A/N: Entropy's gaining quite the little following, huh? I was honestly shocked to see more favourites and follows pop up in my email. Thank you so much for that everyone! That's why I also wanted to make this chapter just right because a lot goes on in it - although it's a bit late due to some technical issues on my end. I apologise for that profusely.

Samuel Dudek - New problems and new mysteries are never a good combo. Well, unless you're a reader ;)

Guest - Adrien is definitely not doing well. Someone needs to give the poor guy a hug.

Till next time,

D.L.D

Chapter Five: Expected

Being taken straight to trial wasn't much of a surprise to Camille. Most people who committed murder in prisons tended to not get away with it - no matter how smart they thought they were. Prisons, unlike wider society, had so little opportunity for unsupervised activities. Around every corner there would be a warden and behind every warden there would a list a rules that inmates simply couldn't break. Only underhanded things such as bribery could buy you a good ten minutes. But once that was up and you had a stone-cold body on the ground what could you do next?

Nothing - that was the answer. Nothing could actually save you from being blamed for the hit, the body and weapon right there for all eyes to see when the armored staff would rush in and the security director would arrive. Everyone would know that it was you. Everyone would see that it was you.

But Camille had never cared about that; killing those lousy airbags was all she had wanted to do.

Now, under the intense metaphorical spotlight of a courtroom, she was left to burn under the scrutiny of the French judicial system once more. Surrounded by armoured guards who eyed her with wary stares, put against one tight-lipped judge who was really an overly-inflated lawyer, and equipped with nothing but her own words, Camille knew what would come next. When she had refused legal help from the police, turned down their dingy criminal lawyer, she knew what she was heading for.

One life sentence would be tacked on to her thirty year sentence. One entire lifetime would be her time spent behind bars, condemned to this shithole until the day she died. It didn't matter that she'd killed rapists, people who only cared about their own pleasure; human life was human life and Camille Bisset had taken three of those.

"You have been charged with murder," Solemn and grim, the police inspector had looked at her with an unreadable expression weaved within his blue eyes. Roger Raincomprix. Years ago he had been just a lowly officer, patrolling the parks and fining anyone who littered. When Camille had originally been akumatised, preyed upon by Hawkmoth, he had been the one to arrest her after the chaos. Now Roger was an inspector, staring at her with an eagle-eyed gaze that felt like it could see right through her act.

Perhaps, in that plain and depressing interrogation room, Roger had seen exactly what Camille had thought. When she had smiled, tipped her lips into a proud grin as she lounged in the hard ass plastic chairs the room had, he must have seen what she had thought within her brain. How could he not when she had spelled it out clear as day? There was no remorse within her system; there would never be remorse for foul scum like those men.

"And I plead guilty."

Hours had been wasted on that interrogation process. Dragging out the wait for the trial, trying to nitpick at exactly how Camille had managed to kill those men in the way she did without a weapon, the police and their investigative team always had to try and find out everything. Like nosy children - like a bunch of tiny toddlers, faces pressed to a glass window - the police always wanted to know every, little detail possible.

To them, it was all in the name of justice. Knowing the facts, having an extremely intricate play-by-play of events, was necessary to ensuring that true justice was carried out. But when Camille had tried to toot along to their tune, informing them about the bribery and the intended assault and the absent warden, they had brushed her aside. Of course those details didn't matter. They weren't necessary to the prosecution.

So Camille decided that her own facts, anything she knew to be true, didn't truly matter much either. Like the details about the victims she had given - key details in the course of justice - her details weren't needed. They weren't necessary to the case. They didn't matter.

In the end, the result was still the same: there were three dead inmates and one cold killer. That same cold killer was now sat in their courtroom, face as blank as a fresh slate and hands held up in admission. In the end, even without all the facts, the police got their so-called justice.

"You are aware that you stand to face a charge of murder," Unwavering at their stand, the judge peered at Camille with a stern and severe edge to his lined face. In his hand rested a pen, hovering over his pad of paper, "In fact you face three counts. How do you plead, Mademoiselle Bisset?"

All eyes naturally turned to the criminal on trial - well-known for her violent tendencies and therefore kept in a special glass cage. As if the glass cage could actually keep the spectators present safe! If Camille had really wanted to, had really desired it so, she would have easily gotten free and torn down the entire building within a few short minutes. Human contraptions made to deal with human criminals could never stunt her; thanks to Abyss and her miraculous she was virtually unstoppable.

