CHAPTER TWO:

THIS POOR, PROVINCIAL LIFE

As the winter sun rose high over the tiny village of Villeneuve, one girl was running for her life.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng took massive strides as she hastened down the snow-slicked cobblestone streets, the skirt of her pink dress almost catching on her clunky black boots. She carried three white boxes as daintily as she could in both hands, each one bearing a sugary-sweet scent from within. Marinette's bag whacked her hip several times and the worn-out strap threatened to slip over her shoulder, but she didn't stop to readjust it.

Three early morning deliveries before eight o'clock – that's what she had promised her parents she'd do before heading off to Madame Bustier's for the day.

The large hand on the church tower's clock was leaning precariously close to the eleven.

Marinette cursed herself for sleeping in this morning. If I hadn't stayed up late reading, I'd already be getting the shop ready, not speeding down the streets like a thief! But the book had been brand new; a gift from her friend Alya. Marinette practically fell asleep while reading it, mesmerized by the pages flooded with knightly chivalry and decadent romance.

She cried out when her foot slid along a small patch of ice. Luckily, she straightened up just in time. The parcels stacked on top slid sideways, but Marinette caught them before they went over the edge. She sighed, her heart skittering. "Nice save, Marinette," she muttered under her breath before continuing down the little street that curved around a naked oak tree.

Winter in Villeneuve was always a hazard to one's health, but Marinette was far from afraid. She had spent her childhood memorizing every alley and avenue like the seams of a tightly woven quilt. Nothing ever changed in this little town. It was always the same routine with the same people in the same places. Day after day, season after season.

That being said, there were still consequences to being late for work.

Marinette arrived at her first destination: the tea shop. Collecting herself and brushing snowflakes off the parcels, she gave a gentle knock on the door.

When it opened, a kindly old man leaning on a cane greeted her with a bright smile that made the grey beard on his chin rise. "Bonjour, Marinette," he said. "Good morning!"

"Bonjour, Master Fu," Marinette greeted in turn. "I have your order." She balanced the stack of parcels in one hand while scooping up the top one with the other. "One dozen assortment of petit fours."

The teamaker accepted the rectangular parcel with wobbly hands. "Merci, my dear. This should satisfy my sweet tooth for a while." He leaned in and whispered, "Although, considering your baking talents, I might need an extra dozen."

Marinette giggled, brushing her twin tails of midnight-blue hair aside as she fixed the hood of her winter cloak. The stitching along the edges were loose again. She made a mental note to fix that once she had the time. "Well, feel free to stop by the bakery again if that sweet tooth of yours needs more satisfying," she said. "I'm sure I can whip up something for you."

Master Fu saluted her. "I'm sure you can. Where are you off to today?"

It was a usual question, and it always had the usual answer. "Deliveries for Mama and Papa, and then off to work." Her smile dropped. "Which reminds me. I'm still running late! Gotta go. Au revoir, Master Fu! Enjoy the treats!"

"Bon voyage!" the teamaker called out as the blunette scurried off in the opposite direction she came.

The next stop, thank the heavens, was only a few doors down the road. The owner of the barber shop was dusting snow off his sign when Marinette came rushing over with his box of eclairs. "Mmmm… Thank you, mademoiselle," the barber said as he waved her goodbye. "My compliments to the chef!"

Finally, with only seconds to spare, Marinette took the final parcel of religieuses to the fisherman's wife. As usual, the old woman accepted her box with a huff and gazed down at the panting baker's daughter from the top of her scrawny neck. Marinette merely curtsied her salutations and headed back up the street.

The church bells rang through the air like great claps of thunder, and Villeneuve came to life.

Women opened their shutters to call out hello, sending sheets of snow cascading onto the cobblestones. Men marched off to work in their heavy winter boots, shaking hands with neighbours. Little boys laughed and teased each other as they lined up at Monsieur Damocles' schoolhouse. The girls carried baskets of food, laundry, flowers, and other sorts of wares to their destinations, occasionally stopping to explore the shops.

