Selfish

by HammerInLava2017

When Marinette's sister passes away, she feels somewhat forced to remain perfect for her family and friends. Hence, she begins to write letters and leaves them in a bookstore for the broken and unknown to find them. Adrien is feeling neglected and betrayed by his father, so discovering the letters is a miracle to him, and he starts to write back. Rated T for swearing/mental health

1. Perfect Facade Letters One and Two

Hey, Guys,

I'm a new person here, and this is my first fan fiction EVER, so sorry if it's not worth your time. I tried. (^.^)

I really appreciate constructive criticism, as you can always try to improve, right?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

(This fic was inspired by 'Heart By Heart', by Luna-Incendia14. It's a PJO Fic, and it's amazing, you should check it out.) Also, I had t re-upload, sorry for the inconvinience!

Disclaimer: I (sadly) own nothing.

This letter is for no one.

I thought you should know that before I start. Actually, no. This letter is for me. This is a way for me to maintain what little sanity I have left and present it to no one. This letter only contains the ramblings of a teenage girl who wants to give up. This letter shall be my refuge.

Yet really, if you think about it, what are the meaning of words? Are they there to comfort you? If they are, this would be the perfect way to pick up the pieces of my broken self. By just writing it out. But are words the inspiration of a risk? For example: When an author writes a story, isn't it a risk to base their life on it, to spend their time revolving around a plot that they hastily created, only to get writer's block? In that case, would the words I write be a curse?

Or would it be an opportunity? To take a risk and stand by it? To be able to have an excuse to start again? I don't really know myself. This is one of the first risks I've ever taken. But my sister took a lot of risks. She was in the army. Taking risks was her job. And I want to do something in her honour. So I'm stepping out of my comfort zone and doing something I never thought I could...

So if you're in my position too, know this: don't give up.

Because if you do, and you let Churchill's black dog bite you, or anything like that, you are being selfish.

I mean it. Think of your family, your friends or even your pets. They all love you and imagine how their hearts would be shredded if you gave in to yourself. If you decide to put yourself through that trauma, then you are effectively putting them through pain just so you can go through your own brooding session. I get it, though. Everyone is selfish.

And no one is modest when you come down to it; And if it seems they are, they're just putting up walls around them. Because deep inside, you are selfless because you want others to like you. To cherish you. To love you. You want a good reputation, and being selfish isn't going to help you achieve that. Frankly, that in itself is selfish and egotistical. At one point in life, we all have to face the undeniable truth: there isn't such thing as a perfect person, and if there was, we'd have to redefine perfection.

And that is why I am writing this letter. These words make me selfless. For to stay somewhat perfect, to make others fall for my façade, I need to have the capability to put my feelings elsewhere. To stuff them mercilessly in a corner, and continue with my life without being selfish. Because if I fall into the darkness of my own depression, others that I love will be dragged down with me.

I just realised how morbid that sounds. And that I rambled in a letter. I think that's supposed to be impossible, so there's something I've achieved by doing this.

But anyway, this letters sort of an introduction to more that will follow (and believe me, there will be much more), and if someone happens to stumble upon them, then c'est la vie. So be it.

You know what, writing this, I feel better already. I mean, I never thought I'd do something this cliché. I have always preferred to call myself a realist, as much as I believe in fate. Miraculously, I think thus might be the best release method I'll ever stumble upon.

Turns out risks pay off.

I hope that whoever you are, once you read this, you'll be inspired to do something. Maybe you'll decide to take a risk. That'd be a good thing to do. I've always wanted to inspire someone.

But I want to warn you not to make my mistakes. This may be the right way for me, but I'd never inspire someone to hide away from the rest of the world (is that a song lyric? I have a feeling it is. I'll have to look that up...). However sad you maybe, you're probably not in my situation, so, I cannot emphasise this point enough.

Don't give up. Because if you did, you'd hurt more people that way, and expose them to the pain you bore (because in the end, making a moral choice isn't about what's right. It's about which option is less selfish. Think about it. It's true, to me at least.)

So do one thing for me. Be a little selfish, stop moping about whatever state your life's in, and do something for yourself for a change. I have a feeling if your bothered to come into this store, you may be one of the few modest people in the world. If you are, try something different for yourself. I did, and look at all this deep and meaningful philosophy I produced. Take off your mask and be who you want to be (I swear, I'm producing song lyrics like there's no tomorrow).

