Hi, everyone! Welcome to the first chapter of Miraculous: Tales of Swan Blanc & Cat Noir.
Thanks for checking this out. I hope it lives up to good expectations and that it piques your interest enough to get a review or want more. I've been a fan of the Miraculous series for a while now and wanted to make my own story. Or at least I hope to if people like it enough.
But anyways, enough about me! Let's get on with our hero's origin story!
Or at least the start of some kind of story…
Anyways, please review if you get the time! Reviews help the writing process and tell us writers directly what you like, don't like, or what you'd like to see more of. Just no flaming for the sake of complaining though, please. ;3
A/N: This chapter here is technically a slight re-edit of the first chapter. Most of some of the changes can be found in the second half of the chapter, so don't fear missing out on something crucial.
Disclaimer: I do not own Miraculous Ladybug nor Pokemon.
"Isn't her dancing just divine?"
"Exquisite. To be so far along at her young age."
"To have so much energy to keep going as far as the adults. She must practice everyday."
The subject of the audiences' comments felt a burning gasp escape her lips, ears catching gossip quietly mixed in with the classical music ringing through the breath taking opera house. The ballet dancers' chest felt heavy, a crushing weight squeezing at her insides every time she tried to take in oxygen. It felt like her whole upper body was on fire each time she tried to move a single limb.
Yet nobody could tell what kind of pain she was in from their seats in the audience.
They couldn't.
They wouldn't.
Her job was to be flawless, to look beautiful and graceful at the center stage while conveying a story through her movements. If the mask of peace she had when she just started fell now, there was no point in even trying to continue. If she couldn't handle this, what was the point?
Taking a step forward she pushed herself off the ground, legs spreading outwards through the air as if she was taking off to fly. The pain in her chest momentarily disappeared, a feeling of warm calm spreading through the ballet dancers' body; and as she descended back down she routinely placed her feet on top the stage to catch herself, legs bent to secure her descent and cream and white colored tutu flowing with movement.
The sounds of hands clapping from the sea of onlookers seated in the darkness, the dancer placed her right foot forward and carefully leaned forward to brace herself on the single limb. Slowly raising her left leg upwards and outstretching her arms outwards to balance her form, a red-jeweled necklace hanging around her neck dangled in the light, sparkling with a ruby shine that contrasted in color, yet complimented her angelic outfit.
It was perfect. Her appearance, her outfit, her movements and grace. Her entire being was marveled by the audience and while she was feeling tired, she also felt so strong and free. She was so happy to be focused on what she loved. She felt so powerful every time she stepped on stage.
Like she could do anything. Even fly off this very-
"Aaah!"
Suddenly, a pain stronger than anything the dancer felt broke her form. The shock coming from her foot, the dancer was unable to hold herself up any longer and crashed hard to the floor in pain; a cry of discomfort making its way out of her as she fell.
The crumpled form of the ballet dancer writhing in agony, she reached for her ankle, grasping at it tightly as if hoping her own touch would somehow stop the throbbing.
It was…unbearable. Her foot felt like it was on fire inside and out, like something was stretching her muscles like string until they snapped.
"H-Help." The dancer whispered, her voice gasping out. It was so quiet she wasn't sure if anyone could hear her, but she still tried her best. "P-Please."
She waited. Curled into a ball holding her right leg in pain, the dancer continued to wait. Help would surely come. She was hurt and could not continue on. She may not have been dancing now, but even when still and unmoving, she was still just as graceful and beautiful as she had been moments ago.
Wasn't she? She believed that…so why was nobody there for her?
"I can't believe this."
Yes! Finally someone was speaking out. They would come to her aid, help her when she had fallen. Someone would be by her side.
"I can't believe I wasted my time on this!"
….What?
"This is disgraceful! Why isn't she getting up?"
No.
"So saddening. Someone so young to have their career taken away from them."
Please.
"She won't be dancing anymore after that."
Don't say that.
"Poor thing. Almost like a bird with a broken wing."
"Stop…" The dancer cried out, her voice still hushed amongst the waves of comments resounding through the dark sea of onlookers. The lights above her were beginning to dim, and slowly darkness was encroaching on her vision. Voices were still alive and talking, words of resentment or pity swaying back and forth through the room.
She could do nothing but lay there on the stage, hands wrapped around her leg and curled around herself. She felt her body shake like a leaf, as if abandoned in the cold of night to fend for herself against the mobs of people sitting, standing….just staring at her to do the things she could do before.
Things she could no longer do.
"Why won't she-"
"Can she-"
"Terrible-"
The words were getting louder and louder, banging in her ears like drums. No longer could she hear the blessed music of her dancing, feel herself moving freely and without care. Instead she laid there frigid and still, all but the sounds of people commenting on her, inspecting her, judging her.
Her hands jumped to her ears, clasping hard to shut out the noises.
And than she screamed as best she could above the adults watching her on stage.
"STOP-"
"-PLEASE!"
Beads of sweat rolling down the side of her lightly-toned skin, Samantha Fujisaki-Tanets sprang her body upwards out from underneath her covers, gasping for air like she had just emerged from water. Lips parted faintly, it took only a few more moments of being awake to realize her hard she was breathing and how tight her chest felt.
Her heartbeat. It was pounding so hard. Like it would spring out of her chest in the next minute if she didn't calm herself.
One hand grasping at her white pajama tank top and the other holding onto her soft cotton comforter for dear life, Samantha took one final long deep breath of air to relax herself and slowly let her fingers unfurl before she tore through it with her grip alone.
The adrenaline from whatever kind of nightmare she had making its way out of her system, the brunette collapsed back onto her soft mattress, muscles while her eyes scanned around her to familiarize where she was.
Her eyesight was still blurry, but familiar objects and colors made their way to her eyes.
Forest green walls. Curved lines of light colored paint shaped to look like flower among the walls. Wooden furniture placed neatly by the walls and sitting quietly to observe her freakout. Turning her head to her side, the brunette stared at the contents of her bed.
Small plush dolls of Pokemon lay neatly on her bed, though a few askew from her small bout of what was most likely tossing and turning. Her mint green and white comforter and sheets knocked around as well, it was clear her goodnight sleep was not…good night sleep.
That's right. She was in her bedroom. Her…new bed room she was still getting used to.
"It still doesn't feel right here." She muttered, taking in another deep breath to relax her tense muscles.
Senses starting to come back to her, Samantha started smelling the soft fragrances of fresh flowers sitting on the shelves of her room. The smells were faint, but they were relaxing to her body enough that she couldn't help but smile a little.
