La Descente

There should have been nothing. I wanted there to be nothing. I had committed the ultimate sin and nothing was all that I deserved. More than I deserved. I was an ugly, ugly being and I had spit in the face of the people that loved me – I died sobbing, choking on salty tears and blubbering apologies, in the face of the desperate pleas of the most precious person of my existence.

I killed myself.

And then, as if my ugly, ugly existence hadn't merited its wretched, miserable end, I wake up.

"Marinette! If you don't wake up soon, you'll be late for school!"

What?

I struggle to my feet – no, I don't. My limbs aren't sluggish like they usually are, I'm not burdened with the weight of the world like it always was before.

My body is lithe, responsive – not mine.

"What-"

I'm disassociating – not that that's odd, but the level of dissociation it would take to create this kind of disconnect is beyond anything I've ever experienced. This was straight up derealization. I passed out, was resuscitated at the hospital, and whatever combination of anesthesia and psychiatric medications they put me under have blown me into a new realm of reality I have never been in before.

"Marinette?"

I part my lips and wonder if my voice will work, if it will be my voice or if I am that far gone.

"I'm up," I croak, my voice breaking horrifically on the second word out of my mouth because it's not my voice it's not my mouth this can't be real it's not happening-

Everything is fine.

My name is… I can't remember what my name is, I think frantically, my heart pounding. I can't remember my name.

"Marinette? Are you alright?" I am hyperventilating. I can't remember my name. "Marinette, I'm coming up!"

I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't-

"Marinette!" Her face is horrified. "Oh, Marinette, what happened?"

Her arms envelop me in a warm hug as she alternates between, "Tom, Tom! Come up!" and "oh, Marinette, what's wrong? What's wrong, sweetheart?"

I am sobbing, outright bawling, her touch is like acid bubbling on my skin and I can't wrench myself away. This isn't real. This isn't real – and even if it was, I don't deserve to be comforted, I don't-

For a moment, I feel as though I'm going to faint.

This isn't real. Everything is fine.

I repeat the mantra in my head – and like magic I calm down.

"Marinette," Marinette's mother says worriedly not ten minutes later as I wipe my eyes, my face blank (not my eyes, not my face), "are you sure you'll be alright going to school?"

This isn't real. This isn't real. Everything is fine.

"I'll be fine," I say, "mom."

Marinette's mom, I correct in my mind, but I feel sick anyway.

"Marinette…" she says worriedly, but the blank look on my (Marinette's) face makes her reconsider.

I catch sight of Marinette's face in the mirror and want to vomit.

"Wait," I say before I can stop myself.

"Yes?" Marinette's mom asks almost hopefully, seemingly wishing I'll reconsider.

The face in the mirror twists into a grotesque parody of itself. No – it's fine. Everything is fine. This isn't real.

"My hair…" I say, the words slipping out of my mouth before I can strangle them. "Could you… please?"

She approaches me like one would a wounded animal.

"Could you maybe… braid it for me?" I ask, and something in her expression softens further, the taut line of her mouth easing into an expression of concern, of love for her daughter.

I am not Marinette.

I'm not, but her hands are so, so gentle that I almost cry again.

Instead, I go downstairs and pretend that I didn't break down earlier, that Marinette's father hadn't looked utterly bewildered when he rushed upstairs only to find Marinette's signature pigtails gone and a severe single braid in their place.

I greeted him woodenly, called him 'dad' as though that weren't an even worse infraction, and managed a weak smile as I thanked him for the box of macarons he gave me to share with Marinette's class at school.

I am lucky to be able to unlock Marinette's phone – I use its GPS services to figure out how to get to school.

I remind myself that this is all a very involved hallucination and that there are probably doctors fighting to keep me alive. I wish they would stop and this would end, but there's no point in focusing on that right now. Everything is fine. This isn't real.

This isn't real, I remind myself when I spot Master Fu crossing the street with his eyes practically closed as a car speeds towards him.

This isn't real. I don't have to do anything. This is all my subconscious mind replaying an episode. He's not in any real danger. He's fine. I'm fine. The car isn't real. Everything is fine.

I take a deep breath and my nose wrinkles at how vivid the scent of freshly baked macarons is from the box in my hands. How vivid, how real.

I think of the way Marinette's mom gently braided my hair because I was a grown-ass adult and Marinette's hands were shaking too badly for me to do it myself.

The car, I think with sudden, startling certainty, is going to hit him.

This isn't real.

