Hi everyone! I'm making my return to Fnafiction, and I'm very excited for this story.
To avoid any confusion, this is taking place in an AU of France. The country will still be called France to avoid any of the confusion (as suggested by my writing friend). The five districts are all cardinal directions with a central district.
Note: This story is being cross-published.
Repetitive pounding stirs Marinette from her slumber, the fragments of a sweet dream cusping her consciousness. Her nose crinkles in distaste at the sudden intrusion before nuzzling it back into her pillow. Desperation whispers miraculous promises of an already forgotten dream, but the thudding jolts Marinette once again. Nothing can help her fall back asleep.
Small hands cover her face as she groans into them. Five minutes is all she had wanted. This wish is too greedy, as are most dreams today. There is only one thing she can hope for on this day until her twentieth birthday: hope.
Hope is, after all, the foundation of France.
The bluenette begrudgingly sighs as she shimmies out of bed. Her feet slide against the cold wooden floor, and she cannot help the shivers casting up her legs. One day she would finally buy a new plush rug to replace her old raggedy one, but she is content with spending all her saved wages to buy fabric and sewing materials instead. To warm herself up and get ready for the day she takes a shower, quick to save money and time, but long enough to momentarily forget the cold and dreadful thoughts raking at her mind. It doesn't take long to mostly dry her short hair; it will finish drying before the ceremony.
"Marinette!" her mother's voice calls. "You need to wake yourself up. Today is the- Oh!" The older Chinese woman stops in the doorway as she stares at her daughter. The teenager flinches at the sudden and close noise, fingers curling tightly around the brush's handle. "I didn't realize you were awake yet."
Marinette exhales slowly and sets down the brush, composing herself and calming her mind. She grabs the hair tie that is clenched between her teeth as she makes quick work tying her hair into matching pigtails. "I've been restless all night," she admits. The girl had continued to wake up during her dream whenever something was getting good. Her brow furrows as her brain picks at the night's memories. What was her dream about? She really wants to know.
She finishes her hair and turns towards her mother. "But something woke me up. Is Papa hanging the flags?"
Sabine nods and chuckles. "Your father always waits until last minute to hang the butterfly flags. I'm surprised it woke you up-" She stops her train of thought when she sees Marinette suck in a breath. "But I suppose that's what happens when your father is working with a hammer." A soft smile trickles onto her face as she places a hand on the thin doorframe. Her eyes linger on her daughter before the smile briefly falters. Something flashes in her eyes. "You should come down and eat. It won't do you any good to be on an empty stomach."
Fingers continue to tease the blue-black pigtail. "But, Mamon," Marinette whispers. Her fingers twitch, desiring to move towards her mother. But the girl is too occupied with making her hair perfect because the of the ceremony's high standards.
"Ju-just please come." The woman forces another smile before breaking eye contact with her daughter. Sabine turns away from the door and disappears. For once Marinette cannot hear her mother's soft steps as she goes downstairs towards the bakery.
Marinette's hand slides down from her head to her lap as her shoulders slump forward. Bluebell eyes avert towards the mirror as they stare back at her, noticing the fear etched in her features. The mirror perfectly reflects her mother's expression.
Of course the girl cannot blame her mother for the doubts. Every year they overcome this dreary day that causes every person in France to hold their breath. And every year the Dupain-Cheng family has been lucky enough to feel relief because Marinette hasn't been Selected. But every year the odds against Marinette increase; Sabine had cried aloud last year when the Selection had ended because Marinette had not been chosen.
The Akuma Games would do that to any person.
She takes a deep breath before shaking her head, allowing determination to replace the fear. A step creaks as Marinette treads down the stairs, following her mother's path minutes later. Her father glances as she unceremoniously announces her presence with the loud noise. He beams at her as his mustache twitches. Despite the bakery being closed today, flour decorates his cheeks.
"This dress is definitely better than last year!" he informs her, clapping his giant hands together. "I think you finally found the best shade of pink in the district."
The dress that Marinette wears today is simpler compared to previous years. It is pink, just as it has been since her first ceremony when she was eight. Nine years later, the girl continues making and editing her own dresses, including the modern-styled cheongsam dress that she has chosen to wear today. Except there is one issue.
Marinette's hands tug at the plain pink skirt before raising an eyebrow at him. "But it's the same one I wore last year, Papa." This is the first Selection where she hasn't altered her own dress.
