The moon was high in the nighttime sky, and the only true source of light. There didn't need to be any other; no person would ever come to this place. There was nothing but deep, dark forest, high cliffs, and wild animals about. Nothing was civil about this place, not even hikers or campers dared to venture this far.

Well, one person might dare, so long as they knew nothing else would dare attack him.

The sorcerer was growing impatient. The thing he was looking for was not out here, either. He had been certain that it had been hidden somewhere remote, far from humanity, and had come out here. But he couldn't find anything – not the ring, the earrings, the comb, bracelet...

Idly, he wondered why fairies would attach themselves to jewelry, of all things. It didn't help them one bit, if anything it made sealing them away all the easier, he thought as his fingertips briefly caressed the jewel at his collar.

Well, that didn't matter much in the end; even if the fairies had some reason, he didn't care to know it. All that mattered was that he'd control more. No matter how long he had to search, regardless of if someone tried to hide the fairies or not.

And speaking of someone hiding fairies...

The sorcerer held his hand out suddenly, and a faint wisp of black smoke appeared above his palm. It curled around itself, growing steadily darker, until it formed a black butterfly. "Welcome back," the man said in a low voice, raising the thing to his face. "What did you see?"

The butterfly turned back into smoke, wisping towards the man's face. It briefly surrounded his eyes, in a mockery of a butterfly, and he saw.

"Hm," he said to himself, regarding the scene thoughtfully. Two maidens were in the kitchens; one he recognized, the other... "A new face has joined them. Odd, I wouldn't think anyone would have found the mansion, given its history. Especially after all these years." But it held no consequence to him. Another person there wouldn't change a thing.

He smiled wryly as the shorter girl saw his spy and began screaming, summoning his victim. Ah, that was who he wanted to see. This time he was in a rage upon spotting the butterfly, but all the previous times he'd been checked on, he'd be morose, alone yet surrounded by friends. That was what the sorcerer truly liked to see – he enjoyed knowing that the Agreste boy (though nearly a man now) was suffering from his enchantment. Even if he could not, or would not, tell the location of the fairy's ring, it was always entertaining to see him miserable in the meantime.

It was the only reason Hawk Moth had let it go on as long as it had.

Well, that and one other reason, he thought, idly touching the jewel again.

The vision suddenly vanished as the butterfly was damaged, but Hawk Moth had seen all he wanted. It was a bit of a shame that this time Agreste wasn't wallowing in his foolish self-pity, or prowling the forest more like an animal than a human – for those visions were his particular favorites, but this was all right.

Inside the jewel, something fluttered.


It had taken the better part of the day to calm Mylene down completely. She was shaking and nervous all day, glancing out the window and checking corners, jumping at unexpected movements...

And it was all over a black butterfly.

And Marinette still didn't know why. Right after she'd asked Adrien about it, Mylene had let out a particularly loud sob, apparently getting worked up all over again at the mention of it. Immediately feeling pangs of guilt and sympathy, Marinette had rushed over to help console her, but when she turned back around, Adrien was gone.

She couldn't look for him until nighttime, when Mylene was finally able to pour herself some tea without the kettle shaking.

"Are you going to be alright?" Marinette asked, brows knitted. Odd reason or not, Mylene had clearly been upset.

The smaller girl just nodded, managing a shy smile. "I'll be okay," she said, adjusting her hands around the teacup to better warm them. "It ju-just brought back some bad memories. That's all."

Bad memories? Marinette couldn't help but think.

But Mylene had been so shaken and upset that Marinette didn't dare consider asking her for an explanation. The last thing she needed was to make the poor girl upset and start crying all over again.

So she'd gone to the only other person she felt she should ask.

Ten minutes after her conversation with Mylene, Marinette stood at Adrien's door. There was a sense of deja vu that made her smile a little despite herself – the only difference in the scene was there weren't hushed whispers this time.

...huh. She couldn't hear anything on the other side of the door. He wasn't asleep, was he?

Cautiously, she rapped on the door. "Adrien?" she called softly. "It's Marinette."