I smell macarons and if I don't move I will smell blood, metallic and nauseating, vivid red spilling onto the streets like it spilled from my wrists-

I am terrified.

I move anyway.

The car honks as though I'm the one at fault, as though I'm the one who nearly hit someone as I make a strangled noise in the back of my throat – I smell the metallic reek of blood. I failed. This isn't real. Everything is fine.

I scramble up. Marinette's knees hurt. Her elbow hurts. Her palms hurt. But wait-

He's alive.

"Sir," I say, wondering if he can hear the rising hysteria in my voice. Marinette is hurt. Marinette is bleeding. "Sir, are you alright?"

He peers up at me and I wonder what he sees in Marinette's eyes – does he see the terrified, quivering failure lying beneath?

He smiles. It's small and slight, but he accepts Marinette's hand and I help him up, worriedly looking over him to make sure he's alright.

He's fine. He's unhurt.

(This isn't real.)

I smile back anyway, tentatively, anxiously, but a small smile all the same.

Most of the macarons have been trampled. Those that weren't had been rendered inedible just by virtue of tumbling out of the box onto the street, beyond recovery. A shame. Marinette's dad had worked hard on them.

"Are you alright, miss?" He asks and I stare at him dumbfounded.

Oh right, Marinette is hurt.

I don't feel it anymore.

"I'm fine, sir." I tell him, because I am fine. Everything is fine. Marinette is bleeding, her palms are full of abrasions, her elbow and her knees ache from the impact and how they were skinned along the pavement… Marinette's blood is there, staining the cement in little specks of red. I have to look away. "Please be careful when crossing the street. I would hate for you to get hurt."

I hesitate a moment because what am I supposed to say?

"I'm sorry for knocking you over," I say quietly and when he opens his mouth to say something else, something damning, something I don't want to hear like, like thank you – I flee.

Later, I wonder if I really did die and school is my purgatory. I don't remember all of the stuff I learned in high school – I don't even remember most of it, and while I find myself picking things up quickly, I quickly realize that I can't simply rely on my own memory to coast through Marinette's classes.

Chloe is an annoying shit in this warped reality, made more so by the fact that it was me that had to deal with her in Marinette's body.

Alya, the 'new girl,' notices the scrapes on Marinette's body and looks curious but I don't speak to her. I don't speak to anyone except to say 'present.'

I let Chloe have the seat that will be by Adrien's because I couldn't care less about a teenage boy, no matter how much I had shipped Ladybug and Chat Noir while watching the series on Netflix.

I sit quietly in Marinette's new seat and pay attention while the mundane novelty of high school classes is shiny and 'new' because I know that if this psychiatric episode lasts the length of, well, an episode of the show, I will be back in class in whatever passes for a day and by then will be more interested in doodling on Marinette's 'notes.'

Stoneheart happens. I am surprised that my memory of the show is good enough to supply me with his name.

Alya 'saves' me and drags me to the library. She asks me something but I can't hear her. I can't speak either – words fail me. So I grab her hand briefly, give it a little, childish squeeze, and then close Marinette's eyes and run.

I run as fast as I can, taking the same route back to Marinette's house that I took to get to school. Luckily it's straightforward so I don't need the GPS again.

I want to wake up. I want to apologize to my family, to tell them I don't deserve them, that I'll never try to do it again.

Or, I want to just die outright and end this.

Neither happens though, so I go to Marinette's house and tell her father that I dropped the macarons on my way to school and that I was very sorry, and when I get away from the smothering concern of Marinette's parents and shut myself up in her room, I am horrified to see the innocuous little black box sitting by Marinette's computer.

Why?

Why did he give me the miraculous. I saved him, but I did a piss poor job of it. I waited too long, I was clumsy and reckless and hurt myself, and I didn't give him a macaron. It didn't make sense.

I can't be Ladybug. I'm not a hero. I'm pathetic. A coward.

(Some part of me thinks the part of my brain responsible for this derealization that cooked up this whacked up theme knew what it was doing. I'm terrified of responsibility. I'm not good at anything and I'm unreliable. I can't do this.)

But this isn't real, I remind myself, and reach for the box.

I don't know where Master Fu lives. I literally have no idea. The best way to return it would be to ask Tikki. But Tikki will try to convince me to take care of Stoneheart. I'm not – I can't.

Part of me wonders why I haven't been akumatized already for being so negative. I wish that-

Everything is fine, I tell myself firmly. It's fine. This is a dream, you will wake up. In the meantime, go with the show.

