Prologue; The Way It Once Was
She didn't remember much of her family, of her home. Just the smell of freshly baked bread mixed in with the scent of lavender and wet grass. It only made sense; they lived in a bakery after all. Her family were bakers and they weren't poor, nor were they rich. They were just a happy middle class family.
She has faint memories of small village celebrations and dancing the night away to Mr Lahiffe's lute as a bonfire light up the night. That was a very long time ago, back before the disastrous fire, before the bakery burned, before the Queen disappeared. That was before she was a simple scullery maid.
Thankfully, she'd learnt not to dwell too hard on the 'what ifs' and the 'could bes'. She'd long since accepted her life, in fact, she came to cherish it. The work, the pain, the sweat, the struggles, they were all distractions from the inevitable path she had set before her.
Or so Monsieur Bourgeois had said.
Monsieur Bourgeois was a wealthy lord who'd lived just off her parent's land and had been kind enough to take the young baker's daughter in when the building had burned down. Monsieur Bourgeois had a daughter himself, a spoiled girl by the name of Chloe, who was her age. Chloe had no respect for anyone lower class then herself, unless it fell into her benefit; even as a child, Chloe had been demanding, although back then it was more a cry for her father's attention rather than a force of habit and self-righteousness.
It was in this home - this strict, narcissistic home - that Marinette Dupain-Cheng grew up in.
He had come to appreciate the small things in life after his mother's disappearance. The small strip of sunlight that slipped onto his face every morning, the small smile his governess bestowed upon him when he answered a question correctly, the small bruises he'd gain in fencing when he gave it all he had.
It was the small things that keeping him put. That stopped him from running for the hills. That's because, it was the small things that reminded him of a better life, a better time. Back before the fire.
He didn't remember much of the mysterious fire that rippled through the kingdom, just the stench of burning wood, and he didn't remember much of his childhood either. Sure, he remembered running around in the fields and dancing in the village with his mother during bonfire night, his father watching on with a smile.
After the fire, and his mother's unexplainable disappearance, his father shut him in. He spent his days staring longingly towards the old bakery - his mother loved the bread there - and would wonder what happened to the family that lived here. He would stare into the village square, reminiscing about the large feasts and the delighted laughs. He knew that no matter how hard her remembered, things would never be the same, but he kept staring, until the voice of his governess would snap him out of his thoughts.
He would be brought back to earth, and gaze around him at the shadowy halls that were once alight with love and happiness and he would remember everything. Even the things he'd forgotten, he'd remember.
It was in that castle – that quiet, depressing castle – that Prince Adrien Agreste grew up in.
AN: I know, it's super short, but I'm just trying this idea out. It'll be your reviews that tell me whether I continue or not