Yeah, this risk just might be a new turning point. The end of my façade.

I hope so, for the both of us.

(P.S: I'm sorry for any trauma my ramblings have caused you. It's become a habit, and it seems to occur in my writing as well as my speech.)

Marinette tapped her feet nervously. She glanced up at the oak bookcase and analysed the selection of books. Which one to chose? It had to be meaningful, maybe an inside joke? Or one with similar content to her letter? She picked at the hemming of her jeans. Maybe she shouldn't be doing this. No, she should. She was stalling for time, that was all. With shaking hands, she opened her letter again, reading through it.

The girl looked up, scanning the dust-covered shelf, and spotted 'Lies We Tell Ourselves', by Robin Talley [AN: This is actually one of my favourite books. You should read it, it's amazing!], one of her sister's preferred reads. It seemed fitting, and she pondered slipping her note between the cover and scripture. She didn't even acknowledge she had placed the letter in there before she found herself walking away, her steps echoing around the deserted bookstore.

It was one of her favourite places to go to, a place where she could be alone and think, or draw. A place where she wouldn't vomit her words out into the silence of an empty room. Even if it's business was failing. Even if it was crumbling to pieces, even if the old oak doorway had almost been shredded to splinters. This was one of the few shagged remains of her childhood, and she cherished that happiness forever within her heart. Marinette recalled every laugh, every game and even every fall.

And she fell over a lot (Yes, she knew, she was a complete and utter klutz).

She turned around the corner and jumped back at the sight of the store's owner. Fu greeted her with a smile. His grey-black beard was wispy, and his hair non-existent, but he still managed to stay at physical perfection, though he definitely didn't appear to be. Despite having knowledge of him that out-shined most, Marinette still had no idea why he wore his summer clothes all year round, especially when it was snowing. Not that she complained. The red and white Hawaiian patterned shirt always made the world seem a little less full of shit.

"I hope you found what you were looking for, my dear." His voice was deep, and surprisingly clear, like a younger model of the elderly man that stood before her.

He hadn't ever talked to her before, in all the years she had come here. Her and Bridgette always went on about how he was mute and came up with fantasies of how it came to be so. She found this new revelation that he had the capability to speak quite odd.

If only Bridgette was here to share her surprise, then they could share her old memories with the man that stood before her. She tried to create the scene in her head, but her sister's face was flickering in her mind, and she rediscovered, to her horror, she had forgotten the aspects of her sister's face.

All this time, Marinette had been gaping at the old man, her eyes bulged and her eyebrows raised. And all because of the shock caused by the clear melody of his voice.

" Are you quite alright, my dear?"

The young designer shook her head and was pulled away from her trailing thoughts. "I'm fine, thanks. And, yeah, I... um... I think I found what I was looking for." The girl laughed nervously. She for a smile before darting out of the door (after casually running into it, but who needed to know that?).

Marinette believed in destiny. She always had. Something told her that a thousand words were going to turn out to come to something big and maybe even marginally beautiful.

She just didn't know if she wanted it to.

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Four years ago, the unspeakable happened.

That's how it was referred to in the Agreste house. The unspeakable.

The matter of the life-shattering event that left both son and father cast into a void of depression.

The death of Irene Agreste.

For the family, it was just a normal day. One in which Adrien was talking with Chloe. Today, the theme topic of discussion was school, since Adrien had never attended one, and both children were listening to stories of Gabriel's days at private school. As they talked about a constipated teacher, whom the older of the three referred to as 'Mr. Shit-man', Irene was perched on the bottom of the stairs, painting a picture of her recently deceased mother. It was ironic really. Later in the day, she would perish herself, and the last thing she told her son before dragging herself into the car to buy another roll of cheese was to pay his respects to his dear old Grandmother.

Who'd have thought that later that week, he'd pay his respects to his dear old Mother?

After Adrien had said goodbye to his friend, he searched for his father to ask for a bite to eat. The most normal thing in the world. But if only he could actually find his father.

Adrien ransacked the house, shrieking for his father, knowing his mother had left the house but could find no trace of the man. This confused him, as he was never left alone (oh, the privileges and privacies of being a sheltered child!), and was only going to be when he would go to school in the fall.

What the teenager didn't know, was that his father had received a call from the police, and was told his wife was dead. Shocked and broken to the bone, he dropped everything and went to see her.