I'm scared shitless at the idea of being responsible for anything but then… I always wake up when I buy something in a dream because I guilt-trip myself to hell over spending money so why should this be any different?

If I try it, when I fuck up, what does it matter in the end? None of this is real.

Everything is fine. Remember your grounding techniques. Breathe in, breathe out. I don't remember my name. That's okay, that's the medicine and the blood loss. It's fine. I'm a twenty-six year old woman, and it's the year 2020.

I feel the weight of the box in my hands and try hard to focus on positive things like 'cool, a magical girl transformation' instead of Uncle Ben's 'with great power comes great responsibility' speech.

Everything is fine.

Marinette's hands are trembling, her fingers shaky as they gingerly open it.

"Hello, Tikki," I say to the light that emerges – who cares if she knows I know her name? This is my hallucination.

She is remarkably small. Smaller than I expected. Like she could fit in the palm of Marinette's hand. She blinks at me, clearly confused.

I smile despite myself.

"My name is… well I don't remember my real name," I confess, because she is so cute and friendly looking and I am aching for something that I can't name. "I'm not the real Marinette, but while I'm here you can call me that if you like."

She looks troubled, a little wary and my face falls.

"I'm sorry, I'm not good at – at these things." I don't know why I'm apologizing to a literal figment of my imagination but I just can't stop talking. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Marinette was meant for this not me. I'm… I'm not hero material. I'm sorry. But… I'll try. I'll do… my best…"

No, no, no, I think. I don't want her to think I'm crazy-

"Please," I say, anxiety bubbling up in my throat. "I know I'm not what is needed but I don't know how to get you back to Master Fu for a new person to be chosen and Stoneheart has to be stopped in the meantime…"

"Marinette," she says slowly, and I cringe but nod. She blinks at me, not sure of what to make of all this. I am desperate, desperate to not fall short. I can't, I need-

"I'm sorry," I say miserably, begging her to understand.

"It's okay Marinette," she says, and when I cringe again she seems to realize something.

I tense up, waiting.

"Is there another name you like better?" she asks gently, sweetly and I want to cry.

"I don't – I can't think of it," I say honestly, and remind myself (again) that it's fine. "But there's no time, Stoneheart is rampaging all over the city and – and someone has to do something."

She considers me for a moment, and then shoots me rather bashful look.

"I don't know where to start or what you need me to explain," she tells me, a little bit of almost incredulous laughter in her voice.

It makes me feel just a little lighter.

"I need to use Lucky Charm to capture the akuma and cleanse it in the yo-yo, right?" I ask, feeling a sudden wave of nausea at the thought of actually fighting Stoneheart and-

This isn't real. It's nothing to worry about.

"Yes," she replies encouragingly, and after a moment of thought zips up to Marinette's face and nudges my cheek. "Don't be afraid. You were chosen for this."

I shouldn't have been is the reply on the tip of my tongue but I can't say that to her, not when she's been so kind-

"You can do this," she says, and it doesn't escape me that she doesn't call me by Marinette's name.

She waits for me to say the words and I blurt them out like a terrified sheep without thinking-

"Tikki, spots on-"

And I change.

It's not just Marinette's clothes, it's her whole body. The blood in her veins pumps faster, she feels lighter, stronger – actually capable of all the flipping around she does as a weightless tv character. I stare at my red gloved hands in shock in awe.

Not my hands – Marinette's hands.

The outfit is different. It looks more grown-up, black from the neck down to the sweetheart neckline low on the chest and from there all spotted ladybug red. Form-fitting, too flattering for a teenager probably. The result of a lifetime of reading comic books bleeding into my perception of what Ladybug should look like.

I stand there for a moment, blown away.

And then the anxiety comes bubbling back up because what if I fail-

I climb up to the roof and lean over the railing thinking to myself that if I fall from this height I very well could die.

The yo-yo feels heavy in my hand, hefty, sturdy. Despite having watched the show, I don't know how to use it. And yet, as I take it in my hand, give it an experimental tug, I find that it's somehow in my muscle memory, that I can sling it towards that building and swing around like the real Ladybug. Well, I could if I tried, I mean.

But that's the real issue, isn't it? Trying…

If you die in a dream, you wake up, right?

I throw the yo-yo on pure instinct and leap off the roof.

