A/N: Okay, I loved the reception, seriously it was pretty amazing! I will warn you, we may have had some disturbing themes in the first episode, but we are crossing into the territory of murder. And lemme tell you, these will be gruesome, this one may be a bit tame, but later on things will change. And I love detail. So, hope you enjoy!

Episode 2: Welcome to Homicide

With the woman taking her key out of the ignition, the cars hummed its tune a few seconds longer before being snuffed out by its own innerworkings shutting themselves down.

Marinette had her hair out of its bun, hanging loose now. She rested her chin on the wheel, sighing in relief as she finally escaped the questions of those reporters. They were nice people, but too energetic for one o'clock in the morning.

She opened the door and stepped out, closing and locking her car before entering the building in front of her, ascending the stairs, to the second floor hallway.

The inspector passed by the doors, most of the people behind them probably asleep, unaware of the accomplishments that this young lady have done.

Though, one curious head poked out from an open door, her bright golden eyes widening at the sight of the young woman.

There is no such thing as 'too energetic for one o'clock in the morning'. Not for this apartment building.

"Marinette!" She whispered, her little hand coming out to wave.

The inspector returned with a smaller wave, crouching down next to the door. "Hello, Manon. What are you doing up? You should be getting some sleep."

"I couldn't sleep, and I heard someone coming down the hall, so I wanted to check and see if it was you. You look pretty in that dress."

Marinette smiled. "Thank you, Manon. Well, go back to bed, then. I need some sleep as well, so we better both get to it."

"But I can't." She pouted her lips, giving the puppy eyes.

And they would've worked on the woman.

If she was still a teenager.

"Go to sleep, Manon. Or I will have you arrested," Marinette joked, smirking.

Manon couldn't help but smile. "You can't arrest me for that."

"I can. For disobeying my orders. Just go to bed. Trust me, you're going to value it when you're older."

"Hmm...alright. Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Of course."

"Okay. Goodnight, Marinette."

"Goodnight Manon."

With that, the little girl closed the door, leaving Marinette in the empty hallway. Now that the silence surrounded her, the sounds of two people making love somehow became more evident.

"New lovers," she chalked it up to before standing up and heading down to the end of the hall, where her door was.

She unlocked it and stepped past the threshold into her apartment, closing and locking the entrance behind her.

Kicking off her heels, throwing her scarf down, and pulling her gun holster off was her journey to the bed, falling upon the soft cushion that she never wanted to leave now that she has felt it's warmth.

While waiting for her mind to slip into unconsciousness, it began going over that day's activities.

Her first attempt at undercover worked perfectly.

She stopped a prostitution ring.

She saved children from a life of sex slavery.

She earned the respect of the officers.

Her face will end up in some newspaper, making it hard for the department to keep her a little secret anymore.

As she felt her mind soon to be pulling her into dreams she will forget by morning, she smiled to herself before finally passing out.

Next Morning

Marinette locked her door, the window near her shining upon her hair, making it look blue almost.

Now dressed in her suit and coat, she sighed before turning and walking down the hall. On her way, she saw Ms. Chamack locking the door, Manon by her side, hopping from one foot to the other.

The little girl turned her head and saw the inspector. She smiled. "Good morning, Marinette!" She jumped up and down.

Ms. Chamack chuckled and looked at Marinette. "Good morning, Ms. Dupain. Going to work?"

She nodded. "Yep. You might read about my exploits in the paper soon. I am gonna have quite a day."

"Oh really? Well, good luck then."

"Thanks!" Marinette said before heading down to her car.

The doors to the department opened wide as the young woman entered, head turned down, prepared for the comments once again.

"Hey, maybe you should try a skirt sometime?"

Nothing more followed after that.

Her head picked up, glancing about. A couple of inspectors with mugs of coffee in their hands, looking around as the officers had their hats off, pulled to their chests, staying silent.

They found out what she did.

"Guys?" One of the male inspectors cocked an eyebrow. "Did you all just become deaf or something?"

The officers remained silent in respect for the young inspector. Saving children goes a long way.

She continued down to her office, pulling her coat and hat off to lay them on the chair.

Turning the light on revealed a case file on her desk. The Gustave case. The girl smiled as she picked it up and walked over to one of the cabinets.

She pulled one open and tucked the case file in.

There, she thought, nice and cozy.

She clapped her hands together, rubbing them, before heading back to her desk and sitting down, hanging her head back. She sighed in relief. Everything seems to be turning up.

