The last thing she remembered was Christmas lights, bright reds and greens twinkling above her head, flashing quickly between the two colors as if they couldn't decide which one to be. For some reason the memory made her heart ache.
She remembered a shadow had crept over her. She remembered something heavy falling onto her chest, the dull thud it made when it landed. She remembered a loud crack behind her. And she remembered hearing laughter (her own?) and it echoing, echoing, echoing inside her head until there was nothing left.
She remembered darkness as it comforted her, taking her into its satiny arms, and promising sweet nothingness. She remembered being so tired and so sad and so lonely that the offer had felt too good to refuse. She had felt warm, so, so warm. And safe.
But now that darkness had betrayed her, abandoned her to a harsh piercing light that dug its sharp claws into her, inside her, and sliced at her innards.
Oh God, she hurt.
Her body was an anchor sinking into the Arctic Ocean. Harsh, cold ice stabbed at her lungs and numbed her fingers. She tried to swim up and away from the freezing depths of the water, but her movements were slow and her hands were tied behind her back. The chains were too heavy, biting at her arms. The water was too strong.
If she gave in, maybe the darkness of the water would be as warm as the one before. Maybe its currents would sing her to sleep. Maybe it would whisper bedtime stories in her ear. Maybe…
But a harsh, shrill sound shook her of those thoughts and suddenly she wasn't drowning at the bottom of the ocean anymore. This world was bright and white, but that only made her heart frantic and she squeezed her eyes shut. And suddenly the aching pain from before had turned into pure agony. Someone was screaming. Water stained her cheeks.
Maybe she hadn't left the ocean. Maybe she had finally reached the bottom.
A hand touched her cheek. Someone was murmuring something. Gentle words. Kind words. A finger brushed soft circles on her skin. A blur flew past her vision, vague shapes and dark colors. A smear of red sat in the corner of her eye.
It had come back for her.
It had come back to finish what it started. It had come back to hurt her. To kill her. It. Had. Come. Back.
She tried to curl into herself, tried to crawl away from what was trying to hurt her, but her back was pressed flat against something. And something else was tugging at her skin, pinching her thrashing limbs. She felt exposed. She was exposed. It could get her any moment. She had to transform. The shrill sound from before rang louder and faster and the screaming only got worse.
"…nette!"
A voice.
"…inette!"
Who was that? Who did it belong to?
"…Okay?"
"…her still!"
She felt hands pushing her shoulders down, shoving her arms on either side of her. The screaming wouldn't stop. It was going to hurt her. It was going to hurt her! It was going to hurt her!
She felt a pinch in her side.
And then the world was still and darkness consumed her again, hugging her close to its chest and murmuring comforting words.
She dreamt a black kitten had followed her home, sad, lonely, and looking for a place to stay. She fed it warm milk and smiled when its green eyes flickered to her. But why did she feel so annoyed?
She dreamt that the kitten had grown into a panther and stalked her as the distance between them grew larger and larger with her every step. She remembered the flash of its red eyes as it shed its fur and turned into a white lion. It was mad at her, how dare she abandon it, how dare she go.
It pounced on her but her dream shifted before she felt its claws.
"Marinette!"
Her eyes snapped open to the blinding world again. The stark whiteness struck her pupils, causing her to squeeze her eyes shut before blinking them open, slowly this time. The first thing she noticed was the piercing sound of a scream. She thrashed her head looking for the source, but all she saw we unfamiliar faces hanging over her head. A petite woman with side swept bangs, a man the size of a bear, and an older man with worry lines and kind eyes. Who were they?
Had they come to hurt her?
As she watched them she realized the screaming had stopped and in the abrupt silence her throat felt raw. Her eyes were burning and her face was wet. Had she been crying? Screaming? The anxious expressions on the faces above her gave her the answer she needed.
"Marinette! You're okay sweetie. You're safe," the bear man said softly. He brought his hand down to brush the hair falling in her face and she flinched. Hurt, he withdrew it and placed it on the shoulder of the small woman beside him. They watched with worried expressions, unsure of what to do.
"Mari, honey," the woman said. "You're in the hospital, but you'll be fine. You'll…the doctor…" she trailed off as her lower lip quivered. She bit down on it, trying to regain her composure, but the tears building in her eyes escaped her attempts and fell heavily down her cheeks. "You've," she tried again. The woman reached for her hand but caught herself at the sight of her shrinking away. She turned to the older man instead, asking for help with her eyes.
"You've been asleep for a while, Marinette," he said. "Three days in fact."
At that, the bear man released a quiet sob, placing a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from breaking down entirely. The woman simply placed her hand on his arm and rubbed small circles with her thumb, silently wiping away her own tears.