"Oh my God," I breathe with a startled laugh as I sling myself through the streets. It's amazing. It's – wonderful. I feel light for the first time in forever, like I can breathe, like there's nothing wrong and the world is a beautiful place that I-

I don't scream, but the sound that comes out of my mouth is something in that general direction. I can hear the cries of people fleeing Stoneheart and the world comes crashing down around me. This is serious. I can't be fucking around, I have a job to do. So of course with these heavy thoughts weighing me down I falter when I throw the yo-yo and miss.

I panic for a moment-

-and then he catches me.

"Well, hey there," Chat Noir says with a cheery grin, "nice of you to drop in. You must be the partner my kwami told me about!"

The moment he lands on the rooftop I slip away from him awkwardly.

"I'm," I begin, and force myself to claim the name because what else would I call myself? "Ladybug. It's nice to meet you."

This was why I hadn't spoken to anyone all day. The age difference made me feel like slime even though I wasn't doing anything wrong.

"By the way – your power," I forced out, one hand drifting up to rub my sore elbow, "you can only use it once and then you only have a few minutes before you transform back. We can't reveal our secret identities to anyone – even each other."

"What?" He asked, looking taken aback. "Only once?"

I nodded mutely.

"Well, good to know, I guess," he admitted sheepishly before extending a hand. "I'm… Chat Noir… Chat Noir, yeah. And you're pretty business about all this, aren't you?"

I focus on how good I feel, how strong, how quick, how light.

"You could say that," I say, letting the corner of my mouth turn up in a slight smile. "It's nice to meet you, Chat. Now let's get to it!"

My little façade of bravado is met with an enthusiastic grin.

If I zip away in the direction of the akuma without waiting for him, I hope at least that he takes it for enthusiasm and not my own discomfort. I don't – I don't want to hurt him. He'll never know why I feel so uncomfortable around him and he doesn't deserve to wonder.

I resolve to do my best to overcome my insecurity – he is my partner now, for now at least, and he deserves better. And – I'm not Marinette. I don't have anything to worry about with him anyway.

I shake these thoughts from my head because I have a job to do, one that… that is becoming more and more daunting as we get closer to Stoneheart. By the time I actually see the monster that Marinette's classmate has become with Marinette's eyes, with time to look, all I can think is this was a mistake. I can't do this. I-

"Hey!" The sound of his voice cuts through my panic like a clean blade. "It's not nice to pick on people smaller than you!"

Stoneheart roars in fury – and then Chat Noir is leaping past me, a streak of agile black against the sky, all energy and motion as he engages the monster.

I don't know what to do.

"Chat," I try, my voice cracked on his name, it didn't carry, wasn't loud enough, but I had to try- "The paper in his hand-"

He can't hear me. Of course he can't hear me. Someone standing next to me couldn't hear me. But I am petrified – not even from fear of the akuma, this monstrous thing that was so disconcertingly real in front of me.

If I move, if I take another step… that's what I'm afraid of.

I watch like a statue as Alya starts filming the monster, her face the picture of excitement. I watch Chat struggle, watch him get swatted away-

And then, just like earlier, I am moving again, leaping onto the pitch as I swing my yo-yo like a professional. I need to get the paper out of his hand, but how-

"Chat!" I cry out, adrenaline pumping through Marinette's veins as I dodge Stoneheart's fist with what felt like downright inhuman reflexes. "I'm sorry for the wait, but I've figured it out!"

"No problem, Wonderbug," Chat says lightly, and then is forced to dodge a monstrous blow from Stoneheart.

I backflip away from Stoneheart to regroup with Chat, who is panting heavily as he stares down the infuriated Stoneheart.

"His fist," I manage through my own exertion, "it's the paper in his closed fist. We need to destroy it."

Chat and I are forced to leap in separate directions as Stoneheart reaches us-

I try to think of Marinette's plan but I don't remember it. There's no time-

"Lucky Charm!" I cry out, shrill notes of desperation bleeding into the words. This is it, this is our only chance.

A large, spotted red belt falls into my waiting palms.

"A belt?" Chat calls out in confusion, none the wiser to my sudden panic. "What are we supposed to do with that?"

Marinette didn't use a belt. She didn't. It was like a balloon or something inflatable – I couldn't remember exactly. What was I supposed to do with a belt.

"Ladybug!" Chat cries out, and then I am tackled away from a stone fist by a streak of agile black-

We hit the ground hard and as we roll with the momentum of his tackle I see Stoneheart raise both fists to smash us-

I throw my yo-yo with a prayer and haul Chat by the waist as I yank us out of danger – and then it hits me.