But, as always, the police didn't know that. So sure of their authority, so certain that they were correct in their path of thinking, they simply assumed that she was not capable of breaking loose from the box. How foolish they were...

"I plead guilty," Camille responded. No hesitation. No heavy swallow of saliva, trying to choke down an awkward lump of remorse or fear. No. There wasn't anything. Camille was never that type of girl, toughened and hardened and conditioned from the moment her father had died, she was never one to go back on her own actions. "And I would gladly repeat my actions. Those worms deserved to be squished and flattened beneath my fists and I'd happily tell you all about it."

"Is that a call to the stand?" Raising a brow, still unwavering but seeming intrigued, the judge peered at the confident criminal. No doubt he had seen the notes from the prosecution, the weak and flimsy circumstantial evidence that they had against her. "Would you like to call yourself to the stand, Mademoiselle Bisset?"

"I would," Gruff, curt, Camille gave a short nod toward the judge.

Acknowledging her wish, the judge nodded in return, "Then you have the floor."

Now it was Camille holding the glaring light on everyone else within the room. Silent, but also grinning, she remained in her glass box, pacing back and forth like an antsy tiger, as she ran through the events in her mind. Everyone was hanging on her next word. Everyone was watching, waiting, to see what this woman would say in order to defend her case - or maybe to finally cooperate and reveal how exactly she sliced three men with seemingly nothing but thin air and a bar of soap.

Some of Paris' best had been puzzling over this for a good seventy two hours. Countless of staff members had been horrified by the clean-up, spending hours scrubbing red from the flooring of the shower room. Everyone else just wanted the truth, the reason why this happened and how Camille had been able to do it - right under the watching gaze of justice itself.

"I know that you have nothing on me in this case apart from my confession," Camille began, staring at the flock of investigators and legal workers piled into the room. Still confident, still prided, she couldn't hide the snort of amusement as she continued, "There isn't a single video tape, fingerprint nor weapon in the prosecution's possession. But all you need is my confession. The words I gave to Inspector Raincomprix about exactly why I decided to kill those three slugs who cornered me in the shower room."

Silence, clinging, choking, suspenseful, hung in the room at her words. Furiously, the prosecuting lawyer was scribbling down notes, trying to adjust their argument to counter Camille's upcoming words. They all knew about the intent of the attackers - that was no secret. But, assured that Camille would not mention such a thing, they hadn't thought to prepare a defense for it; they didn't think that she'd try to go for self-defense nor manslaughter.

"They wanted to attack me," Camille spat, a vicious spate of words as she balled one her fists within her handcuffs. Turning to the audience with a dangerous look in her eye, she frowned, "They wanted to rape and humiliate and degrade me. Take away what little humanity I had left. Those three insects that you call human are nothing but empty parasites looking for their host - their own pleasure."

Now people were stirring, frowning and whispering among themselves as the prosecuting side scrambled to audit their notes. Prim and proper at his stand, the judge remained professional, even more tight-lipped as he reached for his gavel and let it hover over its tiny circle. Chaos was beginning to brew in the air; discontent was building among the spectators, spreading whispers and causing dubious expressions.

Feeding off that doubt, knowing that she was beyond redemption in their eyes, Camille finished, "I did you all a favour by exterminating them."

Those words unleashed the real chaos, gasps and outcries filling the courtroom as soon as Camille finished her little speech. Family members of the deceased were the most vocal, emotional and boisterous as they either crumpled into themselves or tried to fight against restraining officers. Members of the jury were also stunned, wide-eyed and almost pale at her admission as they began to look at each other.

In the middle of it all, Camille remained calm. Blank and still, collected and calculating, she simply watched as everything unfolded before her, revealing the true nature of humanity and its legal system: chaos. Pure, unbridled chaos.

"Order!" Noticing the increased disruption within the room, the judge frowned as he banged his gavel against its coaster. Bang. Bang. Bang. "Order!"

Gradually but certainly, order sifted into the room. Spectators calmed down and emotional members were escorted out of the room. Camille was instructed to take a seat on her plastic chair once more and the prosecution began to state their case.