Marinette greeted everyone with a smile, and she reduced her pace to a quick walk as she headed further into town. She had no doubt that her parents, Tom the baker and his wife Sabine, were opening up as well, ready to take customers' orders when not kneading bread dough or grooming cakes. Marinette had grown up knowing that everyone had expected her to work solely at her parents' bakery. All the other girls from common families worked the family business, and when they got married, they would work their husband's business.

But Marinette, as you could plainly tell, was not like common girls in Villeneuve.

For one thing, she could read and write. And in a village where women didn't do anything that involved books or knowledge, Marinette was a rarity. Homeschooled, well-read, and above all, clever. She could write entire recipes by heart, figure out an equation, and count sums like they were her own fingers. As incredible as it sounded, a peasant girl who could think for herself, especially in this town, was unheard of.

Things got even stranger when she developed a taste for embroidery and dressmaking at an early age. Getting an apprenticeship with Madame Bustier, the local dressmaker, had not been easy, and had required years and years of saving up. But it had been worth every copper. Now, Marinette would be able to design and sew dresses of her own making, and little by little, she would repay her parents for all the earnings they saved for her apprenticeship.

No one ever believed a baker's daughter could amount to something more than what she was given. Most of them still didn't. They might be all smiles and salutations, but deep down, Marinette knew they considered her to be odd. Unusual. Out of place. Strange. Funny. Puzzling. The list of adjectives was always growing.

It didn't help that Marinette's looks were the object of envy for every young lady in the village: fair skin with adorable freckles dusted along her nose, a pretty pink bow of a mouth, dark hair with sheens of blue, and eyes that glistened like twin oceans. If Marinette had been born the daughter of a respectable merchant or even the mayor himself, all the girls would be competing to be her friend, and every strapping boy in town would be vying for her hand. Sadly, Marinette was the daughter of a baker. Even though she was a "pretty picture", she was still lowborn and, therefore, undeserving of everyone's attention. Boys still fawned over her, but they never showed any real interest in courting her.

Well, save for one. But more on that later.

Luckily, there were a couple of people who Marinette was happy to call her friends. They were both currently standing near the entrance to the town inn, The Sleeping Fox.

She immediately spotted Alya's frizzy auburn hair poking out amidst the winding crowd. Her tanned skin was like brown dusted with gold, and her amber eyes lit up at the sight of her best friend. "Marinette! Over here!" she waved frantically, almost knocking into the dark-skinned boy sitting on the steps beside her.

That was her boyfriend, Nino. He looked up from the lute he was busy stringing up, and grinned big before waving a friendly greeting to Marinette. "How's it going, Bluebell?" he called, using the playful moniker he gave her back in their childhood years.

Marinette threw them an apologetic smile as she hustled by the inn. "Can't stay, you guys. I gotta get to the dress shop. Let's catch up later."

Alya pretended to pout and stuck her tongue at the blunette. "Busybody!"

Nino, ever the gentleman, merely shrugged and kept on waving. "Make something nice for me!" he joked.

Marinette stuck her tongue at him with a small laugh. Nino and Alya were like peanut butter and jelly: he was sweet and tangy, and she could be smooth and rough at the same time. Even though they had only just started courting each other, it was no wonder they made a compatible couple.

It was only seven minutes after eight by the time Marinette made it inside Madame Bustier's Dress Shop. It was tiny and stuffy, but warm and quaint. There weren't any customers yet (thank the heavens), so Marinette had no trouble sneaking into the back room to trade her winter cloak and boots for a seamstress apron and a pair of indoor slippers.

"Ah, if it isn't the only bookworm in town," came a musical voice from the top of the stairs.

The corner of Marinette's mouth curled up a bit as her boss came down. Caline Bustier was one of the nicest people she had ever met, with a bright triangular face and fiery-red hair to go with her chipper personality. She was also a good friend of Marinette's parents. Anything she said about their daughter's… peculiarity was usually meant as heartfelt humour. Marinette owed the Madame so much for taking her on as her apprentice, so the last thing she wanted to do was disappoint her.

"Sorry I'm late, Madame," the blunette said as she finished tying back the string of her apron. "Last-minute morning deliveries, and the snow is getting worse out there."

