Chapter Text
“What do you mean homeschooled!?” Chloé almost roared after she had come to terms with the fact that she had been unconscious for two months from her little foray into winter. And as if losing that much time wasn't bad enough, her father had just dropped THAT particular bomb on her. “Homeschool is for those who can't make it in normal school, and i dont fail at anything!”
“Darling,” Her Papa started, making her wince. his tone was…. not soft. “You have been in a coma for two months. you will be in a wheelchair at least that long as you work yourself back to walking, and even then you would either need a cane or crutches until you were back to full strength. You worked yourself to exhaustion from your school work and stress, and apparently haven't even been treated well while you were there. So forgive me for not bowing to your whims this time.” he said, voice sterner then she had heard it in quite a while.
“But- but what about mother? she can't be happy with me spending even more time at home.” She said, barely catching her father’s wince before wincing herself. Wow… When had home shifted from her father’s actual house, to her penthouse? the fact she was just noticing this in that light couldnt be a good thing either.
“Your mother… isn't taking this very well. While we are still in love, she thought it best to… return to america. At least for a few months. She needs to take care of her business, after all.” He finally said, and deep inside Chloé’s chest, she felt something break.
At her weakest moment, at her lowest point, her mother had left her. Again.
She hated how she couldn't even reach up to wipe the tears that started falling at that without strain.
“Chlo, it's fine. I’ll come over every day, I promise.” Adrien said, earning a scowl from his sister figure before a small smile spread across her face.
“... Thank you, Adrien. But you had better not let your grades slip! i didn't put all that effort into getting you into that school only for you to fail now that i'm not there.” She shot back, earning a smile from Adrien as she turned to Jean.
Jean, who she had saw die. Jean, who she had thought might not come back.
Jean, who was right here in front of her as she laid back, openly crying in relief at seeing him as he smiled, gently patting the girl’s head as her sobs wracked her body.
“There, there, mademoiselle. I'm fine. Though I was worried you wouldn't be. Never do that to me again, do you hear me? I nearly had a heart attack when you simply fell on your face like that.” The head butler, her personal caretaker, said sternly, earning a sniffling nod as her eyes fluttered.
“Go to sleep, sweetheart.” Her papa said soothingly, nodding to Jean as she felt his much larger hand rubbing her head. “I swear to you that you’ll be back home by the time you wake up.
She hoped he was telling the truth… she hated hospitals…
That was the last thought Chloé had before sleep reclaimed her, and she felt exhaustion pull her past dreams, and into the dark.
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“I swear to you, Bullot, that if you laugh at me like this I will end you.” Chloé hissed, mortified as she awoke to see her two Kwamii out in the open, and looking down at herself in shock and a bit of shame.
she was back in her room. Even if it had changed a bit, it was still her room.
It was her own state that embarrassed her.
She felt pads, washable and obviously meant for an older person, sitting under her lower half. she felt something… uncomfortable, resting there too. like overly thick panties.
It was mortifying.
“Please tell me one of the Kwami in the box can do something about this.” She almost begged, looking at the two.
She expected Bullot’s dark look. He was surly in general, and was even worse when she brought up using other Kwamii.
Artemisia's was an entirely different story.
“No, no, and again i say no! you will not use another Kwami for at least a week! not even us!” the dodo proclaimed harshly. “You barely just came out of a coma, and you're already looking to use another Kwamii?! no! you will rest, you will recover, and then, and ONLY THEN! will we consider that!” The fuzzy goddess lectured, earning a grimace from Chloé as she looked to Bullot for some kind of support. Any kind.
The dark look and slow shake of the head she got were all the answers she needed.
“Both of you are being unfair. I can't so much as pick up a miraculous? can i at least touch the new box?” Chloé asked, looking at the intricate black art piece sitting next to her bed. A Gift for when she could reach it. a goal. She could feel the magic pouring off it in waves too.
“If you so much as lay a finger on that box before you’ve recovered, i will personally put you to sleep myself, and make sure you wont wake up til your recovered, even if i have to move your limbs myself!” Artemista hissed, sounding like an angry raven with the sound as the blonde reared back, eyes wide.
Artemisia's normally neutral face was missing. Instead, there was a frown, with two red eyes staring down at her in anger, the depths of them filled with the emotion reflected in protective instinct.
That was scarier than anything Bullot had done to date, so Chloé just sat back and looked at her setup. Her phone, a laptop, a headset with a microphone in case she wanted to use text to speech, and another swing out tray under it that would hold her food whenever it was delivered.
“so. when does my first ration of soup and water come in?” The annoyed teenager asked, knowing full well what would be coming to greet her stomach with some of the shows she had watched. Despite her hatred for the dish itself, she knew it would be one of the VERY few things she could eat for quite a while. Still, even as the thought of soup made her frown, she could FEEL her stomach growl in anticipation as she sighed, not noticing the two Kwami looking at each other.
“I’ll go look.” Bullot said simply, floating into the air and taking off, making sure to stay well above all the heads below him as he went searching for his mistress’s meal.
Leaving Chloé looking at an angry Artemista, watching her like a hawk as she sighed, and leaned back.
This was going to be a long few weeks…
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What Bullot and Artemista didn't know, was that the black box, the box many had said would end the world if it ever woke up, was already very active. Two months ago it felt a magic brush against it, sink into it, worm through its defences. That had put every Kwami in the box on high alert, looking for that tantalizing taste of freedom.
The magic was bittersweet, like honeydew honey. Sweet enough to tingle the tongue, but bitter enough to catch attention. A soul ripe for the tempting. Someone who could free them.
It didn't matter how the flavors changed. How it became spicy, sweeter, or even chilled. It was still that same bitter honey underneath that they wanted.
That delicious magic spoke of hardship, abandonment, anger and fear. of despair, tinged with crushed hopes. The recent surge of joy was just the icing on the cake.
They didn't want the magic that stunk of sweet shugars, stained with acrid worry and stress.
They didn't want the stinking magic of cheese and destruction, who had come close as they had pulled away, hiding within their depths.
It was this sweetness they craved, that they wanted, that they NEEDED. Magic strong enough to tempt gods above and below, even if it was a mortal.
slowly, the dark tendrils reached, settling into the girl’s shadow as they wove their way to her, gently touching upon her form as she rested, having forced down a meal and exhausted herself in the process. slowly, they reached into her dreams, and waited.
She would come, sooner or later.
In the meantime, these seven would enjoy the bittersweet taste that filled them.