Washed out and over-used, all of their arguments were a blur to her. Using the fact that Camille had confessed, how brazenly she had admitted her three kills, they made it seem like she was a deranged lunatic - one person who could pose as a large threat to the greater public. With her background as a terrorist, she had also garnered the argument of her skills being used to take over the government, destroying society as everyone knew it.

Before the prosecution had finished talking, Camille already knew what fate had awaited her. From the moment she had opened her mouth, confessed to killing those scumbags, she had been aware of what would happen next. Maybe that was why it didn't surprise her when the judge banged his gavel once more, ready to instruct the entire room's assembly.

"There will be a thirty minute adjournment for the jury to deliberate," Those had been his instructions, paired with a meaningful look sent to Camille. "After that the main verdict will be announced."

Not that a break was even needed to know what would happen next. Of course, with the modern justice system, they had to give the illusion of the jury banding together, coming up with their takes on what charge Camille should face. But even then, Camille could see that the jury had made their decision from the beginning of the trial: she was guilty, she had killed, she should face the lifelong sentence.

Waiting for those thirty minutes to pass had felt like hell. Trapped within the stuffy confines of her glass box, restricted from asking for anything aside from some water, Camille had to wait out the seconds until her pre-determined fate. Countless people had glared at her. Others said nasty comments, muted by the glass and yet clear to her ears as she simply smiled back at them. What they thought didn't matter. Not in the grand scheme of things. Not when the world ended.

Unbeknownst to all those idiots, their time was running out. Unbeknownst to all those officers, thinking that they were doing the right thing, they were simply perpetuating a cycle of suffering that had been long-established in humanity's history.

"Camille Bisset," The words had barely registered within her mind when the judge spoke, his voice grave and low as it rang about the courtroom. "You are sentenced to three life sentences in prison for the murders of your fellow inmates."

When the gavel had slammed down once more, signalling the end of the trial, Camille hadn't even flinched. It was just as she had thought: she now had a life sentence. For the next thirty days, Camille Bisset would only see the inside of her luxury Hawkmoth suite cell.

Silence. Not for the first time in her life, Marinette was facing a prolonged silence.

Ever since the visit that had taken place one distant month ago, not a single word had gotten back to her about Camille. No letters, no phone calls, no anything. At first, the silence had agitated the heroine a bit, made her feel antsy about the well-being of the the stubborn woman locked away in a high-security prison. But, after a good night of deliberation, she came to a logical conclusion: Camille didn't want to talk to her. Why would Camille want to talk to Ladybug?

When she had emerged as Jinx, that chaotic, destructive villain who had razed up a good portion of Paris, Camille had made it clear how she viewed Ladybug and Chat Noir. Together, they were the epitome of blinded justice and believeing that you were doing the right thing. Foolishly, stupidly, both Marinette and Adrien had only carried out the opposite of what they had intended; they had helped to protect something that would only cause more suffering further down the line.

Even though she was cruel, spiteful and sharp with her words, Camille did make good points at times. After that initial visit, faced with the bombshell of Adrien returning his ring, Marinette began to see exactly how the disgraced miraculous user could be right. Everything was falling apart at the seams. Hidden and obscured, the truth of the miraculous had changed everything that Marinette had ever known about being Ladybug.

Smiling, being that big, bright pillar of hope for the everyday person, only got you so far. In the middle of a battle, working her ass off - risking her own life - she'd fooled herself into thinking that people would be grateful for what she did. When the day came, when she would inevitably fail, Marinette had always believed that Paris would have Ladybug's side.

In the end, she should have never had such faith in the everyday person.

Anger, sadness and grief could warp people into unrecognisable figures. When people wanted something to blame, something to explain all of the misfortune within their lives, they always made sure to scope it onto the most accessible thing. To them, in their grief, it didn't matter that Ladybug had saved millions of lives over the past four years. To the people of Paris, in the outrage, it didn't matter that Ladybug and Chat Noir themselves had nearly died that fateful night.

Sometimes, in the quiet of her apartment, staring at the latest news article, plastered with pictures of both her and Chat Noir, Marinette did think that perhaps it would have been better for her to die. That night, in a ball of blazing red glory, if Ladybug and Chat Noir had died, then the reaction would have been different. So much that Marinette knew now, had to do now, would be so much different if she had died that day.