Admittedly, the designer had forgotten his son ever existed, but that was beside the point.

After the 'unspeakable', both men had fallen into a deep depression but expressed it in rather different ways. The younger of the two had started craving the company of others, but not in the way someone might expect. He didn't require a shoulder to cry on, but a person to be normal with. He wanted to know what he'd been missing for the past fourteen years of his life. Then, he'd know how to react like any other person on the street.

His father was a different story.

The designer refused to come into contact with anyone but his assistant, denying his son the company that he craved. As workloads piled up, and the company became more popular, it seemed he was beginning to soften up.

But the designer had climbed a mountain, and his support ropes had ripped in two.

In short, he was unable to return to his joyful self.

And all the while, his Bipolar Disorder only got worse.

One day, he would be strict and stubborn, unwilling to show any perks of empathy.

The day before, he would've been sobbing, floods coming out of his eyes, a new layer of pain at each tear that pricked his eyes.

And he had no idea his son knew about it.

It was a Wednesday, at 13.43 when the phone rang. When the model picked it up.

When he dropped it to the floor after two minutes of listening to an automatic recording.

And ever since, he had been more comprehendible of his father's strange deanamour, and he accepted it; But he didn't want to.

But all that was over now. At the moment, the Agreste heir was doing something completely normal...

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Adrien was drafting his college admission essay for the fifth time this week. He knew he was being hopeful of his father, but he still wanted to be prepared. If he got the opportunity to leave this hell hole, he would just about do anything. Even if it meant not sleeping for a week or two, or ruining his model diet (that thing be damned), he didn't care. At this point, he was desperate.

His mind flickered to the sub-theme of his essay: Family. What should he write? The rhythmic tapping of his pencil left him with an empty brain. He had no idea what to put. The words, 'My mother died and now my father is like an over-protective piece of shit who doesn't let me do anything' wouldn't be the best thing to enhance his application, nor the most suitable.

Ever since his mother had died, his father had become selfish. Gabriel had no time for his son, only for his beloved work. Adrien was sure he was tried to do something good some of the time, in his own way, but he had no idea what he was doing. He decided to write about his early life. At least then his words would comfort him back to his ragged childhood memories.

When I was little, my mother would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I always answered, 'a cat' as I thought it was a valid point. I see now that it was an innocent childish thought, but in later years, my mother sparked my interest in Physics...

His attention wavered when there was a knock on the door.

"Adrien"

Adrien's head snapped up. "Yes, Nathalie?"

Nathalie walked in slowly as if she didn't really want to be here. Adrien couldn't blame here. After all, who wants to be an overly sheltered kids babysitter for a living? Her expression looked sympathetic for some reason. Not that she needed one. He was pretty pathetic after all. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Your father wishes to speak to you about the matter of you attending college."

Oh.

Well, at least he knew what was coming.

But he couldn't be sure. One horrible, greedy part of him wished for his father's condition to get worse, only so he could be free of the torment this lifestyle brought to him. So he didn't know what he was thinking, and he would let him go.

He was always quick to stuff those thoughts to his brain's version of Alcatraz.

Reluctantly, he stood up and prepared himself for the worst (or the best?...) as he started to leave his room. As his hand reached for the doorknob, Nathalie whispered a few inaudible words. He turned towards her.

"What did you say?". He usually restrained himself from being nosy, as he was raised to be polite (one of the few things his father had taught him over the years); Yet he hardly ever saw Nathalie like this.

"I'm sorry. I tried." She whispered, her voice almost but a breath. Nathalie lifted her head to him, and he saw the sympathetic expression she had worn earlier had been replaced with one of distress and sorrow. Her mouth was turned down and her bottom lip whimpered. One word could be used to describe her at this moment. Nathalie Sancoeur looked weak. She rocked backwards and forwards on the balls of her feet, a nervous habit he was unaccustomed to seeing her do. Nathalie was usually formal and had an 'ironed out' persona, but she seemed to have been pushed to a breaking point.

And she had seemed to have done it for him.

Mon Dieu, he was selfish.

"I do try and convince him, you know. For the little things."

He tried for a genuine smile, one that rarely anyone saw on his facial features, and walked over to his Father's assistant. Adrien hesitated, contemplating if his actions would be appropriate, before deciding to wrap his arms tightly around her and hug her.