Her father quickly tries to argue the various way that the dress has changed, but Marinette shoots down every attempt with a small smile. Eventually her father gives up. "You still look beautiful, mon enfant."
Marinette leans forward to chastely kiss his cheek in her victory, reaching for a leftover roll from the previous day. "I gotta go," she says quickly. Her parents exchange quick glances as she butters her bread. "I'll see you guys at the ceremony later."
Sabine stands by the counter, cleaning some of the bakery's trays. "Marinette, why are you not spending the morning with us?" It sounds accusative as she calls her daughter out, and Marinette cringes. Her teeth clench together. The small woman was always adamant about spending the morning together on Selection day.
"I promised Manon I would help her get ready. It's her first year and Mrs. Chamack will already be at the school."
There is a heavy sigh. Sabine knows that Marinette's decision cannot be swayed. "Papa and I will sit where we normally do. We'll look for you."
"Your grandma will also be there" Tom adds. Gina Dupain had been transferred to the Northern District shortly after Marinette had turned six. Residents were required to stay in their district unless specified, but Marinette's grandmother received permission from her job so she could work in the south for the first week of the games. The woman acted as a promoter for the tributes, communicating with Central for them to receive sponsor gifts.
Marinette rushes to her mother and places a light kiss on her cheek. "I know. I'll see you there!" she says as she swiftly leaves the bakery.
Silence hangs in the air as the couple are left alone. Sabine presses her lips together as she stares out the glass-window door, her lower lip threatening to tremble. The dish that she is holding slips under the soapy surface. A kitchen chair screeches across the linoleum before Tom places both of his hands onto her shoulders. The woman reaches up with a wet hand and gingerly holds it there. "Tom, I'm worried."
"So am I," he admits and tenderly squeezes her shoulder. Tom lets out a slow breath. "But it'll be alright as long as we have hope. It always is."
"I don't like it."
Skeptical about the comment, Marinette cannot help but to raise an eyebrow. "And why not? I worked forever on your dress."
The seventeen-year-old girl places her hands on her hips as she stands behind Manon. Reflected in the mirror is an eight-year-old girl. Manon Chamack frowns at herself as she crosses her arms over her chest. She stomps her foot again for emphasis.
"I'm not a fairy. I wanted to be a fairy," the girl whines. This is the first time that Manon is seeing her Selection dress, which Marinette had worked on for over two months after the girl's mother had mentioned it. It had taken every little willpower for the young girl to not go into her mother's room and sneak a look at the garment.
Manon turns on her heels and her frown growls at the teenager. "You told me I would be a fairy!"
Tongue clicking, Marinette shakes her head. "I said you would be a princess," she argues. She freezes in place when the girl's eyes grow wide and begin to tremble. Almost choking on a sharp intake of breath, Marinette glances away to force herself to break eye contact with Manon's infamous baby doll eyes. "You should know that princesses are much better."
The pleading look is replaced by curiosity. "Really?"
"Oh yes. Princesses can be created with determination and loyalty and kindness," Marinette assures. Blue eyes glance back to the brown-haired girl as she leans closer. "There aren't many girls like that, Manon. You're one of a kind." Excitement fills the younger girl's face as her fingers rub along the edge of her new cotton dress. Marinette has succeeded. "Now spin for me and show what kind of princess you are."
Wonder crosses Manon's face as she once against stares at her reflection in the mirror. After taking a deep breath, she spins and watches the way the blue dress flies around her. The intricate flowers on the skirt are colorful and each individual color pops. A toothy grin flashes at Marinette as her lips playfully show her happiness. "You're right, Marinette! I'm a princess like you!"
Pride swells in Marinette's heart for a moment; she had spent so much time embroidering each individual detail. She had spent much of her free time completing this dress and ignoring her own.
But the warmth quickly dissipates. Once upon a time, Marinette had the same feeling of being a princess and was excited to wear a cute outfit for the Selection. Dresses and formal clothes weren't very common in the districts and were only allowed in special circumstances like the Selection or events within Central. So when Marinette had gotten her first special dress, she had shown it to her friend, who had been chosen that same day to be a tribute. The odds were always against eight-year-old tributes; her friend had been killed the first night by having her face bashed in by a rock because she had cried during the training sessions.
Nightmares haunted Marinette for weeks after that.
"Nonsense, Manon," she warmly regards. "I'm just a haggard old lady. You're the only princess in all of Southern District! Everyone will be jealous when they see you."