At first, there was just silence. Maybe he was asleep. Then she heard his voice, hoarse and a bit raw-sounding. "Come in."

The door creaked open and Marinette peered in before taking a few steps inside. What she saw made her heart twist in sympathy.

Adrien sat at a window, his chin resting on the sill. His ears were down – not in anger or frustration, but rather drooping in sadness. His tail wasn't moving, lying limply on the floor like a belt. His muscles were relaxed, and she got the impression that he hadn't moved for quite some time and had just allowed himself to go slack. She couldn't see his face, but she had a pretty good idea of what it must look like.

Sitting on the windowsill, next to his head, were Tikki and Plagg. Both of them only gave Marinette a brief glance – though Tikki at least smiled ruefully – before turning their focus back to Adrien. It didn't seem like anyone had been speaking, but rather the fairies were offering silent support just by being there.

Well, Marinette didn't do 'silent' all that well. And seeing how upset the three of them were only made her curiosity burn stronger. She approached Adrien slowly so as not to startle him, and carefully reached out to put a hand on his back. He didn't tense up under her touch, which either meant he was getting used to her or he was that depressed.

She hoped it was the former.

"What's wrong?" she asked in a soft voice.

"Nothing. I'm just...thinking."

"Do you want to tell me what about?"

"...my parents."

Marinette blinked, taken aback despite herself.

"It's the butterflies," he mumbled, as if sensing her confusion. "They- there were a bunch of them around, before my mother died. I didn't think anything of it at the time, I barely even saw them myself. I think I saw one outside a window one night but it was dark so I-

"Mylene was the one who saw them the most. Bad luck, I think. One night she just ran into one of the rooms, yelling and crying for help and saying something about butterflies coming to hurt us. We didn't believe her but she said she'd seen one fly into my mother's room. She'd gone in to shoo it out, thinking it was just a normal one but then...Then she saw it fly above Mother's face, and then it floated into her and...Mother started coughing and gasping for air the next second, and that was when the doctors ran in."

Marinette stared, both because of the story and how readily Adrien was telling it.

She could tell by his flat, dull tone though that he was speaking without really thinking about it. It was just coming out. Had this been bottled up for a long time? Was he just desperate for someone to know about this? "That's why you were so angry," she realized.

Adrien went on as if he didn't hear. "When we left, some of my friends admitted they'd seen some too. Before Mylene, I mean. Ivan said he'd seen five or six hanging around the gardener's shed, Nino saw a bunch of them sitting on the musician's instruments like they were just waiting for something, Alya saw some outside her own window once but she ran once one came in – she said she'd had a horrible feeling about it and just had to get away." His voice grew tighter with emotion then. "And then- two weeks after we left, I-" He stopped.

"I saw-" Another stop. It was strange-sounding, as if someone had suddenly stolen his voice, rather than him stopping himself. Marinette couldn't help but frown.

Adrien sighed, swallowing. When he spoke again, his voice was still tight, quivering slightly. "There were a lot of them one night. I hated them, I was afraid of them. I thought they'd do what they did to my parents, and my friends' parents and all the others... They didn't, but...But when I see more of them I can't help but think of..."

A corner of Marinette's mind couldn't help but ask: how did a cat creature move house, how did he befriend a bunch of humans in the first place, were his parents cats as well – but none of it was important. And honestly, it was only a small corner of Marinette's mind asking this. The rest of her was sympathetic and angry.

Oh, and confused, but...well, the butterfly Adrien had killed had turned into black smoke. And she was sitting with him, a large cat-like creature – whom she had apparently been hearing in her dreams. And there were two fairies on the window.

Obviously, they couldn't just be normal butterflies.

And even if they had been, the end result was the same. They'd had something to do with the loss of his parents.

Marinette was suddenly aware that the flesh and muscle beneath her hand was trembling. She blinked, coming back to reality, and saw Adrien was trembling faintly. He was pointedly staring out the window as before, but this time he was tenser. Shaking.

And Marinette realized he was trying not to cry.