"I know you do. You're one of the few people that try, so don't think I haven't noticed."After forcing the words out of his mouth, he skimmed over brief periods of his life, realising it was true. Even he hadn't dared lash out against his father. But Nathalie seemed to be able to do it subtly without anyone noticing. " And I thank you for that, but frankly, if we come down to it, we both know what my Father's like. He's-"

"An insufferable, mean, emotionless son of a bitch."

Adrien pulled away from the middle-aged women before looking at her in shock. He raised an eyebrow. She smiled meekly.

"I've been holding that in for a while."

"I bet you have."

Silence.

"Thank you, Nathalie. For everything."

She nodded her head and gave him a small side-smile. "It's the least I can do for you not telling your father anything I just said." The last part of that was emphasised. Go figure.

Without another word, she pressed the crinkle off of her suit before turning on her heel and walked – no, strutted- out of his room. She was probably feeling better after saying that out loud. He knew his father gave her a hard time, and he knew that she'd secretly become fond of the model, as he of her. He valued her company as he Adrien knew she was always trying her best to make sure his day wasn't utterly horrible. And he had a weird addiction to friends. But that wasn't relevant. In some ways, she was like a friend to him. His only one, apart from Chloe, but she didn't really count.

And sure, he resented her for coming to all the events his father really should've attended. But in the end, they were both on the same side.

Adrien stood alone. He considered not seeing him, but the undeniable truth was sitting right in front of him. He had to do it. It was his only hope for freedom, for a life outside of his father's expectations. He ran his hand through his hair nervously as he walked to the door at a brisk pace. The model paused briefly as his hand wavered and reached out for the door handle.

He pushed the door open

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Gabriel Agreste was having a bad day. Not only had his idiot for an assistant lost one of his designs for his latest collection but now his son was pressing him to let him go to 'college'. Gabriel didn't want that. He wanted to keep his son here, where his own watchful eye could keep the boy away from the evil that lay in the outside world. He himself had fought all the lingering doubts about his methods of parenting by thinking of the world beyond his mansion of a home. And now that his son was a famous model, the media would eat up any information that was thrown at them. He didn't want his child bombarded with the paparazzi. He wasn't that mean.

Most of the time.

There were sometimes where he wanted to be a better father. Adrien had no one else, after all. But he couldn't afford to anger his other self. The one that would give out at the random bursts of emotion he felt. He tried to conspire against the odds by taking the meds. That was, at least, until he discovered that Folic acid couldn't heal the dark thoughts that slipped into his mind time and again. Adrien was the only thing that kept him sane at the moment. But even he couldn't hold him down for the ever-growing amount of manic depression. And, Mon Dieu, those eyes didn't help.

Her eyes.

And he let him the model for the Agreste line. Didn't he give him permission to do fencing? Let him learn Mandarin? Okay, maybe those two had been influenced by his own thoughts, but it was what was best for the Adrien. He only did it because he loved him. Because he couldn't afford to loose him.

He did what his wife would've wanted him to do.

Sometimes he still heard her voice in the back of his head. Whispering to him, pleading for his attention. But he needed to ignore her. The walls he put up weren't allowed to be smashed down. If he let them crumble, the grief would return and take a toll on his mental health. Again.

And he had only partially recovered the way that it was.

He wouldn't be wounded. He would keep his composure and stand tall. Even if it meant being a hollow man. Even if it meant being drowning himself in his work so he didn't get a chance to breathe.

Even if it meant being selfish.

There was a knock on the door.

"Enter", he replied dreading the argument that pursued this situation.

Adrien's head poked around the door. "You called for me, Father?"

He studied his son's face with great attentiveness. His face had changed since he was 14. Now, four years later, Adrien's face had become more angular, and he seldom appeared to be tired, today being one of the few occasions that he did, the dark bags under his eyes reflecting his irises. He drank in his appearance, before swiftly returning to the matter at hand. He turned his back to the model, as it was always easier commanding him if those eyes, her eyes, weren't staring at him. Hesitantly, he forced the words out of his mouth. It wasn't as if he enjoyed doing this. It just had to be done.

"Yes. I was contemplating your idea of college and I have decided against it. You shall remain here and continue your studies inside these walls."

There was a silence that echoed through the building. It wasn't awkward. It wasn't antagonising. It just was.

Gabriel turned his head to face his son, seeing the look of anger plastered onto his face. The younger of the two was glaring at him, his emerald eyes reduced to slits.