Manon's mouth opens into a wide smile, revealing a gap of a recently lost tooth. "Deal! I'll be the best princess. I'll be so good that Central will just beg me to replace the president."
Marinette giggles as she wraps an arm around the girl's covered shoulder. "Don't get too full of yourself, small fry. You gotta make it past your first ceremony and grow up a bit." Manon sourly pouts as the older girl pulls on her shoulder, leading her away from the mirror. "We should get going. We don't want to be late."
Momentary fear appears on Manon's face as she shakes her head wildly. "Oh no, please no. Mama would be so mad. She would ground me until the next Akuma Games."
The older girl erupts into a fit of laughter. "Or your last!" she jokes. She lets go of Manon who tries to push her. Marinette walks to the entryway of the Chamack residence and grabs Manon's black jacket, throwing it to the girl before covering her own shoulders with a shawl.
"Come on, slowpoke, let's get going."
Despite her forced cheery disposition, Marinette cannot help the dread hovering in the pit of her stomach. Her lips curl in distaste as she holds a hand to it, grimacing at the feeling. People walk by the two girls, haste in their step, as they make their way into the school's auditorium. Normally the school is buzzing with excited chatters and laughter; Marinette likes sitting in here during lunch to watch the theatre kids act. But people are quiet today and they whisper amongst themselves in the stands.
There is no hope today.
Her clammy hands grow cold as she finally releases Manon's hand, their conversation growing scarce and quiet. Marinette stands there as she stares down at the carpeted floor. Manon tilts her head to the side, asking Marinette if everything is okay.
"My stomach is just hurting," Marinette says. It's aching with nervousness and fear. "Why don't you go stand with your classmates?"
Manon nods before looking around, glancing at everything. Golden-brown eyes take in the sight of the large crowd, bigger than anything the girl had seen before. Hesitation keeps the girl from moving. She stands in her spot as she sneaks a glance at the older girl. Her breathing slows as she frowns, her front teeth disappearing behind her lips. "Marinette, will everything be okay?"
The girl's fear is understandable, and Marinette grimaces at the sharp pain in her stomach. She forces a smile as she nods at the girl, clasping her shoulder. "I promise you that everything will be okay. You won't be chosen."
Young eyes widen. The realization normally doesn't click with children until they finally attend the Selection. "But what if I am?"
"The chances are slim. You'll be okay. Alright?"
Uncertainty shows Manon's concern and worries, but she slowly nods as she gives a small smile. "I should go then. You promise you'll get me later?" Marinette nods, and Manon takes the cue to run off and disappear into the sea of young children.
Humming softly, Marinette glances around the school's auditorium as she searches for her parents. Admittedly, she usually forgets where they sit, even though her mother swears that they are always in the same seats. From her place on the floor, which had been cleared for all the people, Marinette can see parents hugging their children before they separate for the day. There are mixed emotions between every group. Some departures are quick without any lingering emotions, and these appear hopeful—almost acting as a promise to reunite in the next few hours.
However, other partings are meant to be a goodbye. These groups do not want to risk the separation becoming a reality, their last moments together being under the watchful eyes of Central and the French residents. Marinette watches as these families linger in the warmth and touch of one another before separating, eyes keeping contact before being forced to look away so they can take their places. A mother cries as she watches her two children walk towards the floor, a guard forcing her to remain behind the barriers that separates the children and everyone else.
These sights fill Marinette with more dread, and she wonders if she has time to rush to the toilets and get sick. A nagging voice in the back of her mind reprimands her neglectful attitude toward her parents this morning. Another voice argues that she couldn't leave Manon to fend for herself during her first event—the girl has never been good with remembering things. The guards would have found a way to make her pay the price for missing this national ceremony.
Marinette should have just asked Manon to spend the prior night with her and the Dupain-Chengs, but the girl didn't want to intrude on Nadja's time with her daughter.
After a few minutes of looking, Marinette finally spots her parents towards the back-right corner. There is enough distance to keep Marinette from lamely running towards them and throwing her arms around their necks before the ceremony begins. But the girl is old enough to know better; that behavior is typically frowned upon.
Her parents are dressed for the occasion—her mother wears a white qi pao and her father sports black pants and his normal white shirt. Today he isn't wearing an apron, and Marinette wonders how long it took her mother to discover his attempt to smuggle it into the Selection. Beside them is her father's mother; she leans back in her chair, showing off her black pantsuit and matching sunglasses.
