Chapter Text
Marinette woke from what might have been the most restful sleep of her life. Her entire body felt lighter, healthier, and fuller than it ever had, and she felt as if energy was radiating from her. It didn’t even matter to her that she was woken by a chorus of bells, which demanded her attention and action.
Juleka and Rose were already up. Rose was now able to stand and walk about regularly without Juleka holding her chair out behind her with every step. Rose had made a spectacular recovery, and healed more quickly than any of them thought possible. Marinette wanted to credit the salve Rose herself had made, but she knew better, feeling the tiny weight of a magical, healing fairy in her pocket at every moment.
All were comforted by the presence of Tikki. The kwami exuded energy that was contagious, and everyone was in a better mood for it, smiles on faces, bounces in steps.
In spare moments, Marinette allowed Tikki momentary freedom to catch her breath before rushing unceremoniously back into the pocket when they heard someone coming. Tikki reminded Marinette that it was unnecessary for her to be out and about so often. She was quite content staying within the confines of the smock’s pocket, but Marinette insisted. It didn’t seem healthy for someone so powerful to be in such a small space, despite her size. So Marinette made it her solo mission to find spaces where no one would see the fairy flitting out and in a pocket.
Tikki managed to help in some of the chores around the house as well, retrieving a spare cloth from the cleaning bucket, or reaching a high shelf with something that needed to be cleaned. The two got along splendidly, working alongside each other like they had been doing so for centuries.
Madame called for Marinette, who rushed into the room, while she suppressed her heavy breaths from the quick jog.
“Any troubles last night?”
“None, Madame. The house is running smoothly, as per usual.” Marinette kept her head low, refusing to speak too loudly, just in case.
“Indeed. We will return later tonight. The girls need more time to make their impression upon the prince. Have tea ready for us when we get home.”
No time was offered, so Marinette had to guess at what time they would be home. Three? Four in the morning? It could not be put past Madame to keep the girls out as late as possible to keep them in the line of sight of the prince, or any other rich man that caught their eye. “Yes, Ma’am,” was all she gave in return.
Madame waved her hand in dismissal, and Marinette spent the rest of the morning getting breakfast ready for the masses. It was mostly upon Rose in their old house to cook the meals, but Juleka would not allow the girl to be up for such long lengths of time, despite Rose’s objections, so she assigned Marinette to help in the process while Juleka handled the women of the house. A clever idea, keeping Marinette out of the reach of the cousins.
She was guided through the kitchen, unable to find time to allow Tikki some air. Instead, she snuck the fairy outside, finding a quiet corner where she would be safe while Marinette cooked. As soon as the fairy was off of her person, she felt the absence. She still wore the earrings, cleverly hidden with her hair from prying, jealous, accusatory eyes, but the feeling of having Tikki so close was a comfort, almost a necessity.
Making due without the comfort, Marinette and Rose made quick work of breakfast, until they were assigned to dress the girls and get them ready for the ball.
They were expected to be even more perfect tonight. Madame assumed that everyone would put their best foot forward for the first night, then their efforts would decline, and their facade would suffer for it. So Madame made the plan to make the girls look even more beautiful for the second night, to stand out amongst the crowd who slipped in their fashions.
As such, they would have to spend even more time at the salon, their hair being tied and styled and curled into utter perfection, their faces to be scrutinized at every level. Madame must have the most beautiful daughters, with the smallest waists, and the reddest lips.
They were to be perfect.
Chloe had Marinette tie her together, the corset must be even smaller and more cinched than the night before. Chloe’s skin looked more pale than usual. It had shifted from a clear porcelain to a ghostly white. She looked sick, but Marinette was not about to comment on it. As Marinete pulled at the corset, Chloe’s stomach rumbled loudly.
“Would you like something to eat, Chloe?” Marinette asked quietly as she tied the heavy-duty cords together in the back.
“Of course not,” Chloe snapped over her shoulder with such malice that Marinette jumped back. Tikki offered a consoling warmth that ran through her body. “Mother has me on a strict diet. I will not be eating for the next three hours, so don’t tempt me with food. I must be perfect for the prince.”
Chloe turned to the mirror to her side and examined her face, poking and prodding at her eyebrows, her lips, and her cheeks. She picked at non-existent blemishes, and finally pinched her cheeks harshly to bring color to the pale skin. Blood rushed to the pain and quickly faded. She pinched again, to no avail.
Concern drifted through Marinette. How long had she been starving herself? Since the announcement of the ball, most likely. Perhaps she had been restricted from food all her life. Chloe had always been a small girl, her waist remaining trim even through the cold months, where most people were forced to add a couple of pounds to fend off the cold. But she never seemed to gain any weight.