"What time is it?" Pushing the covers off her form, Samantha slowly moved her legs close to her and turned her body to the small nightstand sitting by her bed. A light blue clock sitting on the desktop, the clock's screen glowed with a faint light, numbers flashing the numbers eight and thirty in neon blue.
"I woke up that early?" Samantha wondered aloud, rubbing a hand across her face. "Usually I sleep in."
"Samantha? Honey, are you awake?" A muffled voice called out from a floor down.
Looking towards her bedroom door, Samantha answered as best as her tired voice could. "Y-Yeah! I'm up, mom!"
"Could you come down here and help me with some things? Breakfast is already made for you too."
"Coming!" Moving her body closer to the edge of her bed, the brunette swung her legs over her bed and slowly reached her feet down to touch the floor beneath her.
And just as quickly she regretted doing it.
"Ah!" She winced out, her right foot jumping off the floor as if the ground was lava. Hissing a bit as the pain departed, Samantha frowned and let her eyes drift down to her right foot.
A long familiar scar running across her ankle and heel, the brunette sighed and rolled her eyes sadly.
"I must be tired if I forgot about you." Unconsciously moving her toes at a wary pace as if testing her movements, Samantha rubbed a smooth hand across the her light toned caucasian skin, hoping the motion would somehow deter the pain she was feeling. Scooting over to the small nightstand next to her bed, Samantha pulled open the first drawer and grabbed a large black velcro leg brace. Putting it down next to her and lifting her right leg up close to her, the fourteen-year old began to wrap the brace around her ankle and foot at a meticulous pace.
Each wrap neatly placed on a part of her foot and tightened enough to not feel too loose nor too tight, the brunette buckled the brace with the help of a strong metal clip to secure her injury.
A few more seconds passing by, Samantha finally pushed herself off her bed and stood up straight on the floor, awaiting the potential sting of pain from her foot that came from a bad wrap up job.
No pain. That was a good sign.
"There. Now it won't feel like my foot is on fire."
Her job finished and now fully awake, Samantha made her way out of her bedroom and limped towards the stairwell, grabbing onto the smooth railing and took paced strides down the stairs. With each step the scent of flowers she'd smelled earlier began to get stronger and stronger, and soon enough a strange smell of sugar and cake mixed in with the flowery fragrance. Reaching the final steps of the stairs and finding herself in the living room of their small home, Samantha took notice of the many boxes still taped shut and with hastily written words on the sides.
It's going to be a real pain getting these upstairs.
"It smells like pancakes in here, mom." Samantha spoke up, hoping to find her mom in the ocean of cardboard boxes.
"That's because we're having pancakes for breakfast." The jovial voice of her mom answered, echoing from the kitchen on the right hand side. "They're your favorite. And sweets are a good way to start off a morning when you're moving."
Following her mother's voice, the petite girl made her way towards the kitchen and walked through the threshold, finding herself in a very light pink colored kitchen. There too were some boxes sitting around the room, though most were labeled "kitchen" or "food" on the sides, so none were out of place.
A small round kitchen table sat in the center of the room, two chairs tucked neatly against the table to signify the only members who lived in the house. At the sides were an array of cabinets and drawers to hold various appliances and silverware, added by a wooden countertop with a dish washer, dryer, and sink for cleaning at the far ends. A simple light hung on the ceiling above the room, the light bulb turned off since the wide paneled window above the sink was hosting the bright and early rays of the morning sun. The room was alit with warm sunlight so peaceful, Samantha was sure she could fall back asleep to the warmth.
Standing in front of the heated stove next to the refrigerator was an older woman of forty years, Samantha's mother, who was cooking up a storm in a simple yet pleasing white apron decorated with flowers. Long brown hair flowed down the side of her face, the soft locks tied in a loose ponytail that rested on her shoulder. The signs of age were upon her skin, yet even at her age her mother was the definition of a woman growing more beautiful with every passing year. She was old, but enriched in defined regality and poise that any confident woman had.
Brown eyes moving away from the pan on the stove to turn and see the newest addition of the kitchen, her mothers' lips went upwards to the kind of smile all mothers' gave their beloved children.
"Good morning, honey. Did you sleep okay?" The worried tone of her mother asked.
A hand combing through her messy brown locks, Samantha just shrugged her shoulders and answered unenthusiastically. "It was…okay, I guess." She walked over to the table and pulled out a chair, taking a seat and rested her arms atop the table. "I think my foot woke me up, though. It was hurting when I got up today."
Her mother frowned, putting down her spatula and walked to her daughter seated at the table. "Do you need me to get your pain killers, honey? If it's hurting that badly, you can take one."
"No, I'm fine. I can work through it. I'll take one if it bothers me more later." Samantha spoke while shaking her head, hoping her words would be enough to dissuade her mothers' worry.
Reluctant, her mother nodded in understanding. "Okay. But tell me if you need anything. For now, let's enjoy some pancakes before I open up the shop." Reaching for the stove knob and turning off the stove's gas, Samantha's mother grabbed a glass plate stacked with golden brown pancakes and placed them on the table in front of her child. "You eat up now. I'm going to start watering the flowers and making sure the stock is taken care of today."
Beginning to leave the room, Samantha turned in her seat to watch her mother leave. "Do you need any help, mom? You said before that you needed me for something."
Stopping mid step, Samantha's mother turned to look back at her child. "I did, but I think I'll do it myself."
Samantha grimaced. "Mom, I'm fine. I'm not some little kid who can't take care of herself. I can help you."
"I know you aren't, honey, but after what you said about your foot I'd rather not make it worse. You know tendinitis can only become worse if you overwork your muscles. And I don't want you slipping by mistake and getting worse because of me." Walking back to her daughter, Samantha's mother bent down and kissed her child on the head. "I know I keep doing this a lot. And I don't mean to, but I don't want to stress your injury and make it worse for my sake. Its been are with your father gone and-"
"Mom, I know." Samantha replied, cutting her mother off. Averting her gaze away, her eyes hesitantly moved to look back. "You don't…have to say it. I won't help today, but can I help next time? I'm not useless. And we both know this tendinitis isn't going away. I don't want you to think that I can't do anything anymore. And I want to help." She asked, almost pleading to her adult figure.
A sincere smile shining back at her, Samantha's mother nodded and hugged her daughter. "Of course, honey. Whatever you want. You can help me run the shop next time. But for now just eat your breakfast. Go out and take in the sights. It's been a week and all you've done is stay locked up in your room. Enjoy the city of Paris and get to know your new home. I want you to experience it to the fullest."