"Chat, cover me!" I call out – I don't have much time and this is it.

I throw my yo-yo and leap high into the air as Chat engages Stoneheart, drawing his attention away from me. I take the belt in my hands and pray that this is what I'm meant to do because I am out of ideas and I've already wasted a precious minute of time.

I land on Stoneheart's shoulder and slip down to his elbow, wrapping the belt around his forearm as best I can while he tries to throw me off and tightening, tightening-

"Chat! Use your Cataclysm on his fist!" I yell, clinging onto Stoneheart for dear life, ready to tighten the belt more-

"Cataclysm!" Chat shouts, and then he is lunging for the closed fist too quickly for Stoneheart to swat him away.

It only takes the barest contact with his fingertips and then Stoneheart is screaming-

His fist dissolves around the paper as he tumbles backwards, writhing, and I tighten the belt until it effectively cuts off the 'infected' hand-

"Destroy the paper!" I call out, opening the little compartment in my yo-yo to prepare to cleanse the akuma.

"Got it!" Chat says as he snatches the paper up and rips it in two.

The black butterfly that springs free is almost grotesque in its seeming innocence.

I shiver as I wind up my yo-yo and throw it at the akuma, somehow managing to catch it on the first try.

"No more evil-doing for you, little akuma," I murmur to it as it flies free of my yo-yo, pure white. I look at the belt and at Stoneheart who I think has outright passed out from the pain, and I throw it up in the air as high as I can.

"Miraculous Ladybug!" I cry out, and then maimed Stoneheart is Ivan and whole again and the wreckage of the stadium and whatever else is set to right.

We did it, I think, breathless. We did it!

"You were meownificent, kitty-cat!" I exclaim breathlessly, turning to face him with a blinding grin. Because I'm trash for this show, I raise a fist in offering. "Pound it!"

Whatever Chat was going to say is lost because his cheeks turn pink in the face of my sincerity – but he manages to bump his fist against mine despite his embarrassment.

"You were purrty amazing yourself," he says after a moment, swallowing.

I smile widely at the compliment.

We did it, of course, but…

I'd done it too. I couldn't wait to tell Tikki!

"This is incredible!" Alya shouted, running over to us. "Who are you guys? Are you going to be protecting Paris from now on? I have sooo many questions!"

I took a step back, my anxiety spiking back to my normal level. My earrings beeped, signaling that I would soon transform back.

"I-I have to go," I stuttered, taking a step back.

I made to leave and remembered suddenly – the piece of paper.

It couldn't hurt to take a few extra seconds to talk to Ivan. Marinette had, and, well, I would want an encouraging word said to me if I were the first person in Paris to be akumatized, or just akumatized at all.

I snatched up the paper, avoiding glancing back at Alya, and hurried over to Ivan.

"Hey," I said, trying not to sound like I was too much in a hurry even though I was. "I just wanted to tell you that there's never any shame in having feelings for someone – and whether you confess those feelings or not is your decision and has nothing to do with anyone else. They're your feelings, and I can tell they must be really sincere. So what I'm saying is, I guess… don't let anyone make you feel bad for what you do or don't do. If you want to confess to her, I think everything will turn out great. But if you don't, if you're not ready, that's okay too. That's always okay. So basically – just do what feels right, and if anyone teases you again, tell them Ladybug would like a word."

I forced a big, wide smile onto my face and was gratified when he returned it, his pinks cheek with embarrassment.

"Good luck, Ivan," I said, and then, before Chat who so obviously wanted to say something could speak, cried "Bug out!" and hastily zipped away.

I made it just over the stadium wall and into some bushes before I transformed back but the warmth in my chest lingered.

"Tikki," I whisper excitedly. "Tikki, we did it! I did it!"

Her red head peeks out of my purse, her blue eyes shining brightly.

"You did wonderfully!" she returns, a big smile on her face. "You were amazing!"

I clutch my purse close, heart full to bursting at her sincere, goodness.

And if I break down by the side of the stadium, hugging my purse, my kwami, to my chest because when was the last time I had heard such gently spoken kindness – well, who is there to see it?

To be continued in Recontre.

Hello, faithful readers, in response to the poll I put up it seemed that most of you were interested in a few chapters of stories I have been working on behind the scenes, so here is a little preview of what's been going on with me. I am currently working on the next chapter of If At First You Don't Succeed, so if you are a fan of that I hope to have it out in the next week or two. Hope you all are well and staying safe!