"Oh, Adrien..." she whispered, coming closer to sit next to him properly. He didn't look at her, but didn't resist as Marinette wrapped her arms around him as best she could, bowing her head so her forehead touched his shoulder.

"I'm sorry."


Adrien hadn't known why he told her about his family, his friends. He had only meant to tell her about the butterflies – why they were dangerous, why Mylene had panicked at the sight, how if she were to ever see another one she must run as fast as she can.

But it was like a dam had burst.

He'd only ever told Tikki and Plagg about it, and even then he didn't have much to tell because the wounds were still fresh. He couldn't talk about it to the others, because they knew. They knew and it would just bring back sad memories for them. He couldn't force them to relive their own last days at the other mansion. He wasn't cruel.

So he'd kept it all in, for seven years.

And when he finally had an opportunity to just talk about it, to explain what had happened, to say how frightened he'd been that night, even if he wasn't able to speak of what actually happened...

(He saw them coming in when the man was leaving. He thought, for one terrifying instant, that maybe he'd be struck ill just like his mother had, even after apparently being transformed. But there were so many of them, maybe he'd die altogether-

And he wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed when it wasn't so.)

He expected the tightness in his chest and throat. He expected to feel the same despair and fear and anger he'd felt before.

He hadn't expected Marinette to comfort him.

"I'm sorry."

Let it be known that Adrien Agreste did not cry. He was seventeen, had long accepted his circumstances, had plenty of time to get used to the way things way and to come to terms with what had happened. He did not cry.

He might, however, have dropped from the windowsill to the floor, feeling drained all of a sudden. He may have allowed Marinette to hug him tighter, gently petting the back of his head (not like one does an animal, but a person, for which he was grateful), and he may have had trouble controlling his breathing. His breathing might have suddenly become shaky and irregular, his eyes may have burned, and his throat might have constricted far worse than it had before. And he might have let out some loud, anguished sounds that were mostly incoherent but sometimes sounded like Why?

But if anyone were to ask anyone in that room, they would say that he had certainly not cried for ten minutes while Marinette whispered soothing words and hugged him tight. Certainly not.


"I'm sorry."

This time the words came from Adrien, half-lying on the floor with his face turned away from Marinette. He had finally calmed, but Marinette wasn't letting go yet. She just loosened her grip so he could move into a more comfortable position, and one hand was still on top of his head.

She frowned. "What for?"

"For...doing that." His voice was back to normal again, emotion and all. It allowed her to hear his embarrassment plain as day. "I promise I'm not...I'm not usually like that-"

"It's okay." Marinette smiled and shrugged. "Everyone has their bad days, and needs to-" She stopped.

Remember, he had not cried.

"Vent?" Tikki offered helpfully from the window.

Marinette's ears burned slightly as she remembered their audience, but she just said "Exactly. Thank you, Tikki." She smiled as Adrien finally looked at her again. "How do you feel?"

"...a bit better."

"Good. And-" Marinette stopped. She was about to say, 'I promise to watch out for butterflies' but given the circumstances behind them...that wouldn't be a good idea. "And...can you tell me about your family? I'm kind of curious now, and maybe it'll help more?"

Adrien was silent for a long time; Marinette could see his jaw muscles clenching. He opened his mouth once, as if trying to speak, but nothing came out. Finally, he sighed and shook his head. "I don't think so." Then, before Marinette could be too disappointed, "Can you tell me about yours instead? You're living with us now but I don't know a lot about you yet, besides the fact you live in the village." A pause. "Without them?"

Marinette let out a short laugh. "Yeah. Maman and Papa live in the city, still."

"That's not too far away," Adrien said readily.

"No. I mean, it's a bit of a journey, but it's not a long or a bad one.

We used to live together there, when I was a kid. Maman took me out all the time to see the seamstresses and tailors and their merchandise – she wasn't interested in clothing herself, but I was, and she wanted to indulge me. She used to say that just because she and Papa were more about baking, didn't mean they weren't going to support my interests.