Samantha's head dipped down, not sure if she wanted to look her mother in the eye at the request. "Mom, I don't know." Samantha answered, her voice uncertain. "This whole place is so much different from New York. I'm not sure if I'm ready to go out there yet."
She would never tell her mother out loud her real thoughts everything.
It would kill her.
Two soft fingers placed beneath her chin, Samantha's head was raised up to look right into the green eyes of her mother. A motherly warmth and understanding conveyed in her eyes alone, Samantha's mother nodded. "Alright, honey. You don't have to force yourself if you don't want to. You can go out anytime you'd like, but if you do please let me know."
Another hug shared between mother and daughter, the older woman smiled and walked out of the kitchen to head out into the room beyond Samantha's vision.
Now sitting alone in the quiet kitchen of their newly moved into home, Samantha reached for a fork and knife to eat, but slowly felt her hands become heavy and place the utensils back on the table top.
Frowning, Samantha slowly pushed the plate back from herself.
Suddenly she wasn't feeling as hungry as she was before.
"I don't know how to tell her." Samantha muttered to herself, sitting neatly in a comfortable patio chair outside her room. Her backroom door entrance opened to the balcony of her room, a quiet place for her to get some air and take in the sights of her new "home".
"I can't just say that I hate it here. I don't."
It's really beautiful here. Even I can see that.
Tall buildings outstretched as far as her eyes could see, Samantha stared out at breathtaking structures that sat like works of art across the streets. From the stone sidewalks, greenery of city parks, and the infamous Eiffel Tower just across the way from her house, it was very obvious as to why her mother had suggested she go out and see the sights.
Everywhere she turned there was culture, beauty, charm.
Everything Paris was known for.
Everything she used to have.
What did she have to contribute?
"I don't belong in a place like this. Not the way I am now. Maybe back then. But now?" Samantha muttered sadly. Reaching to pick up a brochure and a slip of paper in her lap, the brunette stared at the tiny piece of paper; words scribbled in neat cursive.
Her mother wanting her to get accustomed to their new home had been kind enough to write their address down. After all, she would need to remember where she lived now that she was in a new setting.
"Twelve Rue Gotlib, Twenty-First Are…A-Aro…Arondissement? Why can't they just say an apartment number or something?" Samantha wondered aloud, folding the slip of paper and placing it in her pocket. "It's hard enough trying to remember how to get home, but this address is already not making any sense."
Taking the next item on her lap, Samantha stared at a light cream colored brochure decorated with a picture of a school building. It looked fancier than any school she'd been to, that was a given. Tall and pristine in architecture, defining in size and look.
It was the kind of school that a lot of people would kill to go to, especially since it focused on the talents of artists. From what her mother told her and what she skimmed when reading it, College Franciose Dupont was an academic marvel in Paris and was made to teach kids her age about her regular education, while focusing heavily on the arts such as painting, fashion and designing.
A very fun and interesting line of courses, but not really her forte. The most she could do was come up with some pretty original designs if she sketched all day without interruption, but even then it was hard enough drawing and turning it into an actual piece of clothing.
"I'm going to get eaten alive here." She muttered, slapping the brochure against her face before pulling it away to stare at the roof of the school from her spot. "I wonder why mom chose this school for me."
It did look nice. It was a well known school from what she knew and just about every kid wanting to work in the arts went there.
It also didn't hurt that it was just a block or so away from their new home. It was better than being stuck in a boring school where she only went to learn general education and do some physical activity.
But it would still be challenging. Finding something there that would help her feel welcome. Make her feel at home and help her find out her path. Maybe once she met people…
Her shoulders suddenly scrunched close to her, the brunette crushing the pamphlet accidentally in her hands.
"Wait, how am I going to make any friends?" Samantha pondered, getting up from her chair slowly and tapping her braced foot on the tile of the balcony. "I'm not the most popular girl around and I'm going to get judged right when I walk in this new school year. How am I supposed to act? Is there some kind of dress code? What do people in Paris talk about?"
Getting a bit frazzled by her new predicament, Samantha looked back at her room and noticed her reflection in the glass door.
She wasn't...ugly, right?
She wasn't the type to stand out to get attention. Long brown hair that rested past her shoulders, but sometimes had a mind of its own with strands poking out even when combed.
That had always been a problem of hers.
Her height was quite small for her age of fourteen, standing at the measly size of four foot and eleven inches, or even five feet exactly if she was wearing the right shoes.
People were going to tower over her when she got there.
Light caucasian skin waved across her form and thankfully she'd been blessed with minor blemishes and clear skin and a heart shaped face. She looked a bit childish, but at least she knew how to take care of her skin.
And lastly was her pretty boring dark brown eyes. Not that brown eyes were boring or anything, but a lot of people had brown eyes. The combination of all her looks overall coupled with her small body frame, there didn't seem to be any quality about Samantha now that made her stand out in a way that she'd make a lot of friends. Her overall score was average at best.
Well, she did technically have something that Mae her stand out.
Dark brown eyes stared down at her tapping foot in her reflection, the limb stopping once her eyes settled on it.
It was so hard when she first got hurt and had to heal. After people saw her with this, the jokes would never stop because for some weird reason people with disabilities were perfect targets for bullying in some's sick minds.
But her mom said Paris would be different. That not every place has the same people, places, and things to see and experience. She may miss her old home, but now that she was here people would surely be kinder about her situation.
She wouldn't have to hear anymore insults from others her age, right?
"I bet a turtle could beat you in a race with that thing you have on."
"Did you forget to take your cuff off after breaking out of jail?
"Have fun running your laps, slowpoke.
But those insults were never the worst ones. They were bad, but the worst were from adults who said things behind her back. To her mother who was the only one in her life now.
"Oh, the poor thing. I feel so sorry for her."
"I bet it must be rough having a child who has trouble walking."
"She used to dance? She must have been so lovely before the accident."
"Your husband passed? I'm so sorry. The load must be so heavy on you and your daughter."
Samantha disliked the bullying, but nothing compared to those comments. To the remarks. The sad looks in people's eyes and talking to her mother in such a sad tone.
The pity!
Samantha shut her eyes, hands clutching themselves into fists at her sides. "No, you need to stop thinking about that. I'm not going back down that road. Not again."
I already know I've lost so much. I don't need people always reminding me. Reminding mom about what she's lost!
Trying to release the anger building up inside her, Samantha limped her way back into her room and slammed the door behind her. Heading to her bed she picked up a comfort of her life, a soft Pikachu plush doll and hugged it to her chest and took a quiet plop onto her desk chair.