Just as that thought crossed her mind, the sounds of leather shoes clapping down the steps reached her ears. She stood up.

Mr. Damocles was descending the stairs, eyes set on Marinette. "Inspector Dupain-Cheng, fantastic work last night. The whole department is talking about what you have done, if you haven't noticed."

Marinette smirked, glancing down to see a file in his hands.

Her heart picked up in speed. She was excited.

"Thank you sir. Uhm...is that what I think it is?"

He looked down at the file, nodding. "Why, yes it is," he said, holding it out, "your very first homicide case, Inspector Dupain."

She giggled to herself as she took it, turning her back to him so that she could look at it. It seemed to be pretty barebones.

Her smile faltered as a certain detail didn't sit well with her.

"Sir," she faced him, "the killer has already been caught."

Damocles nodded. "Indeed, he was at the crime scene when he was found."

"Then, uh, what's the point?" She asked, her tone laced with venom.

"The big guys upstairs want an inspector on the case. They are practically forcing us to send one. So that it looks like we care."

Marinette frowned, slapping the file on her desk. "Are you fucking serious?"

"Inspector, I am. You asked for a homicide case, and I have given you one."

"I wanted one I could actually solve!" She shouted, throwing her arms out in frustration.

Damocles remained silent, allowing the young woman to get it all off.

She did rather quickly, releasing all of the heated air from her lips before putting her hands on her hips.

"Fine. I'll take it," she muttered, looking at her captain, her eyes narrowed as she gestured for him to leave, "Just go. I need to read."

He gave a simple nod before he left. She waited until he was out of eyesight, then sat down, getting to reading the file.

"Alright, let's see. One Otis Menage, a zookeeper, killed last night at around one-thirty, according to the blood, in the 19th arrondissement, by one Kim Dislocoeur, an athlete of many sports. The killer has said nothing so far, and only rumors for motive."

There wasn't much, since it was quite early. That means only one thing.

"Gotta check it out for myself."

The 19th arrondissement was definitely the most mixed of them all, as it contained many immigrants, from North Africa and other walks of life. This also meant it was one of the more run down districts. Not cared for much.

Being a master detective in the vice of prostitution, Marinette could spot a good amount of young whores as she drove down one of the streets that turned the district into a grid. In fact, many of her prostitution cases took place here.

However, she wasn't here for prostitution.

She was here for a murder.

Police cars lined up the sidewalk, forcing her to drive a bit past the crime scene before being able to park. She turned her car off and stepped out, pulling her coat tighter around her body as the morning chill still lingered in the air.

Approaching the crime scene, which was in an alleyway, she saw reporters trying to take pictures over the police officers guarding them away from it. Two of the said reporters stood out to her.

In fact, as they turned their heads to see her, their eyes widened.

"Inspector Dupain!" The young blonde pixie named Rose jumped and waved, other hand clamped on her hat to keep it on her head. The girl next to her, Juleka, snapped a picture of Marinette.

"So you're the inspector on this one?" The black haired woman asked.

Marinette nodded, smiling to them. "Yeah. My first homicide case," she said, slipping past the other reporters, or attempting to, as they began to take pictures of the woman, she approached one of the officers, "Inspector Dupain-Cheng, I am running this case."

The officer nodded and stepped aside, allowing her passage to the crime scene before blocking the entrance once she was in.

"Good luck, Marinette!" She heard Rose cheer.

As she walked away, the inspector gave her a simple wave of thanks.

Her eyes looked onward, seeing officers standing around, some smoking, others talking. She ignored them and kept her sight on what looked to be a plump body covered by a white sheet, leaning against a brick wall.

One of the officers at the scene was actually the one from last night, who had complimented her. He instantly recognized her, giving a slight smirk at her appearance. "They already got you in homicide, huh?"

She grinned and held her hands out to either side of herself. "Like you said, I did a good job. Which reminds me, you never gave me your name."

"Oh...well, it's Francois. Officer Francois Lachance."

"Well, Officer Lachance, care to tell me what we have here?"

"Quite the gruesome way to go for this fellow," he said, reaching out to pull the sheet down.

Marinette's eyes widened. A shiver crept down her spine. "That's one way to put it."

The man was definitely an immigrant, his darker skin tone gave that away. And he looked to be in his late forties, early fifties. His brown hair was cut short, and connected to his full beard.