Gimmi wouldn't be her problem anymore. Adrien would not have given back his ring. Camille... She would have won. Destroying Paris - perhaps even the entire world - she would have become a cold and hardened killer, the one who managed to cull the entire human population.

But did Marinette regret stopping that course of action? No. Not at all. Even with all of the hatred flooding her way, the emptiness that came with Chat Noir's resignation, Marinette would do it all again. To save Camille, to take her off the path of becoming a bloody executioner in history's tale, she would easily repeat her actions.

"It seems we've finally got some more information, Tikki," Humming as she skimmed through her mail for the day, Marinette couldn't help but beam as she picked up a letter from the high-security prison housing her favourite inmate.

"It's about time," Tikki huffed, shaking her tiny head as she perched on Marinette's shoulder. "You'd think that they would give more of an explanation than an official document."

"It is a high security prison," Giggling a little, Marinette couldn't help but be amused by the tiny creature's annoyance. Just like Marinette, she was interested in knowing more about Camille Bisset and her story - especially regarding just how she came into the contact with the supposedly lost Chaos miraculous. "They have to be careful with what they release to the public. There's a lot of high-profile criminals in their care."

For the past three months, Marinette had been telling herself that. Ever since she was sent a letter from the director of the facility, detailing in vague and professional script that her request for a visit must be turned down, she had been telling herself that she was kept out of the loop for her own safety - for the public's safety. Unlike most people, she wasn't visiting a family member or someone next of kin. Marinette was visiting a known criminal, a high-profile terrorist, who had seemingly no relation to her.

Why would any sensible security director leak sensitive information to her? Even if she had the authority to demand the truth, to have evidence right in her hands, why should they give it to her? To them, Camille was not part of her business. To the general public, Camille was a criminal who had seemingly no familial links.

"Just open the letter, Marinette," Antsy on her shoulder, Tikki seemed to be burning with nervous energy as she eyed the white envelope. "We have to know what has happened. Three months is a long time to go with so little contact."

Nodding, Marinette did as told and ripped open the top of the letter. As she removed the letter itself, she spotted the familiar seal of the department of justice - reserved for all letters issued from prisons, courts and police stations. In the top corner was the details of her name and address. At the bottom, in bold script, was the name of the prison's head director, joined by his signature. Between those two details was the letter itself.

Originally, it began with an apology. Rather too simperingly, the director explained how they had to cut all contact between Camille and Marinette due to an internal matter that had occurred within the prison. Then, once that was wrapped up, it shared the details of a newly arranged visit, scheduled for the afternoon of that very day.

"It seems like they're trying to keep what happened very quiet," Marinette frowned, skimming over the letter once more. Once again, she came up with no more than the newly arranged visiting date - compensation for the one that had been cancelled three months prior.

"Yes, they are," At her side, Tikki was pensive, her lips pressed together as she eyed the letter herself. Whenever the kwami grew like this, Marinette knew that she wanted to object to something but didn't feel like it was her place to do so. In the past, whenever they had disagreed, Tikki tended to get like this. Unlike her silence, Tikki's disapproval always spoke volumes - no matter how much she tried to mask them.

However, with the upcoming visit, Marinette didn't have the energy to divert and deal with Tikki's thoughts. If Tikki wanted to discuss whatever was bugging her then she would bring it up when she was ready. On past occasions, such as when Marinette had originally become Ladybug, the tiny creature had done exactly that, easily settling into lengthy rants about why exactly Marinette should follow her guidance.

Now should be no different. Even with the exposed secret, the huge elephant that had been hanging around in the room ever since Abyss arrived, Tikki should know that she could tell Marinette what she thought.

"We're going to that visit Tikki," Slipping on her jacket, Marinette gave the kwami a stern look as she pocketed her phone and house keys. "Even if Camille doesn't want to talk to me anymore, I still want to check up on her. I want to know that she got her box and is doing ok."

For too long the kwami looked back at her holder, face pressed in the uncomfortable lines and curves of repressed disapproval. When Marinette looked at Tikki should could only see a worried mother, a fretting woman who couldn't see that her child was just fine all by themselves. Tikki had always been overprotective. Tikki had always seemed to love giving out advice, keeping Marinette on the right track at all times.

But now, in this moment, she seemed like she was afraid to say what she thought. So instead, letting out a sigh, the kwami simply drifted to Marinette's purse (pre-filled with sugary snacks for the road).

