Purple Prose
You grew up thinking that you would meet your soulmate at some kind of convention. Their words meant they had to be a nerd, and probably a cosplaying nerd. Which led to you spending your entire life being even nerdier in preparation. You just really wanted to be able to talk to your soulmate about whatever it was they loved enough to be cosplaying when you first met them. You hadn't come across the right fandom for the character yet, but it was only a matter of time.
Then things changed.
Magical, wonderful, terrifying, impossible things began to happen in Paris. Superheroes - honest to god superheroes - appeared, and suddenly your life was a lot more like the comics you read for your soulmate (and because you liked them, let's be real).
And where there are superheroes, there must be a supervillain.
Slowly, as accounts from the akumatized victims leaked into the media, their fractured memories of their time spent as strange Sailor Moon-esque creatures splashed across blogs and newscasts, your certainty that your soulmate was a nerd faded; replaced by a growing horror.
Now you knew. You were going to meet your soulmate on the worst day of your life. And he was going to turn you into a monster.
Because scrawled on your chest in elegant purple ink, just over your heart, were the words, "I AM HAWK MOTH."
You wondered if you would succeed in getting him the Miraculous, whatever that was.