Her eyes. Always watching. Always whispering.

No. He wouldn't think like that. He would rise above it.

He knew this would be hard for Adrien. He knew it would be a long time before the boy would forgive him, but in the long run, Gabriel had to make choices for him.

Because when his son was exposed to raw emotion, he made rash decisions. Since Irene had disappeared, he was a wreck. And the outside world wasn't going to help him.

But maybe that was just the selfishness talking.

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Adrien was mad. No, scrap that. He was pissed. His mind seethed with hate for his father as he ran down the moonlit street. After running for half an hour, he finally stopped to breathe.

In and out.

In and out.

After his father had told him he couldn't leave the house, and launched into another, 'it's for your own good' speech, Adrien had left the room without saying a word. Why? That remained a mystery to him. Maybe because he knew about his father's state of mind, and didn't wish to confront him about it. Maybe because he was weak. Maybe he was blind with rage.

Maybe he was humble.

That one might be true. For one thing, he didn't wish to anger his father, as it wasn't his place to do so. For another, it wasn't what she would have wanted. He knew his opinion didn't matter and wasn't that the dictionary definition of humble?

It had started when his mother had passed away. That's when he had submerged into depression. That's when his self-harm became more intensive. But that was on the inside, hidden away to the public eye, for only him to see.

Yet on the outside, he still wore his perfect façade day in and day out, to prevent his knowledge and actions from being discovered. It was a thin wall but was very durable in the fact that only one (maybe two?) people could see through it. And that was what worried him. He worried that he had become passive, less attentive and more inactive in his protection. Because he couldn't let anyone know. Even if it was years ago. Even if the idea of doing it had perished. He wouldn't let them see him weak. He wouldn't let them see him vulnerable.

For that would be the most catastrophic outcome. Ever.

So, yes. He was humble. But that wasn't him. That was his mask becoming attached to his inner self.

Argh. He was more Bipolar then his dad sometimes.

He looked up and examined the beauty of Paris. From this spot, he could see the Eiffel tower as it illuminated the streets with it's glowing blue aura. The skyline was dotted with specs of light, no doubt coming from people's houses. The Siene was covered in boats and floating lanterns, reflecting the magnificent sky. It was a magical night, no doubt about it. The kind where some sort of life-changing event should happen.

That was until it had started raining.

"Ugh," Adrien was not in the mood to be soaked to the bone. He started to run again, his pace slower this time, as to make sure he didn't slip and fall to the pavement.

He needed somewhere dry to hide from the rain. His eye's drifted to the only shop on the street that was still open. The sign was in cursive, and he couldn't read it through the heavy downpour, but it seemed as if it was his only option. He started to sprint towards the small bookstore.

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Marinette was having a crap day.

Not only did she have three group projects to complete, but she had been partnered with Chloe. The mayor's daughter had been perched on her seat, filing her nails like her life depended on it, whilst Marinette had to do double the amount of work. It was excruciating, but in the end, she wanted a good grade or at least an adequate one. Sitting in the arenaceous library, Marinette actually got so bored she contemplated killing herself. And not for the first time this week.

Then Alya had called in sick (she hoped she was okay. There had been a horrible flu virus going around) and she had been left alone with Nino for the whole day. There was nothing wrong with Nino. He was a sweet guy (and an awesome DJ), but he had been known to have a crush on her, and she didn't feel that way about him.

Besides, Alya had a crush on him, and she wanted Alya and Nino to get together. They were so fricking cute, she would just die if they didn't get together.

So there she had been, perched upon their lunch bench, watching Nino grin like a fricking, stupid, love-sick puppy, when out of the blue, he asks how the funeral arrangements are going. (He realised his mistake afterwards, and made endless attempts to make it up to her. It was immensely sweet, but his constant chirp of, 'are you okay?' Got somewhat annoying). After a while, she realised just how much her social circle needed to expand to its former size.

Oh, and on top of that, she had to prepare for her A-Levels, finish a dress for Rose, make an outfit for Comicon and plan her sister's funeral. Literally.

She still hadn't gotten used to the fact that her sister was... gone. She always thought that Bridgette would out-live her, probably because Marinette was so clumsy was likely to get hit by a car one day. But now everyone knew not to talk about her sister. It was a forbidden subject, and even Chloe respected that rule. Marinette was immensely grateful to all of them, as she knew the outcomes of grief and the effects it can hold on people. She just forced herself not to take in the fact, for t do so would make her look weak. And she had to be strong. For Bri.

