A/N: So this is a new story that I was thinking of writing because Marinette is French and I was having a Widowmaker phase (still am). So I was thinking, what if Marinette was put into Ameile Lacroix's position? It might not follow the original story of Widowmaker and there are implied deaths and possible torture depending on how I want to handle upcoming chapters. This chapter is short because it is just a 'preview' of what is to come.
Also, a small poem from me:
Credit is given where credit is due,
That means Miraculous Ladybug too,
All things Ladybug belong to Thomas and his crew,
And that is why I wrote this poem for you.
P.S. All things Overwatch belong to Blizzard! Now on to the preview.
When I was a girl, they all said I was the nicest person and that I put everyone before myself. But that was Marinette. That was before the pain, the torture, the nightmares. My mother told me that spiders felt no emotion, that their hearts never beat… but I know the truth.
The target was in her line of sight. Widownette knelt on the rooftop waiting for the perfect moment to strike. She could almost feel the heartbeat of her next victim as it counted the seconds to an appointment with death. Her prey had chosen in that moment to pass between the crosshairs of her scope.
From a far away distance, one could hear what they thought was the crack of thunder.
Flashback
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Coming!"
Marinette Agreste opened the door of her apartment to find a mailman at her doorstep. "I have a package for… Mrs. Agreste?" asked the mailman.
"That would be me," she replied, "Thank you very much!"
Marinette brought the package inside. Her mind was piqued with curiosity as to what secrets the package contained. It was fairly lightweight and was as small as a toaster. Marinette inspected the unassuming box. It was pitch black and didn't have any tag or insignia. There was no indicator of its origins. The only label on the box displayed her name and her address.
"It must be the new fabric I ordered," said Marinette to herself. She had ordered a small amount of fabric to finish a dress that she ran out of material for. It was a white garment with feathers on it that gave it a swan-like appeal. It was her take on the Swan Lake's Odette.
Marinette set the box aside on the granite kitchen counter and went to acquire scissors to open the box. She cut along the edges where it had been finely taped shut. A sweet smell met her nose as she lifted the lid. After opening the box completely and exposing its contents, Marinette stared at the interior with a confused look.
Inside, there had lain a single rose stained dark red like merlot. What was captivating about it was the way it glowed against the blackness of the box. It had a faint and brooding shimmer. Unconsciously, Marinette delicately picked up the rose and took in its compelling aroma. There was a note of vanilla and cinnamon, a memory of her former home. Another scent wafted past her nose. Before she realized, her hand landed with a thud on the tile, fingers curled around the unforgiving flower.