Gina Dupain is the first to notice Marinette, lowering her sunglasses for a better look. She removes them and waves excitingly with her other hand. The woman's excitement makes it seem like she has forgotten the purpose of today's occasion; despite the hanging dread, Marinette's grandmother is just excited to have the family together again.
Warmth envelops Marinette when she sees her father raise a hand to greet her, his mustache shifting as he smiles at her. The Selection always brings out the best and worst emotions, even without uttering any words. Love, fear, regret. Each emotion shows on her father's face. She hopes that her returned smile can also relay each emotion and much more.
The warmth almost falters when her eyes lock with her mother's. An invisible force tugs at her heart the longer she stares at her. A foreboding feeling makes her wish that she had spent just an extra minute to hug her this morning. Sabine smiles and mouths something to the girl. This time her heart tugs with overwhelming tenderness.
"I love you too," Marinette whispers, over-enunciating the words so her mother's fading sight could catch the simple gesture. A faint smile appears on her mother's face.
The lights flicker, indicating that there are ten minutes before the ceremony starts. Marinette nods her head towards her family before turning around to join the other teenagers her age. It doesn't take long to find them; this year, everyone is separated based on their ages; Marinette and her classmates are towards the back. She joins the group and looks around. She can see her physics partner, a lean boy with a mop of blond hair. Towards the edge of the group is a black-haired girl who used to pull Marinette's hair back in elementary school before she had chosen to cut it short.
"Nathaniel!" Marinette catches the bright orange hair of her longest friend and classmate. Her whisper is loud enough to make him turn around without disturbing anyone else.
It takes a moment for Nathaniel to find her, his mop of hair moving wildly as he shakes his head. The boy smiles warmly at her as she approaches him as he releases a breath. "I was getting nervous. You're cutting it close, aren't you?"
Marinette quietly laughs. "What's wrong with being a little risky?" she jokes. "We all need to live on the edge sometimes. Live a little dangerously."
Teeth clench together as turquoise eyes widen. "Don't let Central hear you say that," he says. Marinette clicks her tongue and he relaxes; he knows her jokes well enough, but the boy is reacting first and then thinking. He raises his hand to his chin and strokes it, playing along now. "If anybody hears you say that, they'll botch the system, so you'll be forced to be a tribute."
"You better knock on wood," she warns, rapping a loose fist against his shoulder. Nathaniel grins at her reaction and leans away from her as she jostles him more. "You better not have jinxed me get-"
Static crackles across the intercoms before blaring alive with ceremonious trumpets. Marinette steps away from Nathaniel and stiffens, arms lowering to her sides. The redhead beside her bites his lip before his eyes cast downward. Everybody in the auditorium becomes silent and the energy disappears.
The Selection is beginning.
The room darkens as the screen turns on. A white butterfly flies in from the corner of the screen as it flitters toward the audience before spreading its wings in the center of the monitor. Trumpets parade as the words "Southern" appear under the insect. White butterflies are the symbol of France, a reminder of hope. Central officials have dictated that citizens must hang butterfly flags each Akuma games to show pride for their country. If a person ever forgets—like her father almost had this morning—the repercussions would be disastrous.
Bodies slowly walk from the back to the front of the stage and down the steps, taking their places down on the floor. Influential figures of the district, including past victors, stand in front of chairs; their backs face the children as they face the stage. It has been roughly nine years since a tribute from the Southern District has won the games. Clara Nightingale had survived by tricking a tribute from the West to eat poisonous berries that took a while to affect him. A few months after she had won the games, she had become a national singing sensation and has become very popular across France.
Marinette always wondered how victors could forget the tribulations they faced with the games. The girl is still proud of her country and wouldn't talk bad about it. But how could someone forced to fight a dangerous game learn to trust Central so easily? The promise of fame and fortune and a comfortable life must be too tempting to winners.
The trumpets finally die as a voice beckons the audience over speakers. "Past victors may now take their seats."
A spotlight appears on the stage as Nadja Chamack stands front and center, smiling at her fellow citizens. Marinette applauds silently to herself, her hand tapping against her leg in a fit of jitters and appraisal. The two had become close enough for the woman to trust her to babysit her daughter over the years. When it comes to the games, Marinette can never find it in her bones to hate her; Nadja works with her full potential.
