Chapter Text
“You can get revenge.”
The whisper wasn’t from anyone around, that’s for sure. It came from too close. Like two devils on both of Montgomery’s soldiers, whispering in sync. Well, not half as breathy as a whisper. It was more like someone’s voice had the volume turned way down.
They knew something was wrong. No one else was here in their apartment.
“Your work would become beloved and renowned for generations.”
“Huh--?”
That was the dream wasn’t it? To be read and understood? And most of all to be loved? It was a nice promise, and for a moment, Montgomery believed it. There was a warm feeling behind their eyes that had been growing since the devils started talking. It was starting to give them a headache.
“They will forever regret rejecting your work-- the work of the famous Novella!”
“That’s… not my name,” Montgomery choked out. It was hard to tell if it was just from crying earlier, or if this voice really was making their throat itch. It was starting to get uncomfortably warm under their skin. Why was it getting hard to speak? To think at all? The air felt heavy and still even as the room distorted around them. Monty grabbed desperately at their head, just to make sure it was still attached to the rest of them.
And then there was the voice.
It was the only clear thing as everything started to get confusing. It cut through everything, gentle and reassuring, and of course, promising everything they ever wanted. And Monty might’ve believed it if they didn’t have such a visceral distrust of old French men. They could hear in his voice that he came from old money. He probably lived on top of Paris, Monty thought, just so he could shit on everyone below him.
“I will give you the power to rewrite your story,” it said. “And I, Hawkmoth, will only ask for one thing in return. Ladyb--”
“No,” Montogomery choked.
The chaos wavered for a moment. There was a flicker of normalcy as the voice faltered. They realized what was happening-- it had been on the news earlier, hadn’t it? People all over Paris talking about the weird things that happened, about what it was like to be the monster.
“Oh don’t be afraid. I only want to help you! I hate to see all these limits put on art. Take my power, I will help you, if you help me--”
“I said no. ”
Montgomery summoned anger to aid their strength, but it was draining to fear. They didn’t want to be a monster. It didn’t matter how angry they were with the publisher-- they weren’t about to tear the city apart for revenge. It shouldn’t matter that there were no lasting consequences or legal repercussions-- because Monty didn’t want to be mean. And they certainly didn’t want to do some rich guy’s dirty work.
“It doesn’t matter what you want,” the voice said. It was louder. Stronger. More pressure against the side of their head. “You’ll get me my Miraculouses, one way or another.”