As the first rays of dawn filtered through the tattered curtains, the feeble light illuminated my humble room, dust particles dancing in the air. I found myself seated on the edge of my creaky bed, my small hands unconsciously fidgeting with the frayed hem of my clothes. Looking into the worn mirror of the modest washroom just outside, I couldn't help but be confronted by a reflection that mirrored the struggles of my existence. I was by no means pretty, with practically a nonexistent chin and freckles scattered across my face, my brown eyes gazing back with a mixture of weariness and determination.
With a wooden brush in hand, I attempted to tame my limp, unevenly cut hair, but the effort yielded little improvement. I parted my hair into two sections and donned my customary dark blue dress—plain, threadbare, and too large for my slender frame, yet all I had. My family's limited means allowed for no luxuries, and even if they could afford it, I wouldn't dare to wear anything that might draw attention to myself.
Today, however, I found a glimmer of pride as I clasped a new necklace around my neck. A single midnight blue crystal, set on a silver string, adorned my neck. In a society where commoners were restricted to wearing only one crystal, it was a rare treasure that I had saved up for with great effort and sacrifice. Still, I would never dare to wear more, fearing to cross any boundaries that might provoke unwanted attention.
Whispers of a tragic tale haunted my thoughts—the tale of a girl with beautiful brown hair, flowers adorning her head, and a blue pinafore dress. Supposedly, a jealous royal had struck her down without consequence. While many dismissed it as a mere children's tale, the unsettling uncertainty left me cautious of drawing attention from those with power.
In our kingdom, society was divided into four ranks: servants, commoners like me, royals, and the king's family. Servants donned rags, commoners wore blue, royals were clad in black, and the rarest of all—the king's family—also wore black. The black attire signified their close ties to the enigmatic Dark One, a being that had caused untold devastation across the realm.
Personally, I found it absurd and deeply troubling. Wearing black was akin to openly endorsing the horrors caused by the Dark One, who had brought suffering and death to countless lives.
As I made my way downstairs, contemplating the monotony of yet another day, I found myself faced with the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread.
My parents, humble bakers, were already hard at work in the dimly lit kitchen. They offered me a small smile. "Good morning, Marinette," my mother greeted, wiping flour from her hands. "We made some extra bread for you to take to the village."
"Thank you," I replied, my voice tinged with gratitude. The bread would be my meager offering to the world, a small contribution to my family's income.
Wrapping the warm bread in a cloth, I stepped outside, greeted by the gentle flurry of snowflakes dancing in the air. The village lay ahead, its houses covered with a fresh layer of snow, and I trudged forward, my footsteps leaving imprints on the powdery ground.
As I walked, a familiar figure caught my eye in the distance. Alya was sitting on a secluded patch of grass, her frizzy, curly hair covered in a light dusting of snow. Her hazel eyes lit up with warmth as she noticed me approaching.
"Hey, Marinette!" Alya called out, patting the spot next to her. "Come join me!"
With a small smile, I settled down beside her, grateful for her company. She had brought a simple picnic of crackers and cheese, a thoughtful gesture that touched my heart.
"I brought some bread too," I said, offering the small piece I had brought from home.
We sat there together, our breath forming small puffs in the chilly air, and for a moment, the world felt less dreary. As we watched the snowflakes gently fall from the sky, Alya pointed to one that shimmered like a tiny crystal, and we laughed like children, the weight of our worries momentarily lifted.
"You know, Marinette, there's something magical about the snow," Alya mused, her gaze fixed on the wintry landscape. "It covers everything, making it look fresh and new. It's like a blank canvas, waiting for us to create our own stories."
I nodded, captivated by her perspective. Alya had a way of finding beauty in the simplest of things, and in her presence, I felt a sense of hope and wonder.
We laid together in the snow for a moment in silence. I turned to the side to look at her, holding her hand in mine.
"We may not have much," I began, my voice soft, "but at least we have each other. It's going to be okay. I brought extra bread today. I'm going to try and sell it around town. With just small acts like this we can work together and raise enough money to live more comfortably."
Alya turned to me with an amused look on her face, "What, are you going to get rich and become a royal?" She teased.
I frowned. "Of course not! That's practically impossible. I've never heard of anyone becoming a royal. They're already born into their snooty rich families."
As we continued on our way into town to sell the bread, the winter air nipped at our noses, leaving them red and cheeks rosy.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting its golden hues upon our tired faces, Alya's eyes met mine. There was a mixture of concern and hope in her gaze. "We've barely sold anything today. I have to go back home soon. We have to sell something soon."
"It's winter. Hardly anyone is outside," I mumbled, my voice low and weary. I huddled close to the wagon, my knees pulled up to my chest, seeking some warmth from the cold ground. Alya paced back and forth nearby, her boots making crunching sounds in the snow. Suddenly, she abruptly stopped, her eyes fixed on something in the distance.
I followed her gaze and saw what had caught her attention—a pair of royals dressed in pure white garments, with decorations that shimmered even in the winter light. They looked so out of place amidst the humble surroundings of the village.