And his brown eyes were peering upward, as if looking at the foreign object that had pierced his brain.

An arrow penetrated through the skin of his jaw, the head of it sticking out the top, blood covering the fletching, no longer dripping as it stuck to the wooden shaft. His life had also drained from his wide open mouth since his face was locked in agony, dying the hair beneath his lips red, with extra blood leaking from his head, running down his face like raindrops. It surrounded him, and collected beneath him into a pool.

The dark red liquid was something she needed to get used to.

This was, after all, homicide.

"I have never seen anything like it," the officer said, arms crossed as he once again examined the body, "you'd have to hate this guy very much to muster the strength required for this amount of force."

Marinette's eyes were glued to the scene, collecting every detail. She couldn't seem to look away. It was pulling her in.

Homicide is a whole different ball park, she just realized.

"Inspector." Francois pulled the sheet over the man's face, snapping the woman out of her trance.

She looked at him, eyes flitting every which way, searching for the questions she wanted to ask.

"Um," With a shaky hand, she reached into her coat and pulled out a pencil and notepad, "Otis Menage. Zookeeper. A-anything else about him?" She took a deep breath.

"About fifty-one. No next of kin. Said to be a very nice man. Very passionate about animals."

"And the, uh, suspect?"

"Kim Dislocoeur? Also said to be very nice, and competitive. He is around twenty-seven, a man of many sports. Including-"

"Archery?"

"Yeah."

Marinette scribbled what she heard down. "Motive?"

She heard a sigh from the officer. "Not much. There are rumors of Otis threatening Kim at one point. But that doesn't seem enough to murder a man."

"So the mystery isn't who killed Otis. It's why?"

"Exactly."

"Did you ask the people who live in the surrounding buildings if they heard anything?"

"We have. And they haven't."

"Damn. Anything else? I need something to go on."

"Well, there is someone you can talk to."

"Who?"

"Her name is Alix Kubdel. She is a jockey. Very well known in that world. He used to compete with her a lot. People began to think it was because they were in love."

"So we got a potential lover?" She asked, writing something down before putting the notepad and pencil back in her coat.

"Yeah. She is racing today at the Saint-Cloud Racecourse. You might be able to catch her if you are fast enough."

Marinette nodded. "I will. Send some officers out to both the victim's and suspect's homes. Have them search around. Look for any hints of malevolence. Also, get this body to the coroner"

"On it."

"As for me," she began, walking away from the officer, "I have a race to watch."

The racecourse was lively since the race was just about to end right as Marinette arrived, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. People were screaming, cheering, shouting, and cursing, the latter caused by the loss of their bets.

"Number seven, Alix Kubdel is in the lead!" A speaker nearby announced, ecstatic. Marinette smiled as a small jockey sped down the grass course. She could see the excitement and adrenaline in her body language as she passed the finish line, her fists shooting into the air as a collection of groans and cheers echoed throughout the stands as some men lost their money and others gained more.

"And Alix Kubdel, number seven, is the winner, her first of the season! Let's hope she can keep it up!"

Marinette clapped a bit for the winner before she ran down, dodging past winners and losers of money, to get to the track.

As she got close to the jockey, she shouted out. "Alix Kubdel!"

The girl pulled off her helmet when she heard her name, her short pink hair getting some air to breathe.

Her head turned to the inspector, blue eyes wide in surprise. "Oh, hello. I am sorry, I don't do autographs. My writing sucks."

Marinette shook her head. "No, no. I am an inspector from Paris. I need to talk to you."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Need? Now that's a strong word, but okay. Can we do so as I bring my horse to the stable?"

"Sure."

Alix nodded her thanks as she clicked her tongue, her boot nudging against the horse's ribs to continue it's trot. They remained in silence for a few seconds, Marinette trying to figure out what to start with.

"That's a beautiful horse you got there."

She smiled, reaching over to stroke the horse's mane. "Oh, Chronos? Yeah, he is an Arabian. Thoroughbred, known to be...hot-blooded. Agile, speedy, and spirited. Fastest horse I have ever seen. I will probably have to make him a stud soon, but I hope not too soon. So, what did you want to talk about, inspector?"

"Marinette. Dupain. Just call me Inspector Dupain."

"Alright. So what's wrong?"

"Do you know a Kim Dislocoeur?"

"Know him? Pfft. I more than just know him. We've known each other for a long time as rivals and friends. Why?"

