Chapter Three
Morning comes too quickly.
My alarm cuts through the thin veil of sleep like a blade, and for a moment I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to hold onto the dream. The one where Paris glittered just for me.
But reality seeps in. The pale light slipping through my curtains is flat and colorless. The air is heavy with the faint smell of butter and sugar drifting up from the bakery. It's comforting, but also… suffocating.
I drag myself out of bed, moving like a shadow through my own morning routine. Bag, homework, half a croissant on the way out. My parents smile, tell me to have a better day than yesterday. I nod, give a small smile back.
The earrings are in my pocket. I can feel their weight with every step.
---
School is the same. The corridors hum with chatter and footsteps, lockers slamming shut like gunfire. I see Alya at her desk in class, her smile lighting up when she notices me.
"Hey! Saved you a seat," she says, patting the chair beside her.
It's a small thing, but it anchors me. I drop into the seat, grateful. We talk — or rather, she talks, telling me about her blog, her favorite hero Ladybug, the latest akuma attack. Her energy is infectious, and for a while I almost forget about the weight in my pocket.
Almost.
Because when the final bell rings, the hallways thin out, and I'm making my way toward the gate, Chloé and Sabrina are suddenly there. Like vultures who've been waiting for the right moment.
"Well, well," Chloé drawls. "If it isn't our little fashion disaster."
Sabrina giggles, though it sounds forced.
I try to walk past. I try. But Chloé shifts to block my path, her perfume hitting me like a wall.
"Did you think yesterday was bad?" she says, her smile razor-thin. "You haven't seen anything yet."
The words stick to me like oil, refusing to wash off.
---
I make it past her eventually, my face hot, my hands trembling in my sleeves. The street feels colder than before, the sky heavier.
That's when I see her.
The girl from yesterday. Standing at the edge of an alley, like she's been waiting.
She doesn't smile. She doesn't have to.
"You've thought about my offer," she says. Not a question.
I swallow hard. "Why me?"
She tilts her head, eyes glinting beneath her hood. "Because I've seen the way they treat you. You have power inside you, Marinette. But no one sees it. They only see what they want to see. I can change that."
Her words sink into me like ink into paper.
"Will it hurt?" I ask.
"Only the people who deserve it," she says smoothly. "And only if you want it to."
She holds out her hand. The Miraculous gleams in her palm — dark, sharp-edged, nothing like the cheerful jewelry in store windows.
For a moment, I think of my parents, of Alya, of the bakery's warm smell.
Then I think of Chloé's smirk.
My fingers close around the earrings before I even realize I've moved.
---
By the time I get home, my decision feels heavier than my bag.
My parents greet me from the kitchen, asking about my day. I mumble something about homework and slip past them before they can see my face.
In my room, I pull the earrings out. They look almost alive in the lamplight.
I can't stop thinking about what she said.
About what I could be.
---
It's late when I finally lock my door and stand before the mirror.
The city is quiet outside my window. The rain has stopped.
I lift the earrings to my ears.
They're cold against my skin.
And somewhere in the shadows of my room, a voice whispers:
"Let's begin."