"Hello everyone, and welcome to the start of the 92nd annual Akuma Games! I'm Nadja Chamack," the woman introduces. "And I'm here as the Southern District's escort to select our tributes for the year." She smiles into the sea of silence as the lights turn back on and the room is lit once again. "The Akuma Games hold a long and rich history in France, and it's because of these games that we thank the Founders for its creation. Without this event, our country would have continued to be plagued by the terrible akuma force."
The escort takes a deep breath as she claps her hands together. One night while Marinette was at the Chamack residence, she had watched Nadja work on her speech in a mirror. The woman continued to trip over her words, but she must have figured everything out because she manages to keep her composure today. Nadja continues to explain the games and their yearly history as the same video from previous years plays on the giant screen. Marinette tunes it out; everybody knows the stories about the dreadful games and their feat in helping make the dark butterflies disappear. People have long stopped protesting the game, sacrificing their children just to stop dark demons.
An akuma hasn't been seen since. The Games must be working.
Marinette focuses on the shape of her shoes. How could she have worn the wrong shoes? Where were her cute flats?
The video finally finishes and Nadja directs her attention back to the audience. "Now we begin the Selection Process. These five tributes will serve as peacekeepers and lights of hope for the future. Each one will encompass the white butterfly that represents our beloved country and remind us the importance of hope during these dark days to come."
A man walks onto stage and holds his head low as he pushes a cart. Every person's name, those between eight and nineteen, are in the bowl. "Alright, silence everyone." The room is already quiet, but this is protocol. Nervousness shows through Nadja's composure as her hand scoops a piece of paper out of the bowl.
"Théo Barbot!" Nadja calls out. The boy steps forward, his eyes square. Marinette watches as he spits out a stick as he makes his way to the stage. He is older than Marinette; she wonders if he is possibly in his last year. Nadja nods at him. "May hope be upon you," she announces before pulling out another slip.
"Myléne Hapréle!" Bluebell eyes widen as Marinette glances towards a familiar girl with dyed hair of various colors. The short girl holds a hand to her chest before making her way towards the stage. By no means are the two considered best friends, but Marinette has been in the girl's homeroom since they were both eleven. Myléne had frequently spent nights at Marinette's home and always seemed so happy. The girl looks defeated now.
Marinette takes a breath and slowly exhales. The middle of the Selection is always difficult. While the danger is already half over, it is too early to feel any relief. The middle of the process just means that your odds are decreased.
Never does Marinette think that she or her beloved are safe from the Selection. But she still tries to stay hopeful. The country believes it to be a powerful weapon, and it's a notion that she can stand behind. But that hope quickly turns to fear when she hears a name that she has never wanted to hear Selected. "Nathaniel Kurtzberg!"
The girl instinctively grabs for Nathaniel's hand and holds it tightly. Her eyes keep forward, afraid to glance at her friend and show her fear. Or worst: see his. Nadja repeats the name, and people glance in their general direction. Her breaths are now haggard, and she is unable to breathe through her nose. Warmth envelops her hand as she feels Nathaniel squeeze her hand, but the moment he lets go—a truly lingering moment for Marinette—she can feel ice consuming her body. Through her peripheral vision, she can see him leaving his spot beside her and disappearing.
She stands alone, empty space beside her. The bluenette doesn't dare look at the stage to see her friend's fate. Honestly, she would cry aloud if she did. Wail, probably, loud and ugly for everyone in France, even the Northern District, to hear.
The fourth tribute is another kid that Marinette is familiar with, though she almost misses his name. She doesn't know the kid well, but she knows him enough to know that he's a year younger than her and Nathaniel. But there's another thing she knows for certain: Marc Ansiel wouldn't last long. But neither would Nathaniel or Myléne. All three of them are too weak-willed for this competition. Most people are.
"And now the moment that we have all waited for: our miraculous district's last tribute!" Nadja pauses as she looks at the four teenagers on stage before focusing her attention on the giant bowl. She closes her eyes and as she mutters something under her breath before her hand dives into the it.
Marinette finds herself holding her breath when Nadja removes the last piece of paper. There is a chance that she could be chosen because of her age; the slips do add up over the years. Or even worst—what if someone that she cares for is chosen? Well, Nathaniel was already chosen. And Myléne, though Marinette didn't particularly care for her like she did her friend. But what if someone else was added? Only one person could be victorious. The girl wouldn't be able to hope for two dear people to survive.
For the first time since Marinette has been old enough to remember the Selection, Nadja is quiet. A hand covers her mouth as she stands on stage, eyes watering as she stares at the slip in front of her. "The Southern District's final tribute is Manon Chamack."