The diet must have become more intense recently, as Marinette had never seen Chloe in such a state of disarray. Her hair lost some of its suppleness, her cheeks were thinning out as she did.
Marinette watched Chloe inspecting herself in the mirror, a look of distaste on her face as she leaned ever closer.
“What are you looking at?” Chloe snapped again.
Marinette turned back to her work, keeping her head down defensively. How could Madame be doing this to her daughter? Chloe was beautiful. She was tiny and blonde and proper, if spoiled and often rash. She was always given the best, and she reflected that. Clothes, supplements, food, everything was provided to her in the greatest quantity and best quality that could be provided by anyone. No expense was spared for the favorite daughter.
Finally tying the corset in place, Marinette stepped back and checked out her work.
Chloe looked at herself in the mirror.
“Tighter.”
“What?”
Chloe watched Marinette in the mirror. “You heard me. Tighter.”
“Chloe, it won’t go any tighter. The cords will snap.” They were strained to the breaking point already. There was no more flesh they could squeeze. At this point, the garment was bending her bones in on one another. Her ribcage was being suffocated.
“What are you suggesting?” Eyes narrowed.
“Nothing at all. You look beautiful. You don’t need the corset to be tighter. It will only hurt you.”
A flick of the hand flipped Chloe’s hair across her shoulder. Hands found her waist in her favorite intimidating pose, and she began to stare Marinette down. “Beauty is pain. If it doesn’t hurt, you aren’t trying hard enough.”
There was nothing to be gained by arguing. Marinette untied the corset and began cinching it tighter, while trying to allow Chloe space to breathe. It was a thin line to walk, and Chloe gasped for breath more often than not.
When it was at its tightest, Chloe gasped. “There. Tie it off.”
Marinette did as she was told and stood back, allowing Chloe her space. She tipped from side to side, and Marinette prepared herself to catch her if she fainted, but she remained upright.
“Good,” Chloe conceded. Marinette was dismissed, bowing out of the room.
Tikki flew from her pocket without waiting for Marinette to allow her out. “You must help her, Marinette.” They spoke in hushed voices.
“How? Chloe has never taken my advice.”
The tiny kwami shook her head. “Not as Marinette. You have to help her as Lady Bug. She won’t listen to anyone else.”
“How do you know that she’ll listen to me?” She shook her head. “Her?”
“Because you know her. And I know you, Marinette. You’ll help her because you care about her, and she needs it.” The two shared a meaningful glance before Tikki heard someone coming down the same stairs they were on. Juleka rushed down the narrow corridor of servants’ stairs right as the fairy made it into the pocket of the smock, carrying a tray of tea.
“Are you alright?”
“The tea wasn’t hot enough,” Juleka called back as she continued down the stairs as fast as she could. Marinette hurried along after her, helping with the next crisis.
By the time all the girls were dressed and ready to go, the sun was at its apex, and Madame was not pleased. They had been expected to leave over an hour ago, and now the girl’s looks would suffer. They would have to be late to the ball in order to make a proper appearance, but Madame was not fond of the idea of arriving late, making an entrance like that Bug woman who arrived late in the evening the night before.
A shot of adrenaline and panic shot through Marinette when she heard this. Hope in the back of her mind was expecting that Madame had not seen her, well, Lady Bug. Maybe the girls and her stepmother had missed the grande, late entrance of the woman who made a stir throughout the castle.
If there was one specialty of Madame, it was finding the juiciest piece of gossip in the crowd. She was likely the first to hear that the prince was to be engaged, and half of her stress came from the time constraints. How hard would it be to make an impression on the prince large enough to bare marriage?
Madame fluttered around her girls, hair tied up in loose knots that took the serving women far too long, makeup situated in just a large enough an amount to be appropriate for leaving the house. They were not the kind of people to be seen outside without being completely set. This day was already a travesty in Madame’s eyes.
Juleka helped the women into the over-large carriage and started out, waving goodbye to Rose, who stood by the door of the kitchens, both glancing to each other fondly as she left. Marinette stood between the girls and off to the side, watching the exchange.
As the carriage disappeared down the lane, Marinette walked back into the kitchens, passing by Rose, who leaned against the door frame.
“What’re you looking at?” Marinette asked knowingly.
Rose shook from her stupor with a ferocious blush. “Excuse me?” she said, her voice meek.
“Oh, nothing.”
Marinette started going about the work needed around the house, scrubbing the floors of the grand entrance, sweeping all the floors, changing sheets, and dusting every shelf that existed in the house, along with everything on the shelves. Rose remained in the kitchens, hunkered over the basin of water they used for laundry, while a pot of soup boiled behind her. She managed to make the best lunches and dinners for them, taking the ingredients that Marinette simply threw in together and coaxing out meals that reminded them of their childhoods.