Madame Bustier shrugged with a smile. "It always does. But no harm done. Can you have a look at the order from yesterday? I'd like you to get started on the measurements and try to have all the pieces ready by tomorrow."

"Yes, Madame," Marinette said, already knowing she would finish with plenty of time to spare.

So far, it was a good morning. Then again, most of them were.

It wasn't that Marinette found it boring, doing the same things everyday. She just liked having a little variety in her life. A little pinch of this, a sprinkle of that, a new design here and there. Her renowned creativity was one of the reasons why business at Madame Bustier's Dress Shop was so good. It was also one of the reasons why the upper-class tolerated her. Most of the time.

Still, what Marinette wouldn't give to live in the fantastic worlds inside her books. To have the freedom to be whatever she wanted; to do the things she loved without being scrutinized by the public. That would be the day.


Theo Barbot peered across the street and through the window of Madame Bustier's Dress Shop to lay his dark, coffee-brown eyes on the lovely, dark-haired maiden inside.

He couldn't hear her, but he could tell from her pinched lips that she was humming to herself. He watched while she pinned together some fabric on a mannequin.

"There she is, my friends," he said to his two hunting companions, each one carrying a weapon of his own choosing. Theo himself had a bow and quiver strapped to his back, ready to take on any quail, deer or wolf who crossed his path. Though he was only twenty-one years old, he was already one of the best hunters in Villeneuve; a veteran from the war. Not to mention handsome, with sleek brown hair and a little bit of it dabbed onto his chin for sophistication.

"There who is?" the taller hunter, Kim, asked from behind his commanding officer.

Theo smiled, never taking his eyes off the girl. "My future wife, of course."

The short dark-skinned hunter, Max, looked at him incredulously. "The baker's daughter?" he blurted.

"The one and only," Theo stated warmly. "Marinette is the most beautiful girl in the village. Not to mention cultured, gentle, respectable…"

"Yeah, but… why her, Theo?" Kim asked, stepping around to get a better look at the blunette in the dress shop. "I mean, she's all well and good, don't get me wrong. But, she's so… so…"

"Augmentative?" Max suggested.

"I don't know what that means."

Theo chuckled and clapped both his friends on the shoulders. "Gentlemen. There are plenty of young girls in Villeneuve who would make a perfect wife for me…"

"Exactly!" Kim stated. "Who needs her when you can have someone more… well, more…"

"Orthodox?" Max offered.

"Dude, stop with the big words."

"That's not my point," Theo said, dropping his arms and gazing back over at the shop window. Marinette was now sticking some pins into her mouth. Such a lovely mouth, with lips like the rose… "All the other girls are the same. Well-mannered, simple, elegant… but Marinette is more than that. She's different, and… I don't know. It's what makes her different that makes her all the more alluring."

"Is that a fishing reference?" Kim asked.

Max sighed and patted his tall friend on the back. "Don't strain yourself, Kim." He looked up at Theo. "Are you sure about this, Theo? I mean, it's like mixing apples and oranges. You can't. She's well-read, and you're athletically-inclined. She's an outcast, and you're a socialite. She's a common girl, and you're a war hero. You see where I'm going with this?"

Theo shrugged. "True, very true. But what can I say? I'm a hunter – I live for the unexpected; the things that are always the hardest to catch. And Marinette is the only girl that gives me that since of…"

"Je ne sais quoi?" Max inquired.

"It's okay," Kim said. "Neither do I."

"Oh, for heaven's sake…"

Theo sighed and beckoned them to follow him down the street. "My point, gentlemen," he said with a slur as he gazed at Marinette's slender form one last time, "is that I knew Marinette was the one for me the moment I laid eyes on her. And someday, I'll prove my love for her. Just you boys watch – I'm going to make that girl my wife."


The day went on and on, as it always did.

And once Marinette's shift was over, she tidied up her workspace and hung up her apron before bidding Madame Bustier au revoir and setting out into the frigid outdoors in her cloak and boots. In her hands, she now carried a basket.