"I'm…scared." She said quietly, burying her face into her plush Pikachu. "I wish dad was here. He'd tell me everything would be okay." Her arms wrapped around her doll tighter, and Samantha clenched her teeth together. "I'm not ready for this. A new life in a new place. Starting over without him. Without…"
Trying to wipe the tears threatening to leak from her eyes, Samantha rubbed her face deeper into her plush doll and moved her head upwards to stare at the top of her desk, a framed picture sitting neatly in the far corner.
The wooden frame held a small photo, the subject being only a single person. The subject was a little girl, no older than seven dressed in a wine red leotard and white tights. Worn looking red dance shoes covering her feet and brown hair tied up in a proper bun, bright brown eyes filled with excitement and pleasure beamed from what the picture could say without words.
In the small child's hands was a plaque, a framed paper signed with a gold seal, blue ribbon and neat cursive on the parchment easily spotted in the photo. While the words on the paper could not be read from the photo, whatever it was made the girl smile so bright that it seemed like nothing could destroy her spirit.
Eyes of the depressed teen staring back at the permanently innocent eyes of the young girl in the photo, Samantha reached out to the picture and lazily pushed it downwards, the photo falling face down onto the desktop.
Moving back to face her room and continuing to hold her Pokemon plush close to her, Samantha let out a heavy sigh, a weight crushing down on her chest despite her efforts to try and relax.
"Why can't everything go back to normal?"
Not a single flower in her room tried to answer her.
"Mom, I'm going to go out."
Dressed in a simple white tank top and blue cotton hoodie, Samantha pulled at the loops on her pants and adjusted the jeans around her waist. Hair still a bit messy despite combing it three times, Samantha opted to place her hood over her head, hiding the crazy strings that were her hair for the time being.
It had been a while since her...tantrum she guess she'd call it. After washing her face from some crying, fixing her photo back upright and taking some time to get some fresh air on her balcony, Samantha finally decided it was time to do what her mother asked her to do.
Go out and see her new home.
She wasn't going anywhere else anytime soon and school was coming up in just a week. She'd need to prepare. At least try not to look stupid by being late on the first day.
"While you're out dear, could you do something for me?" Her mother called, making Samantha look up towards the hallway her mother was calling from.
"You...want my help?" She asked, a bit surprised that her mother was letting her help so soon already. She asked to let her help perhaps only a few hours ago, half the day already passing by and the afternoon nearly upon them.
"I got a special order I need you to take. It's a bonsai tree that needs to be delivered since the customer can't make it all the way here. I have to stay here to watch the shop or we might miss out on some new customers today." Her mother explained, walking out with a colorful paper bag holding the bonsai tree in a secure box. Reaching the bag over to her daughter, Samantha's mother smiled warmly to her child. "Can you do it, honey?"
Limping over to her mother as little as possible to show her prowess, Samantha reached out to her mother and took the bag out of her hands, her mother receiving a small smile in response. This would be her chance to prove she could help her mother with anything. "I can do it, mom. I'll deliver it faster than you can say lisianthus." She joked.
The smile felt a bit forced in Samantha's opinion, the action doing little to dissuade the hesitation deep inside her. However, she needed to look and seem her best.
If not for herself, for her mother.
Understanding the poor joke, her mother nodded and patted her daughters' head. "Alright. Just call me if something happens. Oh, and don't forget these." Going back to the kitchen for a moment, her mother swiftly came back and handed Samantha a familiar pill bottle.
Lazily shaking the bottle in her hand, Samantha nodded knowingly to her mother and put the bottle away in a small purse hanging on her shoulder. "I'll be careful, mom. You don't have to worry. I'll be back in a while. I'll call when I deliver this." Hugging her mother goodbye and headed out, Samantha shut the door behind her and took to the sidewalk, bonsai tree bag and purse knocking against her with each limping step.
It was time to walk to streets of her new home!
"Okay, this is hurting a lot more than I thought it would."
It hadn't been very long when Samantha was honestly starting to regret her decision of walking all the way to deliver the bonsai in her grasp. Just twenty or so steps in through the passing markets of Paris and her foot was starting to gain a dull ache, along with the tiring motion of having to drag her heavy foot off the ground to avoid tripping or slipping.
It was these kind of moments that Samantha wished for the old scenery of New York. The smooth surface of dirt under her heavy foot that would cushion her weak limb from construction, the difference in up and down slopes of hills on the way to her old school and the quaint shortcuts through some connecting neighborhoods to make her trips far less taxing and tedious.
Paris didn't have the kind of shortcuts she was used to.
The scenery was far from having soft dirt on the road.
And there were no down hills in sight. Just...straight paths that didn't change.
Her foot couldn't take much more of this!
"I've just started. I'm not going to start throwing a pill in my mouth over some minor pain. I just need to find this guy. What was his name and address again?" Reaching into the gift bag and pulling out the small receipt of paper, Samantha nervously stared at the paper, her mothers' writing this time becoming harder to decipher than usual. "Mister….Lu? Did mom write her cursive too fast again? I can't read the name this time."
Upside down, sideways, and upside down. No direction no matter how many times Samantha looked at the paper suddenly made the recipient's name become any clearer.
"At least the address is legible. But these street signs are not easy to read." She muttered stuffing the paper back in her pocket.
Heading down the sidewalk and taking a turn around the park nearby, Samantha let her eyes wander around to the buildings and shops she was passing by while trying to spot a clue to where she'd need to go.
Cafes people would see out of movies stood by. Buildings framed in artwork. Tourists taking pictures and enjoying the sights. Artists also seemed to be on every street corner she spotted.
Painters, musicians, writers, designers who sketched in notepads. There was talent every time Samantha turned a corner or crossed a street. The city of lights as people would call it held more to it than just fancy lighting and beautiful scenery. Every person she noticed or watched seemed to have a story to tell, a talent or trait they wanted to show to others. For fun, for their own enjoyment, to inspire others.
It was beautiful and poetic to talk about and see.
Stopping on the edge of the next crosswalk in her path to wait for the light to change, Samantha momentarily leaned on the light post next to her for a rest, her brown eyes momentarily gazing around and falling back on the tall symbol of Paris itself, the Eiffel Tower.
I wonder if this is what mom meant when she said I should enjoy the city. To see the beauty of the place I'll be calling home. All of these painters and artists are nice to see…but to make me happy? I don't know. Nothing...would make me happier than-
The sound of a harsh car horn blaring in the air, Samantha shrieked in fear and jumped a bit, her thoughts cut short by the noise.
"Hey, old man! Get out of the way!"
"Who's yelling so loudly?" Samantha pondered aloud, her head turning to try and spot what the commotion was. Finding the subject just ahead of her, Samantha couldn't help but frown.