She suddenly felt a well of grief rise up in- No.

She mustn't be selfish. She had to be strong. For all of them. Her friends, her parents. Crap, even Chloe comforted her the day after she found out. She had to stay her perfect self for all of them. The designer was too afraid, too timid, too weak, to cry. If that made any sense.

She wondered if she'd ever open up.

Maybe.

But she didn't have to be strong for her words. Into those scriptures, she could pour her heart out, and no one would care because no one would read them.

Well, she did sometimes have a feeling that Fu, the owner of the bookstore (Miraculous) read it. But he rarely talked to her. And he was rather secretive. She had an impending feeling that she could trust him. And that feeling happened to be her sister's voice.

After finishing her art homework (she had to draw another skyline picture of the Eiffel tower. Seriously, did her art teacher like to collect those things?), she started on Rose's dress for her date with Prince Ali. It was a pink dress, simple and elegant, just like Rose. The girl had changed a lot over the years and was undoubtedly more mature then she had aspired to be four years ago.

Marinette was glad to do the job, as she thought that the two made the cutest couple the world had ever seen, but did they really have to go one their anniversary while she was supposed to be studying? It didn't really matter at this point, she'd almost finished the damned thing.

Her phone beeped from where it lay on her bed.

The designer sighed as she extracted her from her work. It was from Alya.

Hey girl, u up 4 a sleepover tonight?

Marinette sighed and quickly texted back that, no she wasn't up for a sleepover because she had to finish all her fucking work.

She giggled. She really was beginning to sound like Bridgette.

Bri... There was no way she'd ever be able to get her out of her head. They'd been inseparable since, well, forever. Marinette couldn't remember a single day where the two of them hadn't contacted each other in some way or another. They'd gone through everything together. First Boyfriend: Bridgette's ex, Theo. Marinette had always liked him, his art was exquisite. Sadly, Bri noticed that she and Theo spent more time together than she liked, hence the joke, 'We even share our boyfriends'.

First school: Bridgette had come to her nursery to give Marinette her 'snack bar', then had 'accidently' lingered at the back of the classroom for 3 elongated hours ("Oh shi.. I mean oh sugar honey ice tea! Look at the time... I just, loved people finger painting on my fu- face. On my face..."). It was hilarious to see the look of horror on the teacher's face when her sister offered a four-year-old some anti-depressants. But by the time the boy had taken one, no one was laughing. Except for the boy, but he was reasonably high.

Their first loss: When Bridgette lost her best friend, Felix, when he moved away to America. The sudden event caused discomfort in the girls' life, as their go-happy lives were ruined. Marinette still remembered the sound the rain made when it came crashing down on the roof. It was nice to know the world was crying with them, but at some point, they had to face the undeniable truth.

The world was turning against Bridgette.

The siblings didn't know how it started, but the fact was irrevocable.

That's how the nickname, 'Cat Noir' had stuck, for she was the embodiment of bad luck in the family.

But she was worth more than the world to Marinette.

So to say that her death felt like a knife to the gut would be an understatement.

It was more like a bullet to the face.

It was May 21st that Marinette's perfect world had been turned into the twisted pandemonium she now lived in. The bakery was in good business, the air was nourished with the smell of freshly baked pastry. Shelves were donned with croissants and pan a raisin. Marinette was kneading dough in the kitchen when the postman came in.

"'Scuse me," Tom's burly frame knocked several cooking utensils as he walked through the narrow path to the door. He picked up the fallen letters and squeezed his daughter's shoulder tenderly before handing the documents to his wife.

"Anything for me?" The designer was expecting a letter from her British pen pal, but they tended to arrive later than anticipated (her 'Happy Easter' letter had arrived three weeks late).

"No, sweetheart. But- Oh! Look!" She produced, from the seemingly infinite pile of letters in her petite hands, an envelope with the Armee de Terre symbol on it. "A letter from Bridgette!"

Excitement rose up inside her, energy coursing through her veins. "Oh! Maybe she got a promotion!" Marinette squealed in delight at the thought. If it were true, maybe the rest of their family would stop mocking Bridgette about her bad luck.

DING!

The next customer was impatiently ringing the bell. Marinette laughed. "Okay, okay, I'm coming!" She made her way to the counter as she hastily re-adjusted her apron.