"Well...at one-thirty in the morning today, he murdered a man."

Alix yanked on the reins, making the horse whinny in discomfort. "What?" Her eyes were wide, staring in disbelief.

"Yeah. He is in custody."

"No," she muttered, "no, it couldn't have been him. He would've beaten him up, but the Kim I know would never murder. Never. I don't care what evidence there is. Kim is not a murderer. He...he isn't. It's a complete mistake."

"The coroner is checking the body as we speak. The arrow is being analyzed and I am sure it has his prints on it. His hands were covered in the blood of the man. There is no doubt that it was him. But, just to double check, is there anyone else that I can talk to about Kim?"

She covered her mouth and nodded her head in an instant, removing the hand from her lips. "Yes. Max Le Joueur. Kim's best friend. He is a complete opposite almost of Kim, but they are like this," she said, crossing her fingers.

Marinette's eyes lit up at the sound of a new lead. She nodded.

"May I have his address?"

The 6th arrondissement, Marinette thought to herself, turning a corner onto a street. This specific district was a more pleasant one in the eyes of Parisians. Beautiful architecture and history aside, many intellectuals spend their lives here, spreading their ideas to others willing to listen, while the French Senate sits in this very district, discussing the going ons in politics.

Marinette parked her car outside of an apartment building, stepping out into the bright sunlight that still hung high in the sky, at its zenith.

"Apartment number twenty-three," she repeated the number to herself, over and over again, "Max Le Joueur."

Her feet carried her up the steps into the complex, stepping to the side as a mother and her child passed by to exit before continuing onward.

Her shoes clapped as she ascended the stairs to the second floor, her hand grabbing the railing to turn and see the apartments lined along one wall like the cells of a prison.

Wide blue eyes trailed along the numbers, until she reached the third door. 23.

The inspector raised a fist to rap her knuckles against the wood, hearing it echo about the empty hall for only a few seconds before the silence sucked it back in.

She felt like it was an hour, but it only was a minute before the door cracked open, revealing a dark skinned man with brown curly hair, his eyes looking through bifocals at the young woman.

"Greetings," he said simply.

"Uh, hello," Marinette replied, scratching the back of her neck, "Are you Max Le Joueur?"

"I am. Who are you and why do you ask?"

"Oh, well, I am Inspector Dupain, and I came to just have a talk with you."

"About?"

"Well...do you know Kim Dislocoeur?"

His eyes lit up at the familiar name. "I do. He is a good friend of mine. Why do you ask?"

"I just want to ask a few questions about him."

He nodded, glancing down at the ground in thought. "I have some tea brewing and I should get to it. Would you like to come in and wait while I get it?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Come in? Uh, sure, I guess, thank you."

He nodded again and left the door open to her while he walked off to his kitchen, allowing her to step in.

She knew she was in the sixth arrondissement as soon as she set foot in the room. Everywhere there was some object relating to the idea of existentialism. Pictures of people like Jean-Paul Sartre and Friedrich Nietzsche, books by Camus, Kafka, Eliot. It had a slight unsettling feel to it.

"So," she began, having to move a few books out of the way to sit down on a sofa, "I see you are very much into existentialism."

She heard a faint cough come from the kitchen as he steps out, swirling around tea in his cup with a spoon. "To be frank, inspector, Sartre hates that term. And to a degree," he said, sitting down in a chair opposite to the sofa, "so do I."

Marinette shrugged. "Well, it's the only thing I have heard it be called by. What would you call it?"

Max stopped stirring the tea to look at Marinette. "I...would call it an idea."

"An idea?"

"A brilliant idea. The idea to choose your own development? That was simply life changing for me at the time. May I ask your opinion on the idea?"

She placed a gentle hand on her chest as her eyes looked around at the various memorabilia. "I find it queer, to say the least. I don't have much knowledge on it to really formulate an opinion. The only thing near to it that I have read was The Stranger by Albert Camus. It was an interesting, uh, maybe even intriguing, yet depressing book."

"Hmm, that is enlightening, I guess. So, inspector, why are you here? What is it about Kim that brought you to my residence?"

She sighed. "Early this morning, Kim Dislocoeur murdered a man in cold blood with an arrow."

Max froze, eyes widening in an instant at the news. Soon, his hands began to shake, the spoon clinking against the cup.

"Monsieur Joueur?"