Tired and hunched over a cane, an older goateed man of what she guessed was Asian descent hobbled across the cross walk at a slow speed. Hand clutching his cane and the other trying to hold his back straight, the old man took each step at a tired man's pace, clearing only an inch or two with every step.
He was slow, perhaps even slower than Samantha was with her tendinitis; and that trait alone was the reason for the sudden car horn. Eyes drifting off to the street from far away, the sight of a car driving down the road at a fast speed made the brunette's blood run cold.
The car was going too fast. The old man was moving at far too slow a speed to get to the other side in time, even if he booked it into old man overdrive! At the rate he was going, he was going to…
Samantha shook her head, forcing herself to stop thinking before her mind jumped to the dark and inevitable conclusion. Eyes darting back and forth to look for someone who'd be heading the old man's way soon, Samantha realized that the few people who were around the same place she was….weren't even paying attention! They didn't even seem to notice what was going on or what was about to happen!
If nobody did something soon than...
I've got to move!
Not realizing her body was already moving by the time she'd finished her realization, Samantha felt herself already limping quickly into the crosswalk, heading towards the old stranger as fast as she could with her leg brace. Throwing the wrapped bonsai tree bag off to the side in her fit of adrenaline and fear, Samantha ignored the burning pain in her ankle and rushed to the old mans' side, reaching and hand out to hastily grab onto the old man tightly.
"Sorry if I pull too hard, sir!" Samantha yelled in some broken French, doing the exact action she described and pulled the man as hard as she could towards her. Pushing herself back from the force of her own body and taking the old man with her towards the sidewalk, Samantha and the old man fell hard onto the sidewalk, finding themselves to be safe and far away from any danger.
The sound of a car horn and the metal vehicle cutting through the air, Samantha sighed with tired relief at the car that had been close to hitting her and the old man now come and gone.
"Thank goodness. That was way too close." Samantha breathed out, her body shaking from adrenaline and feeling as if it was melting into jelly. However the moment was short lived when the brunette remembered what had just occurred.
Forcing herself to sit up despite the lack of solid nerves in her arms, Samantha turned to check on the old man next to her. "S-Sir, are you alright?" She asked in French, shifting to her left leg for better support and reaching a hand out to the old man.
Groaning a bit from the fall, the old man rubbed his head a bit, but opened his eyes to look at Samantha and smiled. "I am alright. Thank you for helping me, miss. If not for you, I'd be an old man pancake." He joked in English, taking her hand.
A bit surprise by the sudden language change, Samantha smiled awkwardly, unsure if the fall was making her hear strangely. "Y-You speak English?"
"Yes, quite well. Along with French, Japanese, and Chinese. It's never unnecessary to know another language or two. It makes it much easier if I need to thank a young girl for helping me." The man mentioned, a small wink sent her way.
A bit taken back by the joking demeanor of the old man, Samantha chuckled too and nodded while getting up from the ground. "It...was nothing. I just wanted to he-ah!"
A familiar sting of pain radiating through her, Samantha stopped moving and reached down to her right leg, hand wrapping around her ankle that felt like it was bursting into flames.
Not again. Of course I'd mess my foot up from saving someone. Just my luck.
"Miss, are you alright?" The old man asked, worry crossing his features at her pained expression.
"I'm…f-fine," Samantha mustered out. Trying her best to mask the pain, the brunette dug out the pill bottle her mother had given to her from her purse. Opening the cap and tapping the bottle, a small white pill fell out of the canister. Closing the lid shut, the teen popped it into her mouth, ignoring the bitter taste and swallowing it down.
A shiver from the disgusting taste passing through her and the medication slowly taking effect, Samantha pushed herself up from the ground and rubbed her ankle. "I'm fine. I have medicine for it. I'm really more worried about you."
"I am alright thanks to you," The old man answered, a nod of affirmation clear. "Not many would be willing to jump into traffic for a random stranger. And for someone so young and injured themselves to do so? You are much braver than most adults I've seen. Or a bit more reckless."
Samantha felt her face heat up a bit, the kind compliments coming her way making her blush. "I-I just did what I thought was right." She muttered, a hand scratching her head. "And my body kind of acted on its own."
"It was still a brave thing to do, no matter how much you thought about it." The old man answered, a kind smile shining to the teen. "However, I am sorry that you had to discard whatever was in that bag for my safety." He spoke, moving his cane to point to the gift bag a foot away.
The word "bag" suddenly blaring an alarm in her head, Samantha hastily turned back to look at the bag in question, only to feel her face that was once warm with compliments, drop fifty degrees and go cold.
"Ahh! The bag!" Samantha yelled, her once quiet demeanor flying out the door and replaced with the pure fear and erratic behavior of a scared teen her age. Running...or rather limping to the bag, Samantha bent down to pick up the tossed bonsai tree and inspected the small plant with keen eyes.
Sadly, her eyes would already spot the small broken branch of the tree laying in the bag, along with a few bits of tossed dirt in the bag. While most of the tree was intact, whoever was going to receive this tree would notice it was not in the most prime conditions.
"Oh no. What am I going to do?" Samantha asked herself, anxiety rising through her like a gust of wind. Her heartbeat going a mile a minute at this point, the teen started to take quick breaths in and out, feeling a bit light headed a moment later. "I can't give this to the customer. They'll want a refund! And than mom's reputation is going to go down the drain and nobody will come to the store and we won't be able to pay the bills!"
"Miss, if you'd like I could help deliver the plant."
The sound of another voice stopping Samantha from ranting any further, the brunette turned back to realize she the man was still with her. Frowning back at the old man, Samantha shook her head. "Oh no, I couldn't make you do that, sir. It wasn't your fault this happened. I shouldn't have been so careless and threw it."
"That's nonsense. You only did so to save me from that car. I am sure if I go with you to whomever this plant is to be delivered to, I can explain the situation to them and make whatever punishment they think of much more lenient. Or at least help pay for a new one. It's the least I can do." The old man suggested.
Hands wrapping tightly around the bag's handles, Samantha pulled the bonsai tree close to her, unsure if she wanted the old man to see the mess she'd made. She'd never been in a situation like this. Was it right to say yes and take the offer, or stick to taking responsibility herself and say no?
It wasn't like she meant for this to happen, and it was an accident.
"A-Are you sure?" She asked hesitantly, eyes drifting from the bag to the old man.
Seeing the nervousness shine through, the old man hobbled over to Samantha and nodded confidently to her. "It would be my pleasure to help the person who saved me. Think of it as repaying you for your heroism."