"Eventually, I was such a regular visitor to the shops that they'd order extra fabric from the merchants and give it to me. Once when I was twelve, one of the seamstresses I liked handed me a huge bolt of red cloth and said 'Here. Show me what you can do with it.'"

A fond smile came to Marinette's face as she spoke. She remembered that day fondly...The bolt had been as big as she was, and she'd had to awkwardly waddle down the street with it, avoiding other passers-by. When she'd made it home, she'd spent the whole night and half of the day hard at work, not even noticing she was hungry until she was actually frightened by her stomach rumbling.

She had gone in a few days later, proudly showing off a beautiful dress; with long, full sleeves and a flowing, swishy skirt, just between every-day and special-occasion. The red cloth she'd managed to dye a bit darker, and she had added a few black spots near the cuffs of the sleeve and to splash on the collar. If one looked close at the collar's spots, they would see swirls and curves of black thread, elegantly spelling out Marinette's own name.

The woman had taken it in near-reverence, saying that if this was Marinette's first attempt, she would have no trouble making a name for herself.

"I started doing a few commissions at first, and Maman and Papa were so proud of me...One time, Papa even made tiny cakes that looked like spools of ribbon, calling them 'Petit Marinettes,'" she laughed.

"It sounds great," Adrien said, sounding a little happier than he had been.

"So why'd ya leave?"

"Plagg!" Tikki whispered.

Marinette smiled ruefully. "There was a wealthy man in the city, and he saw my work. He wanted to have me design and create fashions for his daughter – who's my age – to wear. He promised me my own, huge room and studio for working, and high wages. And his daughter was a socialite – I knew if she wore my fashions, they'd be noticed, and I'd be able to become a famous designer in a few short years. My parents and I talked it over; they said they would miss me, but we swore to write, and I wasn't going to be far..."

That thought had been one of the only ones to keep her going during that time.

She remembered arriving at the Bourgeois home, introducing herself to Chloé as her personal dressmaker...and quickly learning how insufferable the other girl was. At first, she was mildly relieved that most of Chloé's attention was focused elsewhere so long as Marinette did her work, but then she'd seen Chloé's personal maid, well, personally.

The redhead girl had been following Chloé like an obedient, desperate, puppy, eager to fulfill any of her needs-

-and then Chloé had snapped that she was too close and pushed her back. It hadn't been hard enough to hurt, but then the blonde had said "Even personal maidservants are maidservants, and they are meant to be invisible."

The girl had looked so wounded just then, that Marinette couldn't help but pity her. She had stepped in at that moment to tell Chloé off, but all the girl did was smirk and remind her that she was under her father's employment, and if she was impertinent again they could easily fire her and have her replaced.

Even now, Marinette's gut burned at the memory.

"Mari?" Adrien asked, snapping her back to the present. "You went all quiet. Is something wrong?"

Marinette shook her head. "No," she said, choosing to ignore the sudden (though not entirely unwanted) nickname. "No, sorry, I just got lost in thought. Where was I?"

She could hear Adrien's smile in his tone. "You were telling us about being a famous dressmaker to one person."

"Hush, you," Marinette said, gently bopping him on the shoulder. Despite this, she grinned.

Over the next five or so minutes, Marinette talked. About how the job had been taxing at times, but how she'd endured, how she was getting closer to her dream, how she'd somewhat-befriended the personal maid... How one night, Chloé had worn one of Marinette's creations to a ball being held in town, and some of the higher nobility had taken notice, asked who had designed such a piece. Marinette was going to make it...

...and then a day or so later, it had all come crashing down. How she hadn't known what had happened, but most of the staff were forced to leave, how the family's money was lost, how she and some other girls tried not to be too sick in the rickety wagon to Molyneaux...

"And now I'm here, and you know the rest," Marinette finished with a shrug. She paused thoughtfully. "Huh. Y'know, we both started talking about one thing and ended with another."

Adrien laughed again. "I'm not complaining about that though, are you?"

"Nope," Marinette admitted with a laugh of her own. Hers was more relieved, however. Adrien really did feel better after all.