As they got closer, I could make out more about their appearance. The taller one, with wavy blond hair tied back in a ponytail, and crystals gracing her dress, walked with an air of elegance and authority. The shorter one, sporting a bob with a single rose in her hair, suddenly stopped to stare at us in curiosity.
The shorter one approached us, and I felt my heart race in intimidation. We had never received attention from royalty before, and I couldn't shake the fear that came with it.
"Greetings," she said with a slight bow. "How long have you been out here?"
"Since morning, ma'am," Alya replied simply, her voice steady despite our nervousness.
She surveyed the wagon filled with bread. "Are you selling bread?" We both nodded.
"I'll pay for all that you have." She held out the money and I instinctively snatched it, counting it in disbelief. I cupped a hand over my mouth in shock.
She smiled kindly, her demeanor contrasting with the sour look of her companion's. "You've been out here since morning, you said so yourself. It's the least I can do."
Before I could fully process the gesture, the taller one interjected with a sneer, "What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm just buying food!" the shorter one protested.
"Then don't. The servants in the royal kitchen can make so much better," she scoffed, her perfectly symmetrical face contorting in disgust. "These peasants smell."
Alya's jaw tensed, and I felt the tension in the air. The situation was quickly turning uncomfortable.
"Don't you have anything better to do than pick on so-called 'peasants'?" Alya retorted, her voice tinged with defiance.
The taller one's lip curled upwards as she reached for a pistol on her belt. My heart pounded in my chest as I prayed for this encounter to end without any trouble.
But just as tension peaked, a voice from behind interrupted, making them all jump. A young man, no older than me, with platinum blonde hair and piercing blue eyes had appeared, commanding their attention.
"Zoe, you're not supposed to talk with commoners unless it's necessary. Step away from them," he demanded, his voice carrying authority.
Chloe smirked but Zoe looked crestfallen, rubbing her arm as if regretting her actions.
The young man turned his firm gaze to us.
"I apologize for Lady Bougeois' rash behavior. You won't have any problems with her in the future," His apology for Chloe's behavior seemed hollow, as it did little to reassure us in the presence of the seething royal next to him, the pistol still in her hands.
"Come along." With a sweeping gesture of his hands, Chloe and Zoe were beckoned to follow him. They disappeared down the village road.
Alya scowled, still visibly unsettled by the encounter. "What was her problem?" she muttered, her eyes still locked on the fading figures of the royals.
I nudged her playfully with my elbow, attempting to lighten the mood amidst the lingering tension. "On the bright side, we still got the money," I offered, trying to find a silver lining in the midst of uncertainty.
I awoke to the sound of heavy boots clanging against the wooden floor of my small room. I mumbled drowsily as I tried to make sense of the commotion. The room was dimly lit, and before I could fully comprehend what was happening, the door burst open, and men in uniform stormed in.
"Get up, girl!" one of them barked.
"What's going on?" I stammered, fear and confusion intertwining in my voice.
"You're coming with us. It's time for The Selection," he replied coldly.
"The Selection?" I whispered, my heart sinking. I had heard tales of this dreaded event, but I never thought I'd be chosen.
I tried to protest, to resist their forceful hands, but they were relentless. They dragged me out of my home, and I screamed, calling for help that never came. My parents tried to intervene, but they were pushed back, their cries echoing in the narrow streets as I was taken away.
Blindfolded and disoriented, I was pushed into a carriage, my body trembling with fear. The air inside was suffocating, the only sounds the creaking of wheels and the muffled voices of the men surrounding me.
As we traveled, my mind raced with thoughts of what awaited me. The stories I had heard about The Selection filled me with dread—the uncertainty, the danger, the potential for a life I never asked for.
Finally, the carriage came to a halt, and I was ushered out into the open air. The blindfold was removed, and I found myself standing in the vast gardens of the royal palace. The scent of roses and the imposing presence of the palace itself overwhelmed my senses.
With bated breath, I passed through the ornate iron gates, adorned with delicate vines that embraced the entwining filigree. Every step I took unveiled a new tapestry of colors and fragrances that intoxicated my senses.
I had imagined this experience to be slightly more…well, intimidating.
A myriad of blossoms painted the landscape in a vivid symphony—roses in every hue, their petals like velvet kisses; lilies standing tall and regal, their pristine purity a testament to their allure; and delicate lavender, their fragrance floating on the breeze. Amidst the sea of flowers, marble statues stood as silent sentinels, their frozen grace watching over this haven of nature's splendor.
The garden was an exquisite canvas, where each stroke of life had been lovingly crafted. Trained vines cascaded gracefully over trellises, their emerald leaves creating a living canopy that shielded us from the sun's embrace. Fountains murmured melodiously, their crystal-clear waters flowing with a rhythm that mirrored the beating of my heart.
In every corner, secluded alcoves beckoned, draped in cascades of blossoms and bathed in dappled sunlight. A beautiful blanket of snow covered the whole scenery. A symphony of chirping birds accompanied my journey, their songs weaving a melody that made me feel as if I had stepped into the heart of nature itself.
One of the men shoved me from behind, "Quit gawking and move it."