Smiling faintly, Samantha nodded slowly to show she understood, slowly lowering the bag to give the old man a better look. "Umm...Okay. Thank you."
"Haha. It is no trouble. Now, let us see what we've got here." Moving to hold his cane in his left hand, the old man moved his right hand to push the ends of the gift bag open to inspect the plant in question. Noticing the colorful, but lightly dirty results of the bonsai tree slightly toppled over, the old mans' eyes widened a bit in surprise before turning up to look at Samantha.
"A bonsai tree? Now you don't see these in Paris everyday." The old man commented, a curious spark in his eyes.
"Isn't it pretty? My mom and I run a flower shop a block or so from here. We've only opened up recently, but we already got a customer who ordered something special. I have to get it to him, but I'm not sure if he'll be happy with the results. Bonsai trees can be very expensive and hard to manage if broken." Samantha muttered, worry making its way into her voice.
"I see," The old man added, taking his hand away from the bag and motioning Samantha to hand him something. "Were you given directions to the address or the name of the person who this tree is to be given to?"
"Oh, yeah. I've got it right here." Digging her hand into her pants pocket, Samantha pulled out the piece of paper containing the address and customer name, handing it to the man. "I'm sorry if the cursive is sloppy. I think my mom wrote it in a rush, so I've been having trouble translating the name. I think it says-"
"Mr. Fu."
"Wha?" Samantha asked, a bit surprised with how fast the old man read the cursive. She'd been reading it wrong this whole day?! "It says Mr. Fu?"
Nodding, the old man nodded. "Yes, it does. I should know. It is my name and address on here."
Smiling and feeling a weight lifted off her shoulders, Samantha chuckled. "Oh, that makes more sense. Of course you'd..."
The words told to her by the old man sinking into her brain, Samantha's words began to hang in the air as relief and confusion clashed inside her head. After just a few more moments of confusion and silence, Samantha felt her eyes widen largely and pointed a finger at the old man.
"Wait! You're Mr. Lu? I-I mean, Mr. Fu?" She asked incredulously, correcting herself for a moment.
Another nod in her direction, the old man, now known as Mr. Fu, confirmed her question with a joking tone and a wink of his eye. "Yes. I am Mr. Fu. Not Mr. Lu."
Samantha couldn't stop the blush of embarrassment from rising in her cheeks at the joke Mr. Fu had made. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be-"
Mr. Fu laughed, holding a hand to stop Samantha from speaking further. "It's much alright, miss. There's no need to be afraid you offended me. I'm only surprise we met in such interesting circumstances, you and I. To think you were looking for me to deliver the bonsai I ordered, only to find me after saving my life. Why it almost sounds like fate brought us together."
A tingle of embarrassment lighting inside her chest, Samantha felt her cheeks redden at the playful comment. "Well, I don't know about fate. It'd be rude if fate meant for me to break this. Or maybe I'm just clumsy."
"That would be true, and quite funny." Mr. Fu mentioned, chuckling at Samantha's latter comment. "Now from what I can see of this bonsai, it may have some damage, but I can surely fix it right up. It is still alright to give to me."
"I-It is?" Samantha asked incredulously. "But...there's dirt everywhere and a branch is broken."
"That is true, but bonsai can be salvaged with enough time. A small branch is broken from the main truck, but as long as the whole is intact, it will continue to grow." Mr. Fu explained, opening the bag ever so slightly as the two peeked at the plant in question. "I'll just take it home and repot it. I have plenty of old bonsai tree pots that could use a new tree for a resident."
Hearing the lesson in bonsai from her newfound customer, Samantha smiled at the small bonsai and looked back at Mr Fu. "So...would you still like me to deliver it to your home, sir? I can still walk there if you'd like me to carry it the rest of the way."
"That's very kind of you miss, however I am sure your mother is wondering where you are. If you'd still like to help me, you can walk about half the way carrying the bonsai for me." Mr. Fu suggested, placing his cane back in his right hand and beginning to walk in the direction towards his home.
"S-Sure! It would be my pleasure as an employee of Belle Fleur." Samantha agreed, clutching the bag close to her and slowly following after the old man.
In her head, Samantha was glad that she could walk the same pace all the way there.
"So Samantha, you've only recently moved here?"
Samantha originally had an entire day planned out for herself. She was going to deliver the bonsai tree her mother had asked her too, go find her school and know the way there and back so she wouldn't get lost. Perhaps even take some time for herself and look around the shops by her new home.
Never did she think that she'd find herself having a warm cup of green tea with the customer she was making the delivery to. Or save his life from a speeding car. Or almost break the item he'd ordered.
It was a day of many unexpected things for Samantha.
After she had made it exactly half the way to Mr. Fu's home, the old man had been clear that her duty had been done and she could go home. However, a piece of her deep down had decided to finish the delivery through. While it could have been the regret from throwing the bonsai, to wanting to be sure Mr. Fu would make it home safely, or simply just wanting to be responsible, Samantha did not back down and made it clear she would continue walking with him until he got home.
She was a bit stubborn like that.
And so with a lot more walking in her future and almost slipping on a sidewalk curb from not paying attention, Samantha Fujisaki-Tanets successfully arrived at Mr. Fu's home.
Which lead to her getting really tired and her foot burning extremely badly from the long walk. With resting her leg a needed precaution to lower the inflammation of her muscles, Mr. Fu had offered her a chance to rest at his small yet comfortably furnished home. Seated cross legged on a small tatami mat and placed in front of a small coffee table, the brunette basked in the calming decorum of Mr. Fu's home and started to enjoy her break.
Some yummy green tea to enjoy along with .
Now that she had some time to relax and unwind, Samantha and Mr. Fu decided to conversing bit by bit. About the weather, what Mr. Fu had been up to when she bumped into him, how she was enjoying the sights of Paris.
Which opened up a small conversation about her new life there.
To think she was talking about her new life in Paris with a customer of the flower shop.
Placing another pain killer in her mouth and swallowing it with the help of a sip of green tea, Samantha sighed out a warm breath and let her shoulders relax. "Yeah. My mother and I got here only a week ago and just a few days go we opened Belle Fleur, our flower shop."
Brown eyes dropping down to stare into the tea leaf juice in her cup, Samantha absentmindedly let her thumb rub along the rim of the glass. "I'm still...adjusting. It's not easy moving from one country to another. Everything is kind of hard to understand and tough to get used to."
Taking a sip of his own tea, Mr. Fu nodded in understanding. "I understand. It was not easy when I came to Paris either. Cultures are quite different from one another when you step into another land, but you see after a while that we aren't so different once you take a better look."