He fell into a thoughtful silence, green eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at the ceiling. "Hey," he finally said. "You're designing new clothes for everyone, right? Everyone was talking about it earlier." At Marinette's nod, he went on "If...maybe, just maybe I can work something out? Maybe someday, I can help get your name out instead."

How he planned to do that, he had no earthly idea. Everyone would sooner shoot a large black cat creature than listen to it, and his friends...had their own set of difficulties.

But he wanted to offer. He wanted to at least offer Marinette that hope – neither knew how long she would stay here, he wanted her to at least believe her talents wouldn't go to waste. He didn't know how he would help her, but he'd think of something.

Eventually.

Marinette's brows were raised when he looked at her again, but not in skepticism. Her eyes seemed to sparkle a little as she leaned closer. "Really?" she asked.

Adrien couldn't help think how that was actually pretty adorable. "Sure. I mean – I don't know how I'll do that," he admitted, not wanting her to believe he was leading her on, "but I can think of something. It won't happen overnight, but I promise it won't take years either. I want to do something for you, and your designs do look nice," he added.

Marinette leaned back, one eyebrow raising in a challenging manner. "And what do you want in return?"

He blinked. "Nothing."

"Oka – wait, nothing?"

Neither of them saw the quick look the two fairies sent each other.

"Why would I want anything in return? I want to do something nice for you – you're my friend." He sounded a little surprised as he said this, as if not even he had noticed or considered it. "You deserve to be recognized, you deserve this." Especially since you're stuck in a mansion in the forest, with me. You may as well get some kind of reward for this, he thought.

Marinette frowned. "I have to think of something for you, though-"

"Mari. I am not asking for anything in return." His tone left no room for argument.

Blue and green locked for a long ten seconds; blue utterly stunned and green gentle but unyielding. Finally, Marinette sighed and smiled, holding one hand out. "Okay." Her smile widened a fraction as Adrien slipped his paw into her hand, the two of them shaking on it. "Thank you."

Tikki cleared her throat just then. "Pardon me," she said cheerfully. "But while I am glad to see everything is all right now, and this truly is a nice moment-"

"We're hungry."

"Nooooo, I was going to say that I believe it is nearly dinner-time, and Adrien, you have not eaten anything since breakfast! Come on, then!" In a red streak of light, Tikki zipped from the window to Adrien's door. "Let's get you both down there before poor Adrien starves! So skinny already, really..." she muttered motherly, passing through the door.

As Marinette and Adrien rose to their feet, the latter made an odd face. "I'm not skinny, am I?" he asked, glancing down at his cat-like form. It was a bit hard to tell, but he was sure there was muscle and fat there.

"Tikki thinks everyone's too skinny," Plagg muttered as he floated past. "Hm, but she is right, you definitely need to eat more."

"Wow. Thank you," Adrien deadpanned as they went out the door together.


It was an odd experience, being confined like this. One giant contradiction.

In a way, it was like being asleep, but in another way it was like being awake. He was aware of everything around him, everything that was happening, yet it was through a heavy fog, and he couldn't actually do much of anything.

He felt intangible, but at the same time he knew where all his limbs were, he knew when his eyes were open or closed, and he knew he was curled up in a little ball, weak as a newborn pixie.

He felt heavy and slow, but his mind...oh, his mind was racing.

Racing to think, racing to come up with another plan – not another escape, per se, the last attempt had left him so drained of energy he thought he'd die. His mind was loud, screaming in desperation and anger and regret. He wondered if the boy knew how sorry he was. How he had so tried to hold the magic back, but once his captor had set his mind to it there was no stopping it. How he had begged for it not to happen, pleaded with him to stop even as the heavy spell settled on the mansion.

But of course, for all his protests, there was nothing to be done back then.

It was lucky, he mused (with what was left to muse with) that he'd been able to achieve as much as he had. To hide as much as he had.

He felt a familiar sensation then: a ripple of anger, frustration and hatred from his captor. The fairy felt sick from it, and fell still again.