She watched the older man with wary eyes. She didn't know what to say. For one, she realized, she didn't know who she was or how she got there. All she had was a vague recollection of Christmas lights. How could she know about Christmas but not her own name? Who were these people to her? Who was she to herself?
The older man continued. "Your friend, Alya I believe? She found you near the feet of the Eiffel Tower. You were found with a severe head injury and chest wound–"
"What month is it?" she asked abruptly.
If her statement had confused them all, the older man hid it well. The bear man, however, furrowed his brows as he answered, "June, sweetie."
That didn't make any sense.
The first night she returned home with the bear man and petite woman (maman and papa she corrected herself) she immediately asked to sleep. Although hesitant, her parents had agreed. They showed her to her room and she couldn't understand why she would have ever want to sleep in a room that didn't even have a real door. But she made her way to the loft above as they slowly closed the hatch. She could feel their worry in the air like it was dense fog, but she chose to pretend she didn't notice. Instead, she whispered a quiet goodnight to help calm them and when she glanced behind her, she could barely make out their tiny smiles in the dark.
When she was close to sweet unconsciousness, something warm and soft brushed against her cheek. She opened her eyes to a red creature staring her right back at her and nearly let out a scream before it pushed her mouth closed and calmed her fears.
"Shh, shh Marinette. It's all right," she whispered. "Oh, I was so worried about you! You've been gone for weeks and I had no way of getting close to–"
"Who are you?" she whimpered, nearly close to tears.
Its eyes turned sad and it sank quietly to her pillow. "Oh, Mari…I'm Tikki. Remember?"
"No, no I don't remember. I don't remember anything!" She hissed.
She was tired of having people ask her that question. All the doctors and nurses, her parents, all those visitors (the people she had known only weeks before) who told her stories of a girl she had no memories of, and now this thing (Tikki it had called itself) were just too much. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes to stop the tears. She was sick of everyone's disappointment in her. How would she have reacted as the girl with the memories?
"Oh, none of that." Tikki gently rest her hands over her fingers. "It's okay, everything will be just fine. No need to worry, shh, Mari, you're okay." She gently pushed her hands away from her eyes and settled right before her nose. "You're a tough girl, a fighter! You're strong and you'll make it through this just like everything before it. Come on Marinette, show me a smile."
She simply watched Tikki with tired, watery eyes. "How do you know everything will be okay?"
"Because it always turns out that way!" She replied joyfully. "I'm good luck and so are you! You're strong. You'll regain your memories and you'll be just fine."
She thought back to the Christmas lights and the shadow that fell over her. She wasn't so sure she wanted to remember.
That night, she went to sleep feeling better than she had in the past several weeks it took her to recover in the hospital, a warm and gentle creature helping keep her nightmares away.
It wasn't until next morning she thought to be concerned about a talking animal existing outside of a fairytale.
The first day of school was hard. Everyone that had visited her in the hospital were all in her class, scattered in seats they had been occupying semesters before, and she couldn't even remember where she had sat for, apparently, the last year and a half of her life.
When she walked through the door that morning, a few minutes before the bell rang, to say the students were shocked would be an understatement.
"Wow, Marinette, You're actually on time for once?" the boy with the odd hairdo and big muscles practically yelled from his seat. He was laughing at his own joke and slapping the table when the small girl with pink hair smacked him upside the head.
"You idiot!"
"What?"
The girl with pink hair side eyed her with a pointed look.
"Oh, right.…Sorry! I forgot."
That earned him another smack.
"Hey!"
While everyone else watched her either with sympathy or in discomfort, she couldn't help but feel left out on the joke. Had the girl with the memories always been late? Was that who she was, the tardy girl? Did she not care about school? Did she go to bed late, wake up late, rush to school or walk?
How would she feel about school today? Today as in herself at this moment and not the girl before her.
She had hoped she would like it, but by the end of the week, she decided that the girl might have been on to something.
The boy who sat in front of her (Adrien she had to keep reminding herself) was unpleasant. While he had asked about her before and appeared worried the first day, on the days that followed he was completely…disinterested? She couldn't quite peg his character.
Sometimes he would crack a joke that felt a little too mean spirited for her taste with his partner (Nino, the boy who liked bubbles and music) or turned to her and grinned. But other times he stayed turned to the front of the class all day, completely rigid and unmoving aside from the pen in his hand taking notes.
She found herself watching him more than paying attention to the actual lesson. The girl beside her (Alya, her best friend and owner of the ladyblog (she had to check out the website when she got home from her first day (she didn't really know whether or not to believe it was real until Tikki confirmed it and pointed out that she was a talking animal and really, she couldn't deny the whole superhero thing after that))) was actually happy with her watching the boy (Adrien! she chided herself). She said that she had always watched him during class and had a habit of going all gaga over him for hours without realizing what was happening around her.