"A better look?" Samantha asked, her head tilting to the side curiously.
"Yes. At first you could just see buildings and homes as starkly different from what you are used to at first glance, whether it be from color, how it's built, or even the shape. Yet if you look beyond that, homes here in Paris do exactly the same things as homes back in America. Shelter us when we need somewhere safe to go to, be a place to call home for others, or simply be the place where your family is." Mr. Fu spoke calmly, nodding his head in thought.
"I guess I never thought of it like that." Samantha replied, eyes drifting back to her tea. Now that the words settled in her mind, Mr. Fu was right in his own regard. Despite the large changes that she was having to get accustomed to, Paris in a way wasn't far too different from her old home. There were still people walking around, lives being lived and she and her mother had a place to call home.
It was sort of the same in the end. There were just a few things she needed to get used to.
"So, what are your hobbies my dear?" Mr. Fu inquired with a smile. "Have you found anything here that has piqued your interest to make a change in your life? Or try something new? We may not have that basketball or football here, but we have many skills in the arts that I am sure you'd enjoy." The old man joked with a laugh.
Smiling a little at the playful question, Samantha felt her shoulders sag a bit at the inquiry. "I've seen a lot of things today. Paris holds such much art and skill that it's clear you can't help but want to try something new. But..."
Sadness creeping up on her face, Samantha frowned at her reflection in her tea. "I don't think I belong here much. I can't do much the way I am now."
"The way you are now? What is wrong with who you are?" Mr. Fu questioned.
Suddenly feeling on the spot by the question, Samantha's body became rigid as she tightly held her cup of tea and tried to formulate a response. "Uh, no no! Um, I mean there's nothing wrong wrong with me. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with having my injury or anything like that. I'm perfectly fine. It's just..."
Samantha felt her voice trail off, her mind unable to catch up with her mouth as she felt nothing else leave her lips. Feeling almost frozen in time, she let out a nervous breath of air that felt trapped in her chest.
"Samantha, are you alright?" Mr. Fu asked, a look of concern on his face seeing her sudden shift in behavior.
"Y-Yes, I'm fine. There's..." She tried again, but once more her voice became nonexistent. Almost as if something was stopping her from making her statement true.
Well, it wasn't really true at all. But she'd said this so many times. Why was it suddenly impossible for her to say it again to Mr. Fu?
Maybe it was because he was so kind to her? Or that he was a stranger? Someone she didn't know and needed to be happy for their sake. Who was honest and listening to her.
She didn't want to lie anymore. Not to Mr. Fu. Or herself.
Just this once.
"I'm sorry," Samantha spoke softly, almost a whisper at how hard it felt to voice her next few words. "I lied. There is...has been something bothering me. I just didn't...I don't want to ruin the mood."
"My dear, there is nothing wrong with wanting to speak the truth. Go ahead. I will not mind." Mr. Fu said, nothing but sincerity conveyed in both his facial expression and voice.
Feeling a warmth in her chest, some strength returned to the nervous brunette before she began to express her thoughts.
"I...used to be a dancer, you know?" Samantha asked, trying to sound cheery despite how much her attitude was not. "Ballet. I started when I was really young and I was really good. Like, really really good. I wanted to dance forever." Samantha said, a smile trying to form on her face as she felt herself laugh a bit at how silly she was sounding.
"It sounds quite wonderful, Samantha." Mr. Fu said, smiling to the girl who was opening up to her from across the table.
Samantha looked back to Mr. Fu, smiling to make herself look less like a sniveling child. "It was. Or I think it was. But you know, not all dreams last forever.
I was little. There was this really big dance recital I'd been practicing for every day. It was a big deal. Get noticed there and you could get one of those dance scholarships for school. Or even get accepted into some of the top dance studios. I wanted to prove myself so much so I could continue dancing because it made people smile. It made my parents really happy and proud and it'd brighten up people's day. Made them feel better when they were down. But, there was this car accident on the way..."
Her throat feeling like it was closing up from the well of emotions being opened, the brunette shut her eyes closed. Almost believing if she tried hard enough it would all go away.
"My dear," Mr. Fu spoke, reaching over to place a hand on the teen's shoulder. "You do not have to speak anymore if you do not wish to. I do not want to be the one to make you relive painful memories."
Sniffling at the kind words from Mr. Fu, Samantha warily opened her eyes and wiped her sleeve across her eyes. She hadn't noticed at first, but after she could feel the sensation of wetness from tears on her shirt. "I'm...I'm sorry. My mom tells me I cry a lot when I get really emotional."
The two just sitting together for a few moments of silence, Mr. Fu let Samantha continue to cry a bit more, letting whatever she needed out before grabbing some cookies to rest on the table, as well as refilling her tea.
"I apologize for bringing anything unwanted up." Mr. Fu spoke, handing Samantha the small tray of cookies to make her feel better. "I may be old, but I should be wise enough to know when not to make someone speak of things that want to be left unsaid."
Shaking her head and nibbling on a cookie that felt bitter despite its clear sweetness, Samantha shined a weak smile to Mr. Fu. "No, it's okay. It's not your fault at all. Really. This isn't the first time I've felt like this. I've felt like this since...For as long as I can remember."
Taking a long sip of tea to replenish the liquid she'd lost from crying, Samantha sighed and slowly placed the cup back on the table. "When my dad died and my leg...changed, everything in my world suddenly just disappeared. I didn't have a parent anymore and I couldn't do the thing I loved; that helped make people smile. It was hard to be happy for some time and I didn't want to do much of anything anymore, but I've been trying to do better and not be so sad with the changes and the move."
Eyes squinting at the sort of shame she felt at her own words, Samantha continued on. "It's been seven years since it all happened. I thought I'd be over it. Or gotten past it all. I mean, I want to get past it. Not just for me, but for my mother. She's trying so hard and I don't want to let her down. But it feels like its getting harder to smile, if that makes sense."
Sighing, Samantha concentrated on the last of her thoughts, feeling her center of gravity as her shoulders relaxed. She couldn't place the last time she'd felt like this. Not so heavy and calm.
Maybe Mr. Fu was just a really easy person to talk to.
"There's nothing wrong with Paris. It's beautiful. The people here are kind and I can feel the warmth from this city. It could easily be my new home, but sometimes I don't just want to look at it. There's so much talent and art here. It just reminds me of...what I can't do anymore. What I wish I could do again." She concluded, shoulders slumping in defeat at finally finishing her thoughts.