"No...no it can't be possible. That's not Kim. It can't be him. That doesn't sound like Kim. It's impossible. Improbable."

The inspector nodded, pulling out a notepad and pencil. "When was the last time you saw him?"

Max glanced up. "He was here last night. He left at...at around eleven o'clock."

She wrote that down. "And do you know of one Otis Menage?"

"Oh, um, the zookeeper?"

"Yes. Do you know he threatened Kim once?"

"I do. In fact, I was there when it happened. Kim isn't...the best with animals. He likes to mess with them a lot. When they began to get angry, so did Otis, who threatened to hurt Kim if he didn't stop. Kim got angered by it, but I was able to calm him down and get him out of the zoo before anything else happened. And after that, Kim quickly forgot it. He isn't one to hold a grudge. If he had wanted to do something, he would've done it there at the zoo. That's all there is to it."

She scribbled down her notes. "Mhm, and did he have his archery gear with him when he left?"

"What? No, why?"

"Because Kim thrust an arrow through the skull of Otis Menage. Just one lone arrow. Nothing else around him."

"Hmm, that is…quite strange and...and queer."

"It is. Now, is there anything else that might help this case? Small details?"

"Not that I could recall. My apologies, inspector."

"Then I should make my leave," Marinette said, getting up from her seat while putting her notepad and pencil away, "Thank you for your help."

As she was heading towards the door, Max stood up. "Inspector."

She turned around to face him, eyebrow arched. "Yes, Monsieur Le Joueur?"

He fidgeted a bit before putting his tea down and walking over to her. "It's just...I know my best friend. And he would never do this. He isn't capable of it. Just take that into account."

Marinette pursed her lips as her eyes glanced down at his shaking hands before glancing back up at him. "I am afraid I cannot promise anything. Have a pleasant evening, Monsieur Le Joueur."

With that, she closed the door for him without waiting for a reply, leaving her alone in the hall once again.

The inspector didn't move. She only stood there, her mind pondering the details of this horrific murder.

I guess there is one last thing to do, she thought to herself, pivoting on her heel and walking towards the stairs, I gotta talk to the murderer himself.

Pushing the doors open to the station, she immediately made her way to the front desk. "Can I have Kim Dislocoeur put in Interview Room One? I wish to question him."

The man arched his eyebrow at her, eyes flitting down the hall. "The suspect is already in Room Two. Inspector Bouchard said he was the lead on this case."

Marinette's eyes widened. Bouchard. Her mind hissed at the name.

"Get Dislocoeur's case delivered to Room Two. And for the record, I am the lead on this case."

She wrinkled her nose in disgust before she set off down the hall, turning a corner to see some officers watching the interview through the one way mirror they had set up. One of them glanced over to see her. "Inspector?"

"What the fuck does he think he is doing?" She said, grabbing the door handle and wrenching it open, entering the room with a furious face on.

Bouchard had his foot up on a chair, leaning out in front of the suspect with a wide grin. As the door opened, he glanced over his shoulder, his brown eyes acknowledging the inspector. He chuckled and picked up his hat, placing it on his slicked-back hair. "Oh? Inspector Dupain. I am sorry. I just remembered that he wasn't my suspect. My apologies."

"Get. Out." She ordered through gritted teeth, her fingers squeezing the handle so hard her knuckles turned white.

He held his hands up, imitating a surrender to the woman. "Alright, alright," he smirked, walking over to her and leaning in close, "I was just roughing him up for ya."

With that, he left the inspector to her suspect.

Just as she was about to close the door, an officer pushed against it, a hand with a file in it shooting past the gap left. "Case file for Inspector Dupain."

She was surprised by the speed at which they got the file, but she accepted it with a smile. "Thank you officer," she said before closing the door.

Opening the file, she glanced over at the man. The suspect. Kim Dislocoeur. He was young, and very well built, with black hair that went up in a sharp quiff, the ends dyed blonde. His brown eyes flitted up to hers from time to time, but for the most part stayed on the metal surface of the table he sat at. He reached up to scratch his chest a bit.

Marinette looked at the contents in the file. "So, Kim Dislocoeur. Raised on a...farm, with a perfect family. You enjoyed running through the fields, and just running in general. Then you fell in love with different sports, trying to master them all. Interesting. You also have no prior infractions. Hm."

As she approached the table, Kim cocked an eyebrow at the file, scratching his chest again. "Um, wh-who are you?"