Tikki took the extent of their privacy to come out from her hiding place, finding a place to sit and watch the work until she could manage to help with something. Marinette was in Madame’s room, dusting, folding, and cleaning anywhere that needed it.
“Are you prepared to go tonight?”
“Go where?” Marinette asked absently, picking up the items that littered Madame’s vanity and wiping the surface clean underneath them. She made sure to set them back in the exact place they had been before, knowing how particular Madame was about the placement of her things.
“To the ball, of course.”
The vile of perfume slipped from Marinette's hand and onto the lush carpet on the floor. Scrambling to pick it up, she made sure that none of it had spilled, or worse, been broken. It seemed intact, however, and she set it carefully back onto the vanity where she found it. “What do you mean? I’m not going to the ball again.” It was said as a question.
Tikki flew over to where Marinette was, sitting on a plush puff that Madame used for her powders. “Of course you are. That’s why I’m here. You must be at the ball.”
“But why? I don’t understand.”
“All will be revealed in time,” the kwami answered cryptically, though with sympathy in her eyes. “Yours is not an easy task, Marinette, but I’m sure you are up to handling it.”
“What is my task?”
Tikki averted her gaze, almost guiltily. “There are some things that I cannot tell you. And I’m sorry for it. But if I tell you what I know, you may be swayed in your decision making, and that could be very dangerous, indeed. I am here to make sure you do what you were meant to.”
“Meant to?”
“Yes.”
“What am I meant to do?”
Tinkling laughter left Tikki’s mouth. “Even I don’t know that.” Marinette looked down to her work, confused and lost. She resigned herself to cleaning, finishing on the vanity and walking across the room to the bed, where she stripped the sheets and began taking them down to Rose for a washing.
During the long walk down the stairs, Marinette thought of what it might be that she was meant to do. She’s supposed to go to the ball, that was for sure, but once she was there, she was lost. Was she meant to do something? Meet someone? What task was she meant to perform? Possibilities jumbled through her brain.
Rose accepted the new project Marinette offered and asked her to hang the wet sheets and clothes that were sitting by her. The cuts on her back were not healing as rapidly now, and she was sore from movement. Marinette went to grab a glass of water for Rose, then went to hang the wet items outside, where the waning sun would hopefully warm them to dryness.
“Tikki?” Marinette asked when they were far enough away from Rose so that she wouldn't hear the conversation.
“Yes?”
“Have you been healing Rose? And me?” Marinette looked down to the slight scars that still marred her hands. They were no longer the scary red, angry cuts that they had been, but they still hurt on occasion.
“I have. It’s part of my magic.”
“What do you do, exactly?” She began stringing up the wet cloth.
“I am the god of creation. I make things appear, if for a short time, and am able to supplement the natural creation of all things. Things that grow, such as the skin of your hands, and Rose’s back, or the flower that is her namesake.” Tikki balanced on the thin line of wire where the clothes hung.
“You can make a flower grow?” A mystical quality came into her eyes and the fairy nodded. “That’s amazing.”
If something so red could blush, that’s what Tikki did. “Thank you. But it does take quite a bit of energy. I have done what I can to heal you and Rose, but there is only so much I can do before I become ineffective or tired. I may be a god, but I am not omniscient.”
Marinette thought for a long moment. “If you need to save your energy, why make my dress so intricate? Surely, you could focus on other things.” She didn’t want to be too suggestive, but it was hard to think of anything other than healing the rift of guilt that played in her stomach whenever she thought of the scars on Rose’s back. New and old. It was her fault, after all, for the new additions she would have when she left this place. The shoes on her feet were a constant reminder of the price someone else had to pay, and she would do anything to repay that debt. “I’m sure Rose would appreciate any help you could give her.”
The shake of the head she got was disheartening. “I would love to help her, Marinette, but I have to focus my energies elsewhere. And she is already doing splendidly well. Those injuries should have kept her bedridden for a week or more, at least. It’s only been several days and she is already back to work. I promise, if she needed any more assistance in her healing, I would give it. But as it stands, I have already given too much, and we can’t have her being suspicious.”
“Suspicious of a tiny, floating red god who has healing magic and can create ball gowns out of thin air?”
“Among other things, yes.”
The beginnings of a smile played at the end of Marinette’s lips. She heaved out a long sigh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t questions you.”
“It’s only fair. I’ve thrust a lot upon you, and I can’t say it’s all been easy.”
As the work outside was done, the pair entered the kitchens again, handing Rose’s now-empty basket back to her so she could continue her work. Marinette went back up to Madame’s room to finish the cleaning there in silence. The curtains had been pushed open and the windows were flung open, letting in the slight breeze of the late spring afternoon.