"Hi, welcome to the Dupain Cheng Bakery! How may we help you?"

The client muttered a few tasteless words before stating they required a two tier cake, vanilla flavoured, and adorned with icing in the figure of lilac roses. Marinette rapidly took the order and moved on to the next customer.

The letter had been discarded until all the family were there to read it, and Alya, of course.

"Hey, Girl!" They two friends embraced as Marinette opened the door to the auburn-haired girl. "You're just in time, we're about to open a letter that came this morning from Bri! Come on!" The designer dragged Alya excitedly to the kitchen where her parents were waiting.

But she didn't get the happy news she wanted. Instead, she received a numbness that could never be removed from her heart. Her knees buckled, and she fell to the floor. Not crying. Not shrieking. Just numbness.

And the feeling that she was solitary and alone.

But it seemed that wasn't enough for the devil, for he tarnished her brain with the terrifying visionary.

Nothing could erase the sound of her mother's penetrating scream from her head.

Or the startled look of the customers as she fell to her knees. Her father's moans of despair weren't likely to leave her memory anytime soon. Or the feeling of Alya's muffled sobs against her shirt. Or-

SNAP.

Marinette's pencil cracked in her hand. Maybe it was just coincidence, but it was more likely to be caused by the flourishing amount of pressure her hand was squeezing with it.

Breathe in, breathe out.

She sighed and wiped away the single tear that rolled down her carcass of a soul. She would stay strong. She would have to be the perfect daughter her parents required to continue with their lives. She had to be there when they were weak. But to do that, she had to not let them be there for her.

Right?

So no one could be there for her. But her words could at least comfort her to a

With trembling hands, she drew out a fresh piece of paper and began to write...

(LINEBREAKLINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK)

"Miss Dupain Cheng, can you repeat what I just said?"

It had been an elongated night for Marinette. She had to make sure her letter was perfect, after all. In the morning, she pondered going there straight away but decided against it. As important as this release was to her, or whatever you'd call it, her perfect façade was more important. If anyone found out what her reaction had actually been, she would currently be at a therapist's office.

Life changing events are a funny thing. Not 'ha ha' funny, but 'makes you question your existence' funny. That seems to be all that I do now. The question whether it's too late to wish for a happy ending. Wish that we'd switched places. Wish that the one of us that had merited was not a corpse. But wishes rarely ever come true.

Huh. Seems I've produced some more deep and meaningful philosophy.

The young designer's head snapped up, dreading the criticising words that awaited her. She glanced sideways as Alya gave her a sympathetic look. As the young woman raised her head, all she could see was Ms Mandeliv's piercing gaze. She gulped, opening her mouth to speak. She didn't have to answer, as the bell echoed through her ears. Thank God her luck hadn't given out yet. The teacher frowned at her as she rose from her seat. Swiftly, she gathered her belonging together in one

"Sorry. Places to go, things to do. I'll, um... see you around...?" She abruptly darted out of the classroom, the stupid Goddamn door slamming shut behind her [A/N: 5 pts t anyone who gets the reference.]. Marinette briefly considered if she should tell Alya where she was going before standing her up. She decided to be spontaneous and ran off to her destination: The Miraculous Bookstore. She streaked through the crowd, out-running her doubts like she had done the first time she tried this.

Sometimes, I wonder if there's any chance it didn't happen

"Mari!" Alya's voice beckoned her back to the school yard.

Marinette turned, her mind whispering multiple excuses. She decided to go for one that wasn't to do with supernatural forces or anything relatively unbelievable. "Sorry! My... my parents need me to do this BIG order! Yeah! I'll be-"

She felt a tug on her arm.

But I'm not creative enough to come up with this outcome.

Alya chuckled. "We're going to the bakery for lunch, remember?". She sighed and shook her head. "Girl, what are you hiding from me? All this sneaking away, it's kind of as if... I don't know, you're living a double life or something?"

I never asked to be perfect. I mean, I'm not, but I hate this façade. Did I say that in the previous letter? I think I did.

Marinette sighed, and decided to jump to her last resort. " I... I kinda... um, I kind of don't really want to talk to anyone right now. I mean, I'd appreciate it if-"

"OhmygodgirlI'mmsosorryjustdowhatyouhavetodookaymondeiuIdidn'tmeantobringthisupI'msosorryI'msosrry..." An avalanche of words escaped the girl's mouth, and guilt instantly penetrated Marinette's, heart. She hated using the 'dead sister' card, but she felt it be essential that she did this now. Placing a comforting hand on her best friend's shoulder, she applied a warm smile to her face and then sprinted down the avenue. It took all her willpower not to look back.