She slapped the folder onto the table. "I am the actual inspector on the case. Inspector Bouchard was just messing around. At least, I hope he was."

His eyebrows raised. "Oh? I didn't know they had a female on the force yet."

"Yeah...most people say that. But we are not here to talk about me. You are the topic of this conversation, Monsieur Dislocoeur," she said, sitting down in front of him, "let's get right to it. Why did you decide to murder Otis Menage? And why use an arrow, a knife would've been easier?"

Kim frowned. "I told the guy before, I didn't kill anyone. I didn't. You have the wrong guy." He scratched his chest again. Marinette was starting to notice.

She arched an eyebrow. "Is that so? You have a motive. He threatened your life once. Though you may have went a bit...overboard on the response."

"W-what? Okay, sure, I-I got threatened by him," he itched his chest, "But that was a month ago. I had that past me. I didn't kill him. And I definitely wouldn't have killed him for a threat."

Marinette pursed her lips, nodding. "Sure. Sure. And it's a low chance that the prints found on the arrow won't be yours. I am sure it will be another person's," she chuckled to herself before resting her arm on the table, "Listen, Kim, you need to cooperate with us. Right now, you are sitting at twenty to thirty years for murder, maybe even the death penalty by guillotine. If you cooperate, the Assize court and magistrate may be softer on you, we may be able to knock it down to manslaughter, which is just fifteen years. I say you start working with us, or else we can't help you."

He let out a groan of frustration, rubbing at his chest. "I would cooperate. I would. If I was guilty. But I am not guilty. And there is no way I am going down for something I didn't commit!" He itched his chest once more.

Marinette sat there, tapping her fingernails against the metal of the table, before pushing herself up to a standing position, somehow towering over the bigger man, staring into his eyes. "Monsieur Dislocoeur, I am going to give you a day to reconsider. If you don't, then it is completely out of our hands. Understand?"

Kim retracted his lips, exposing his teeth to the light hanging above as he once again scratched at his chest, this time more rough than usual.

Now she was curious. "What's wrong?" She asked.

He frowned once again. "What? Nothing. It's just an itch."

"In the same exact spot? I doubt it." She reached over and pulled the collar of his shirt down, "Let me take a look at-"

Both of their eyes widened. There, on his chest, over his heart, was a brand mark, blackened skin burned to the point of permanence. Small, but pretty hard to miss.

It was in the outline of a butterfly.

Her eyes flitted to him. "Do you remember having this?"

Kim returned the look. "No...I don't. It just itched and-"

She nodded, taking one last look at the brand mark before releasing his collar to pick up the case file and exiting the room, pointing to one of the officers. "You. Bring Monsieur Dislocoeur back to his cell. And get a doctor to check the burn mark on his chest soon."

"Yes, inspector." The officer said before going in to retrieve the suspect.

Her shoes clicked against the floor as she walked back to her office, her mind in a frenzy. A brand mark? How did he get that? She asked herself, descending the stairs down to her little corner of the department.

She tossed the file on the desk and sat down, leaning back to close her eyes and think for a minute. A butterfly? There must be some sort of symbolism surrounding that.

"Uhm...Inspector Dupain?"

Her eyes snapped open to see an officer in front of her, holding an envelope in his hands.

"Yes, officer?"

He held out the envelope. "This letter was brought in. It has your name on it."

She reached out and took it, looking at it. "No return address. Did you happen to see the person who brought it in?"

"No, I did not, Inspector. My apologies."

"Well, it's fine. You may go." She waved away the officer.

When he was gone, she opened the envelope and dumped the contents of it onto her desk.

Just a small piece of paper fell from it like a leaf.

Marinette placed the envelope down and picked up the letter, turning it over to see some writing on the back.

It was a poem. It read:

An athlete, a man of the menagerie

The former, the master of archery,

He gives new meaning to the term 'bullseye'

With the mark on his chest of the butterfly.

A/N: That poem was done with the help of my friend insomniatictitan, so a big thanks to her. Well, that was chapter 2, where the true conflict has arisen. It will only get more dark and disturbing from here, I can promise you. Hope you aren't too squeamish.

Also, PLEASE comment. While a kudos, or a follow or a favorite is nice and all, a comment containing either praise or criticism help me out the most. They tell me what I am doing right or wrong and encourage me to continue writing. It means a lot.

So anyway, thank you for reading!

P.S. And yes France did still use the guillotine back then. They stopped in the eighties.