hear the word ringing in her ears. Unexceptional. UNexceptional. UNEXCEPTIONAL. She held her head again, digging her nails into her own skin to try and chase the ringing rebuke out.
A blur of motion on a nearby rooftop drew her from her fugue. They were gone before she could see them clearly. A hero! An Akuma! It was all an akuma’s doing! It wasn’t me at all! That’s what I can tell her!
Chloé’s head fell back and she laughed madly in relief. She still had a chance. She could turn this around and make her mother understand. A light rain began to fall.
“Chloé?” Zoé’s voice was a small, tender thing.
Chloé rounded on her sister. She could ruin everything! Mother hated Zoé. “Go Away!”
Zoé flinched, but rallied and spoke with concern writ all over her face. “You left me messages…”
Chloé raised her chin. “I did not! Why would I ever call you, unless I needed my shoes cleaned? Ridiculous utterly ridiculous! It was a prank, or an akuma, or an akuma pranking you. Maybe it’s one of your little goodie goodies playing a joke. Go bother them about it.”
Zoé was undeterred. She approached instead of leaving, reaching out with one hand. “Chloé, you sounded scared. I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner.”
Scared? She was. It was back, that toxic blend, swimming in her now empty stomach. She waited for the itch. She waited for the pain at the back of her neck. She waited for that sudden bravery to pick her up and shake her.
It did not. The rain fell harder.
The fear reared up. The fear grabbed her by the throat and-
“Get lost!” Chloé shook, red-faced. “I don’t ever want to see you again! Stay awa-
“PEOPLE OF PARIS!” Shadowmoth’s voice boomed over the city. Both sisters turned toward the giant leering visage in surprise, and a chance slipped forever into the past.