My 'perfection' is somewhat brief, though. I sometimes use my situation to my own gain. I should probably stop doing that. It tears my mask to reveal another. Because what I'm truly afraid of is that these words may one day be printed on my face for all to read.

That would be the worst possible outcome. No, the second worse. The worst situation would be if someone found out about the state of my mental health. They would then go, well, mental.

She put one foot in front of another, as that was the only way to go. Forward. Onward. However, you put it. Don't look back on what you've been through. The torment and the anguish were behind you.

As long as one foot went in front of the other, it was all going to turn out in a good outcome. A better one.

I already have. Gone mental, I mean. It's not something I would like to experience again, and I thoroughly suggest that you avoid the abasement that I'm running from. It's not enjoyable, though I would recommend it to the suicidal.

The streets were seemingly moving around her, a mixture of windows and walls stalked her as she powered down the block.

Her heart was racing as she turned the corner and faced what should've been the alleyway to the bookstore. But instead, a roadworks matinence man greeted her with a shit-eating grin.

"Well hello, there. I'm sorry to interrupt your run, but this road will be closed for the next two days, so if you'd be ever so kind as to-"

"Pleasepleasepleasepleaseletmethroughjustquickklyplease!"

I've been thinking about this, and grief is like being beautiful. You get benefits. That sort of makes you temporarily lucky, in a sense.

The man blinked, surprise coating his face. There was nothing of interest to many on this street. It was old and abandoned to the bone, but to her, it was a site of peace. Of amity.

Which was why she pushed past him.

She kept her pace as the distance between her and the store shortened a considerable length. Marinette felt like a hungry predator as she waded through the construction site, desiring only the muted comfort zone that awaited her at the other end of the street.

Marinette could only feel relaxed as she heard the angels sing to her in the form of a bell chime.

With an allayed sigh, she curled her fingers around the door handle, considering turning back. But that was the one thing she refused to do. Turn to the past and forget the future.

"Ah! Mme Dupain Cheng! You came just in time!"

Marinette groaned. When she had first found out that Fu could talk, she had thought it to be a miracle. Now, she regarded it as a curse. His voice was just that annoying. Plus, she wasn't exactly in the mood for talking.

She plastered a smile onto her face as he turned the corner, and submerged into her 'happy mode' in the one place she thought she would never have to.

Fu stood before her, his eyes twinkling with something that did not consist of joy. His withered face was tilted to the side, as he continued to examine her. His red shirt was unclean and wrinkled, indicating a protracted night.

But there's a point where your luck runs out. And that is when my façade will crumble.

He smiled comfortingly. "My dear, you don't have t pretend for me. I know what's going on."

His voice suddenly didn't sound so annoying.

She breathed out and thanked all the holiness there was in the world for this senile creature. For here was someone who was willing to talk. To understand. Who she could be herself around.

He opened his mouth to speak, but instead of using his compelling voice, his used his eyes instead to watch her run down the aisle to her 'chosen' shelf.

Because, in that split second, her true fear had almost become reality. Her blood pumped faster and the world seemed to spin. The young designer couldn't believe how quickly she'd almost fallen. Her secret had almost been spilt from her lips. And no one could know her secret.

But if she'd almost given her lifeline away to a stranger, then in due time, she could let it slip to Alya. Or, worse, her parents.

Marinette gasped for air, hyperventilating as she slid down the shelf and sunk to the floor. She steadied her heart rate before rising to place the book inside the book cover. Hands trembling, she reached out for the scripture that lay before her. This is the right thing to do, her mind whispered. And she trusted the voice inside her head. Except for when it urged her to talk to people. She would resent her brain every time it did that.

She opened the cover to reveal the title page when her eyes widened and shock overcame her once more.

"Mon Dieu..."

The letter was gone.

Dun dun duh! (Again)

I'm sorry this sucks, but it's a multi-chap fic, so there has to be some kind of prologue. Anyway, please review, as it really helps me know what I'm doing wrong/ right.

As I said, I'm new here, so I hope you guys are nice (translation: Don't hurt me!)