"I see." Mr. Fu replied, the words simple enough to answer her, yet strong enough in weight alone to make Samantha look back at him. "You have endured quite the journey at an age so young. I am sorry that seeing Paris makes you feel that way."
"I-It's not your fault, Mr. Fu. It really is just me." Samantha said, shaking her head to push away the doubts of the older man. "I think there's just still something inside me I have to fix. Or maybe I'm just still not grown up yet." Rubbing her eyes again to be sure no more tears were running down her face, Samantha forced a smile on her face and started getting up from her seat. "I...I should probably get going. My mom is going to wonder where I am after being gone so long."
Getting up from his own seat, Mr. Fu stepped towards Samantha and handed her a small box of cookies from his cabinet. "Here. For you and your mother. Please send her my warmest regards. Both for her shop and your service."
Taking the box of sweets, Samantha nodded and held it close. "T-Thank you. And...I'm sorry I took up your time like this. I know this was supposed to be a chance to rest, but I ended up taking up all our time and I was complaining."
"My dear, this time we spent was perfectly fine. I heard no complaining whatsoever from you. Only a chance to talk truthfully." Resting a hand on the brunette's shoulder, Mr. Fu gave the girl a determined stare. "You have gone through many hardships so early in life, but do not think that there is no place for you here in Paris. The city is a big place and many people live here, but we could always use someone new to bring something to Paris." Taking his hand away and placing it with his other behind his back, Mr. Fu smiled. "I am always happy to have some company if you ever need to talk like this again. Or deliver a slightly broken bonsai tree." He joked with a chuckle.
Laughing a bit at his comment, Samantha nodded and bowed politely to the older man. "Thank you. I'll...think about what you said, Mr. Fu. And if I feel like talking, I'll come by again But I think I'd like to hear some stories from you too. So I don't sound like a chatterbox."
Waving goodbye to one another, Samantha carefully opened the door and closed it shut behind her, leaving Mr. Fu back by himself in his small home.
The room now silent, Mr. Fu let out a deep sigh. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he spoke up. "Wayzz, you may come out now."
Hearing the call to come back in, a small green form flew out from behind a potted plant, floating over to Mr. Fu's side. It was tiny, no larger than a bug or a tiny keychain. It's body green and eyes yellow, its form appeared somewhat turtle-like; a little shell on its back but exuded an energy of time old.
"The poor girl. Her past has tracked herself through terrible events." The creature known as Wayzz spoke, eyes turning to look back at the door the other human had walked out of.
"Indeed. It seems as though hardships are coming to children younger and younger these days." Mr. Fu replied, walking through his home towards a phonograph resting on his desk. Tired eyes staring at the object in heavy silence, Mr. Fu grabbed at two dragons carvings on its' body and began typing in a familiar sequence of buttons that appeared underneath. The last button pressed, the clink of metal opening and shifting from the phonograph opened up to reveal a large wooden jewelry box, Chinese in design.
Eyes widening at the actions being down by Master Fu, Wayzz rushed over to the old man's side. "Master, what are you doing?"
"Thinking, Wayzz." Master Fu said, opening the large jewelry box to reveal a colorful assortment of drawers and carvings. Shades of orange, pink, red, black, purple and various others splashed against the jewelry box in spectacular fashion, adding by carvings of metal that were designed to look like animal traits. A fox, bee, cat paw, a moth, a ladybug and so much more.
Yet instead of reaching towards any of the ones at the center, Master Fu motioned for Wayzz's attention. "Wayzz, the key if you would."
"But Master, that Miraculous?" The creature asked.
"It is alright, Wayzz."
Hearing the calm maturity from the old man, Wayzz nodded hesitantly before reaching his tiny arms out in front of him, a glow of white light appearing between their arms. Glowing brighter and brighter and expanding with power, the light suddenly exploded and a key gently fell into the hand of Master Fu.
"Thank you." Master Fu said before turning back to the jewelry box. Bending down past the various drawers holding who knew what, Master Fu reached the final drawer at the bottom which was locked by a keyhole and placed the given key within. Turning it enough to hear the soft click of acceptance, the old man pulled the unlocked drawer open to reveal another tinier box, it's paint chipped and dusty from being left hidden away for so long.
Taking the old box out, Master Fu stared at it for quite some timer before beginning to dust it off.
"Master, are you thinking of giving that girl a Miraculous?" Wayzz asked.
"If I am?" Master Fu replied, looking back to the turtle Miraculous.
"Master, I would not question your judgement and believe that girl could have potential, but to give her any Miraculous, are you planning to give her that one?" Wayzz asked nervously.
"Do you think she can't handle it?" Mr. Fu questioned.
"It is not a question of handling it master, however we both know how powerful the Miraculous is. The cat and the ladybug hold immeasurable power, but this one can revert what has been broken. Heal the worst damage seen and unseen. Its power can be used for great good, but it can be tainted far quicker than any of the other Miraculous. Is that not why we sealed it away? So it would not fall into the hands of greed?"
"I did not feel any greed nor spite in her, Wayzz. All I could feel was sadness and regret in those words she spoke." Wiping the dust off the old wooden box, Mr. Fu stared down at the pure white engraving carved on top of the box in thought. "You heard her yourself. She cannot even look at Paris without being reminded of her past. Of the thing that she held dear now taken away from her. She feels as if there is no use for her being in this city. Perhaps even living her day to day life the way she is."
Eyes drifting from the box to his master, Wayzz felt their own eyes widen with realization. "You...intend to give her the Miraculous to help her heal?"
"In a way, yes." Master Fu spoke, eyes catching the glint of pearl that was once covered by dust in the animal carving on the box. "Miraculous have minds of their own. To be used to their fullest extent, they must be used by those capable to understand and use its power. Less I make the same mistake again." Shaking his head and a dark memory, Mr. Fu spoke again. "What makes healing so dangerous is how many think just fixing damage will make everything better again, but that is not the case. To truly know how to heal someone, it takes a person who has felt that very pain. It will be a hard journey for her, but I believe Samantha could become an exceptional healer for those hurting in Paris. Or in the very least give her a first step at finding her own purpose."
The dust now cleared from the box, Master Fu felt a small smile overtake his lips as the carving of white appeared in his eyes. The black body still chipped of its paint and few streaks of red lined across the body, a small carving lined with thin layers of metal rested at the top of the box; shaped ever so slightly to form the shape of a bird. Added by the slightly dulled shine of pearl resting in its shape, Master Fu let his thumb rub over the symbol of a pure white swan with outstretched wings.
"Let us wait and see for the time being. If that time ever does arrive when Paris needs help healing, I believe that young girl could do that and more if given the chance."