Afternoons were always spent helping her parents at the bakery, but Marinette always made sure she had time for shopping, too. They were out of eggs again, and those things didn't come cheap. Marinette also wanted some jam to make strawberry tarts – Madame Bustier's favourite. She figured baking a special treat for her boss would be a nice show of appreciation.

Snow came down in soft specks, and buttery sunlight peeked out from behind a wall of monstrous clouds. Not a bad day, but there was still a thick chill that made Marinette pull her cloak tighter around her. Better to hurry along, get what she needed, and head for home for some hot cocoa and biscuits by the fire. Just the thought of it made her toes curl with delight.

The voices of the crowd rose and fell like crackling flames in a hearth. As Marinette meandered past the groups of shoppers, she stopped by Jory's first and asked for a small jar of his finest strawberry jam. Next, she went to the poultry market to hunt for some eggs. One merchant was arguing over prices of fish as Marinette paid up and then set off.

Along the way, Marinette paid a last-minute visit to Nathaniel, the apprentice librarian. Unlike his master, Nathaniel understood the blunette's love for books, and he always had recommendations on hold for her in case she ever happened to be passing by. There were no new books today, sadly, so Marinette asked to borrow her favourite: a fairy tale anthology by Charles Perrault. Nathaniel surprised her when he permitted her to keep the book, noting it would be better off collecting dust in a warm bakery than a cold, hollow library. Marinette thanked Nathaniel with a kiss on the cheek and stuffed the book into her basket for safe-keeping before skipping back out onto the street.

Marinette was just passing by The Sleeping Fox on her way home when she heard a nasal voice chortling not far from her.

"My, my… what is that pungent smell?"

Marinette groaned. Mon Dieu, not now.

She turned to see – to her misfortune – the insufferable Chloe Bourgeois, the mayor's daughter. With her untarnished blonde hair and layers of clean furs, she looked every bit the part of a young lady with remarkable class. Beside her stood her entourage of friends: Sabrina the redhead, who was Chloe's personal pack-mule; Aurore, the haughty blonde who was too tall for her small winter clothes; and Mireille, the shy, dark-haired girl who blushed at everything her friends said.

"Oh, I know!" Chloe exclaimed, sneering over at Marinette with those cold lips of hers. "It smells like wet yeast!"

Her friends giggled into their furs, some of them snorting.

Marinette had no personal qualms with Chloe and her pack of wolves, but she nevertheless grew tired of their constant bullying. "Bonjour, Chloe," she said in a sleepy tone, lifting a polite grin as she tried to slip away.

But Sabrina was quicker, and she snatched something from Marinette's basket like a serpent snatching a mouse. "Oh, looky here!" She dangled the thick, blue-covered book in the air like it was a dirty old rag.

"Hey, that's my book, Sabrina," Marinette argued as gently as she could, reaching for the stolen item.

But instead of handing it to her, Sabrina held it out for Chloe, who strutted over and began flipping through the pages with her gloved hands. Her mouth curled with half-amusement and half-distaste. Marinette knew Chloe could read, which made her all the more flustered that the mayor's daughter was purposefully sticking her nose into other people's interests.

She swallowed down a hard lump before speaking lowly, "Chloe, may I have my book, please?"

The young lady huffed, her breath steaming in front of her face. "Book? Is that what you call this wasted chunk of paper?" She smirked and closed the book with a hard thump. "No wonder you're so dazed and distracted all the time, Marinette. You're filling your head with all these ridiculous fairy tales."

"Give Marinette's book back, Chloe."

Marinette nearly jumped out of her skin, but thankfully it was Alya's voice that had spoken up behind her.

The innkeeper's daughter wasn't exactly dressed for the weather in her long, apron-covered dress. However, she didn't seem to care about catching a cold, especially when she had a chance to stand up to a vain, spoiled brat like Chloe Bourgeois. Alya braced her hands on her hips, her mouth jutting out as she frowned.