A sudden gust of wind knocked over something on the table beside the king-sized bed. Marinette rushed over to the table and righted the trinket, a gilded frame with a small portrait of Marinette’s father.
The black-and-white photo had been incredibly expensive to sit for, and the photo came out slightly blurry, but Marinette would recognize the subject of the photo anywhere. His stern face did not fit to his personality, but he found through experimentation that sitting for so long with a smile was tiring to the cheeks. His hair was slightly messy, as always, sticking up in the back in a cow lick he was never able to settle down. His eyes shone even in the colorless picture, as if someone had replaced them with jewels and nestled the diamonds into the picture frame.
He wore his best for the picture, a suit that he only donned for special occasions. Weddings, anniversaries, balls, and Marinette’s birthday. She had always complained that he should save the suit for a more special time, but he reminded her that her birthday was the most sacred day of the year, and should be celebrated as such.
Tears prickled her eyes.
It had been so long since she had seen the likeness of her father, and she almost forgot what he looked like. She almost forgot how much she missed him.
Tikki watched from the bed, her weight barely making an indent in the pillows.
“Why did you choose me?” Her voice was soft and rough.
“Because you are strong. And selfless, and kind. Marinette, I chose you, like I picked all of my Chosen before you, because you are special.” She closed the distance between them, her large eyes filled with care and concern. “You may not realize it, but you mustn’t question it. You are special, Marinette.”
A long, shaking breath left her, and she wiped the wetness from her cheeks. Carefully, so as not to disturb the photo, she placed the frame back onto Madame’s night stand and traced a longing finger down the edge of the frame. What she wouldn’t give to have him back.
“Tikki. Can you heal the dead?” Hope rushed through her at the thought, however fleeting. There was a slim chance, barely one at all. But what would she do if she didn’t try to get him back?
Silence drew out between them, a heaviness that Marinette was not familiar with. When they turned to each other, something like worry, or fear, stilled Tikki’s movement, filling her eyes.
“Tikki?”
“No, Marinette. I’m afraid I can’t bring people back. No one can.”
New heaviness weighed her down. “I thought not.” She resigned herself to her chores for the rest of the day, keeping her head down, mind full of thoughts that she was afraid she couldn't control. She fended most of them off, but they were thick, and they stayed lodged in her head, fighting for dominance.
Usually, her work was enough to keep them at bay, battened down and solidly put away, but they flooded over. She kept at her chores until the sun began to dip in the sky. The days were getting longer, and it was already six by the time it was half way down the sky.
“Are you ready?” Tikki asked, when they had snuck away to the grotto, which Marinette now felt safe and secure in. It was a beautiful space, and the natural sounds cleared her head more effectively than manual labor. She took a deep breath and nodded.
“I have something special for you tonight,” Tikki added. “Say the words.”
“Tikki, spots on.”
Light flooded the grotto, sparkling across the water, filling the contained space surrounded by willow branches, and Marinette felt the warmth of the dress spread across her skin.
Starting from the earrings where Tikki disappeared into, the mask closed around her face, red lace dotted with glimmering black jewels the size of her thumbnail. Tendrils of stringy swirls plastered themselves onto her cheeks, tracing themselves round her eyes, up her forehead, down her cheekbones, covering her eyebrows. She felt more than saw her eyelashes grow slightly longer, and tiny jewels flecked through them, adding a shimmering light all around her gaze.
Lips painted a vibrant red the exact color as her mask, skin clear and glowing as it had never been, a relaxed yet confident air about her, she had never been more beautiful.
Marinette looked down at the dress that Tikki had thoughtfully crafted for her that night, and tried to suppress the small gasp that refused to be held within her lips. A more captivating material had never been seen. It was as if the light of a million candles had been trapped within the folds of the fabric, glittering and emitting their own light. White, yet golden when it caught the faint light of the dying day, the skirt blended into a bodice that hugged every curve, fading into a red lace that felt of a summer’s breeze.
The lace cut a line beneath her collarbones, where a similar line of lace, but in black, made a trim that stood stark against her skin. The sleeves did not reach all the way up to her shoulders, but the hem along her chest continued out to her arms, leaving her shoulders bare. Her arms were covered till just past her elbows, red lace trimmed in black.
There was something she felt attached to her arms, leading behind her. She looked and found there was a sheen of fabric cascading from the top hem of her bodice, cutting down into a deep V in her back, baring her spine, and flowing to the ground in a sea of red. The cape looked to be lush, expensive, and heavy, but when she took a step, she barely felt the drag.
“Tikki,” she whispered, beside herself. “I have wings.”
She giggled at the thought, but twirled nonetheless, allowing the wing-like cape to flutter around her, swirling up with the momentum in a volley of sweet laughter.