All around me, other 18-year-olds stood, their faces reflecting the same fear and confusion that surely mirrored my own. We were all pawns in a cruel game, brought together for the amusement of those in power, meant to look all cute and harmless in an over-the-top garden.
The Dark One, a mysterious figure cloaked in darkness, emerged from the shadows. His cold eyes scanned the gathered crowd, and my heart sank further as I realized the gravity of our situation.
King Gabriel dipped his head, "Greetings, my lord." It felt immensely strange seeing a king bowing down to a completely black entity of darkness with only two white eyes.
His son, the only other completely black-clad person present, also gave a small bow.
King Gabriel turned and faces the crowd, then cleared his throat, "As you all are likely aware we have gathered here today to decide the fates of everyone here. May our annual Selection commence!"
Another royal emerged from the palace gates, and I recognized him as Felix from the day before. His icy-blue eyes scanned the crowd, but I doubt he spotted me.
I hadn't payed much attention before, but I noticed his robes weren't white, but instead grey. They weren't dark enough for him to be another son of the King, but they weren't white like royals usually wore.
One by one, names were drawn from a large basket by The Dark One, and I watched in terror as the fate of my peers was sealed. "Chloe!" a voice called out, and the girl screamed.
"I'm a royal!" She thrashed in the grasp of two men in uniforms trying to pull her back, "You can't do this to me! I'm a royal!"
The Dark One's soulless eyes narrowed. "Nonsense. It doesn't matter. Royals have been selected before. Now stop interrupting before I decide to chop your head off, girl," he stated, his voice devoid of any sympathy.
I felt bad for Chloe. Almost. Her once beautifully styled blonde hair was now in disarray, her eyes equally wild. She led out ragged gasps, and fell to the ground on her knees, her whole body shaking in sobs.
As the drawing continued, my fear intensified. I knew that any moment could be my turn, that my name could be called, and my life as I knew it would be irrevocably altered.
I held my breath.
"Adrien Agreste."
A deafening silence followed before all hell broke loose.
"But he's The King's son!"
"How?"
"This is impossible!"
The shock on Gabriel's face mirrored the disbelief in the crowd, and Felix, who stood nearby, looked stricken.
"I... I can't believe this," Adrien stammered, his hands trembling. "This can't be happening."
But it was happening, and there was nothing any of us could do to change it. Not even Adrien's father, Gabriel Agreste, the powerful and renowned figure in our kingdom, could contest the Dark One's wishes. Though his face remained stoic, I could see the conflict in his eyes—a father's desire to protect his son, clashing with the reality of a cruel fate.
Gabriel's voice was firm as he addressed the Dark One, "You know what Adrien means to me. Please, I beg you, reconsider."
The Dark One, his form obscured by shadows, merely shook his head. "The rules of The Selection are clear. No one is exempt, not even your son."
Adrien's eyes pleaded with his father, but Gabriel was powerless in the face of the Dark One's decree. It was a bitter reminder that even the most influential figures in our kingdom were worth nothing in the long run.
Felix stepped forward. "This is madness! You can't do this to us!"
The Dark One turned his attention to Felix, his eyes piercing. "Watch your words, young man. You are not exempt from the consequences of your actions."
Felix's resolve wavered for a moment, but he stood his ground, his voice unwavering. "I won't stand idly by while you tear our lives apart."
The Dark One's lips curled into a sinister smile. "Defiance. I must admit, it amuses me. But remember, your fate is in my hands, and I can be just as merciless as I am amused."
Felix took a step back. He was silent for a moment before responding through gritted teeth, "Of course, my Lord." We were all at the mercy of the Dark One, and any resistance could have dire consequences.
The Selection continued. I kept my head down to avoid having to look at the sobbing young women and men. Each name called meant another life forever altered, another future uncertain.
My heart pounded in my chest as the names were called one by one, each drawing me closer to the edge of the precipice. And so came the very last person who would be selected,
"Marinette Dupain-Cheng," The Dark One's voice echoed through the garden.
My world came crashing down around me. Panic surged through my veins like wildfire, and my breath caught in my throat.
No, this couldn't be happening. It couldn't be me. I had always avoided the royal court. I never did anything to upset anybody. I didn't deserve this.
I turned to look at Alya, my only true friend, who stood among the crowd, her eyes wide with horror. Tears glistened in her hazel eyes as she reached out, as if trying to pull me away from this nightmare. But she was powerless, just as I was, mere spectators in the grim spectacle of The Selection.
Torn away from her, I was led forward, my feet heavy as lead, as though each step brought me closer to an abyss from which there was no escape. The weight of the crowd's gaze bore down on me, a silent judgment that intensified my panic.
Around me, the roses seemed to close in, their thorns ready to ensnare me in their deadly embrace. The scent of lavender, which seemed so calming and delightful when I first arrived, now suffocated me. This garden, once a realm of beauty, had become a prison, trapping me in its elegant but cruel embrace.
As the Dark One's voice droned on, my thoughts raced, seeking a way out, a glimmer of hope. But there was none. This was the bitter end, and my life would never be the same.
Alya's tearful face haunted me, her voice pleading for me to return, to escape this nightmare. I longed to run back to her, to the life I knew, but it had all slipped away in a heartbeat.