She didn't know what to think of that.
"Hey! Marinette!"
After a month or two, she had grown used to being called that, though she still didn't quite feel like the girl everyone remembered. Sometimes she got glimpses, very small ones, of the people in her class. Alya had found her textbook one time. Alix had a broken watch. Chloe was a fan of Ladybug (no one had seen Ladybug in months).
Never anything about Adrien, however.
Never anything about the girl.
"Marinette!" the voice called again, closer this time.
She turned around quickly, about ready to apologize for not responding, before crashing straight into something solid and falling to the floor.
"Well," the voice said from above. "At least you're still clumsy."
She opened her eyes to see the boy, Adrien, standing in front of her. He had gotten increasingly less friendly over the past two months. He seemed bitterer about something and the bags under his eyes had grown darker. She wondered if he had always been like that. If so, she thought, the girl with the memories had bad taste.
She frowned at him and lifted her hand. "Are you going to help me up or are you just gonna stand there?"
He shrugged and snatched her hand, tugging her harshly. She nearly ran into him from the sheer force of it and she couldn't help but glare at him harder. What had the girl seen in him?
"Jerk."
His grin only grew wider, something in his eyes flashing. "Is that how you talk to a classmate who's trying to help jog your memory?"
"People have been trying for months and I can't say I recall you ever putting in any effort."
"Do you really 'recall' anything anymore?"
That absolute dick.
"Do me a favor and get lost. I don't need to remember someone like you anyway. I'm sure you were just as horrible then as you are now."
"Hmm. That's where you'd be wrong, princess," he sneered. "I was actually quite the saint if you would believe me. It was almost sickening really."
Princess.
Something about the nickname tickled a corner in the back of her mind. Where had she…when had she heard that before?
"Well, I don't believe you. Now, just, leave me alone!" She turned on her heel and was nearly out the door when she felt something grip her wrist tightly. Not very gentle was he?
"Wait!"
He spun her around abruptly and shoved something in her face, something soft tickling her nose.
"Get that out of my face," she said shoving at his hands.
"It's supposed to help now look at it," he hissed.
She glared at him before looking down at the–derby hat?–in his hands. It had a feather motif, the top black and shimmery like a raven, the larger feather white like a pigeon's. It was well crafted, very clean and professional. How was it supposed to help?
She raised her eyebrow at him.
"You made this for one of the contests my father held last year but-" his sneezes cut him off but he didn't bother completing his sentence, biting his lip as he looked at the hat like it had just kicked a puppy. No wait, she thought, he had probably done that himself. The hat must have done something much worse then, she decided.
He glanced at her and opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but shut it quickly. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he stayed silent.
She was surprised he had the decency to stop talking.
She knew the girl with the memories had been a seamstress or a fashion designer of sorts. Fashion savvy really. But she hadn't touched the sewing machine sitting in her room since she got home from the hospital. She dusted it every now and then, feeling somewhat sad for the girl who had probably used it everyday.
But the more she looked at it, the foggier her mind became. She couldn't recognize it, couldn't really even see it anymore she had been staring at it for so long.
"Here," he said as he turned it upside down and pointed to something near the brim.
'Marinette' in cursive letters. In her handwriting. Finally, something that could physically link her to the girl!
She had tried for hours at opening the box that supposedly held her diary and journal according to Alya, but with no luck. She couldn't remember where she had placed the key and for some reason Tikki wouldn't tell her where it was.
"Well, that's definitely my handwriting," she finally said after a few minutes.
The boy sighed, frustrated. "That was supposed to work," he murmured to himself. A moment passed and then he said, "I'm not doing that. Yet."
Weird.
She took a step back. "So…thanks for trying, I guess."
He frowned, watching her hard as if he was studying her.
She frowned back. "You're still a jerk though," she huffed.
And then she walked out the front doors of the school and didn't look back until she made it to her room. Something blinked in the corner of her eye and she turned to the circular window of her bedroom. Something was flashing outside, a broken stoplight at the end of the street. Stuck on red she realized.
She walked over to the sewing machine and wiped it off with the damp rag she had gotten from downstairs.
Maybe sewing would help her remember. She tapped the white plastic thoughtfully.
In her dreams, the white lion haunted her, watching her from afar but never leaving her. If she strained long enough, she could hear it growling at her in a weird rhythm.
It had a feeling of urgency.
But it had attacked her once, so she didn't want anything to do with it. She looked forward and never looked back.
Authors note:
lmao okay in my defense i've been working on this thing since last year so. it's been on and off and it's already at 12k and this was supposed to be a oneshot kinda story and welp. i figured a 15k single chapter story would be a little too intimidating for others to read sooo...i guess i'm spitting it up lmao
i've put too much effort into this to just scrap it so here you go, all my trash at it's finest