Chloe made a soft spitting sound. "Pfft! Or what, Cesaire? You'll spill ale all over me?" Her friends giggled again, and the mayor's daughter waved the book in front of Marinette like she was offering a tasty bone to a dog. "Perhaps you both need a little instruction in how girls like you should be spending your days."

And with that, she tossed the book aside, sending it flying into a small pile of snow.

Marinette let out a growl-like moan and hurried to fish it out, brushing snowflakes off ferociously before the pages could absorb them.

Girls like you. Peasants, in other words. Commoners. Lowborn. Chloe was never shy to admit that she was above everyone, nor would she let Marinette forget it.

"Oh, really?" Alya jumped in, her amber eyes narrowing and her tone prickly-hot. "And how, pray tell, would you suggest "girls like us" spend our days, Mayor Bourgeois?"

Chloe huffed again. It was a common trademark of hers that had many faces. "What do I care what you ignorant peasants do these days?" she said. "You're all so plain and dull. The only thing you're good for is getting some poor bloke to marry you."

Aurore snorted. "Her?" She pointed at Marinette. "With a boy? Ha! She'd be lucky if she convinced one of the pigs to marry her!"

To their surprise, Marinette joined in with a giggle of her own. "Well, truth be told, the pigs are quite handsome. Certainly more than those empty-headed dolts in the army you girls like to swoon over." She heard Alya murmur "Ooooo…" in a pleased tone.

Mireille gasped, lifting a hand to her reddening cheek. "She is weird," she said with a shiver.

"She's crazy," Aurore stated.

"She's… abnormal," Sabrina said.

"Oh, you're learning bigger words now," Alya commented. "I'm impressed."

Chloe huffed again, her blue eyes simmering with annoyance. "You should be," she spat. "I'm the daughter of the Mayor of Villeneuve, not some cheap wanna-be dressmaker with a disgrace for a mother."

Marinette's blood heated, and it took all of her self-control to stop herself from throwing Chloe into the snow. "Don't talk about my mother that way!" she snarled.

Alya's hand was immediately on her shoulder. "Easy, Marinette. They're just words."

But they weren't just words, and Chloe knew it. "Why not?" she challenged, and her companions grinned their approval. "If my mother threw away everything just to slave away in front of an oven, I'd disown her myself."

"You tell her, Chloe," Sabrina jeered.

Marinette's face twisted with boiling fury, wishing – not for the first time – that she could teach them a lesson. But they now had an audience; a small group that was gathering on either end of the street. If Marinette lost it now, it would become the topic of gossip for a month. Maybe longer.

"You think you're so special, don't you?" Chloe asked with bared teeth. She said this so many times in the past, it had practically become her favourite quote. "You think a sniveling nobody like you will actually amount to something. Well, guess what, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Someday, you're going to get exactly what's coming to you. And the best part? No one will care. You'll just be another speck of dirt on the street. Who would bother caring about something as low as that?"

And like an actress exiting the stage, the mayor's daughter spun on her heels and walked off with another dignified huff. Sabrina, Aurore and Mireille followed their alpha female like the dutiful pack they were, giggling beyond control now.

Marinette let out a heavy sigh, her breath steaming hot against her frigid cheeks. She clutched her half-sodden book close to her chest.

"Don't listen to her, Marinette," Alya said, wrapping an arm around her friend. "You are going to amount to something. You'll prove her wrong… and wipe that smug grin right off her porcelain-doll face."

Marinette nodded, but Chloe's words still stung deep like they always did.

And the worst part? They were all true.

No matter what she did, Marinette would always be stuck in the same place. She would never be able to run her own dressmaking business, or sell her wares in other towns. Madame Bustier's good word would only get her so far. Whatever Marinette did, whatever she aspired to be, she would always be just a pretty baker's daughter. That's all anyone who had a place in the world would ever see.

For once in her life, Marinette wished others would try to understand her. She wished they could see past status and appearances, and appreciate her for who she was on the inside.

But such hopes were the stuff of fairy tales. Far-off places, handsome princes, magic spells, and happily ever afters.

Now, as Marinette let Alya guide her to the warmth and comfort of the inn, she remembered that there were no such things.

Not in this poor, provincial life.