"I understand," Was all she had said, only her head popping out from the top of the bag. "You want to visit her and there is nothing I can do about it."

This time it had been Camille waiting at the table, her leg bouncing with jittery energy as she stared vacantly ahead at the other tables scattered around. Unlike last time, the visiting hall was filled with a smaller number of inmates, mostly those who had small children or elderly relatives making up the population for today. Speckled between them were the wardens, all kitted in bullet-proof vests and warily eyeing Camille.

When she had originally walked into the visiting hall, Marinette had instantly noticed the change between the staff and Camille. Increased tension, brewing suspicion, had always been something she could sense well. After becoming Ladybug that skill had only amplified, honed and perfected on the battlefield against Hawkmoth and later the very woman she was coming to visit now. Body language always cued into tension. Facial expressions worked just as well.

On Camille's end there was a lack of tension. Slouched in her seat, looking almost bored as she waited for Marinette, she didn't look like a dangerous nor scheming criminal. All of the wardens, on the other hand, were the exact opposite. Keyed into every small movement the criminal made, hands kept close to the batons and tazers clipped to their belts, each and every person on duty was on the lookout for something to happen. Something bad.

Aware of what it could be, Marinette could only suppress the shiver that wanted to track down her spine. In this current moment, one room across from someone who had the uncanny ability of reading people's motives, it would not be a good idea to show fear. Fear and apprehension were things Camille could feed off, could use to twist her already fragile mind.

"Good afternoon, Camille," Sucking in a deep breath, Marinette mustered up her sunniest smile possible as she pulled out her plastic chair and took a seat on it. With her arrival, Camille seemed to sober up a little, her shoulders shifting as her eyes flickered to Marinette's.

"Afternoon," She had grunted out, still slouched within her seat and still bouncing her leg. Across her chest were two tightly folded arms, her fingers almost bruising the flesh of her biceps as her head flicked toward the antsy wardens. "Although I wouldn't call it good."

"Why not?" Marinette prodded - although she had a good suspicion as to what the 'why' could be. Three months of radio silence was strange for a prison, even when an inmate had escaped. Plus, with how the wardens were acting around Camille, there must have been some kind of physical altercation. With how much fear and apprehension they displayed, something clearly had happened. Marinette only feared how big of a something it was.

Raising a brow as her fingers drummed against the tabletop, Marinette dared to ask, "What happened over the past three months?"

"I killed someone," Camille shrugged, her tone just as casual and nonchalant as her greeting had been. Looking at her nail beds, dusting off her natural nails with her thumb, the woman seemed completely unphased by her own actions as she spoke. "Multiple someones if you want to be exact."

"Oh," Marinette's lips pressed into a tight line. Definitely not what she had been expecting - on the scale but definitely not expected. No wonder why she had been denied access for a meeting with Camille. With a criminal as dangerous as her, someone who could lash out violently against anyone, the prison would have had to take extra precautionary measures.

Was that why the room was emptier today? Speckled with guards, uniquely populated with small children and older adults, had this session been entirely crafted for Camille in order to reduce her chances of attacking someone? As Marinette sat there, digesting the new information she had just been given, she couldn't help but think so. This situation was made as a buffer, a preventative measure to ensure that no-one else died.

"It happened three months ago. Right in the shower room," Camille continued, unabashed as she glanced up from her nails. Dangerous, sparking with a look that Marinette recognised from nearly six months prior, dumped in the middle of a hellish battle and scrambling for answers, she looked like a hardened soldier. A highly-trained weapon that knew of its dark purpose. "They tried to attack me and I simply returned the favour."

Returning the favour would not have been merciful on Camille's end. Having already experienced how formidable the woman could be on the battlefield, Marinette was aware of just how gruesome the battle could grow if Camille was feeling spiteful or vengeful enough. Even without details she could imagine her assailants, shocked and gasping and wheezing as she stared at them, unfeeling and cold, curling her hand in a final, goodbye fist.

Those attackers would not have been killed graciously. Instead they would have been mangled and slaughtered like animals.

"I see," Unable to contain her disappointment, Marinette couldn't help but frown deeply. Creases, lines, formed within the smooth skin of her forehead as she questioned, "But don't you think- "

"That what?" Camille scoffed, half-scolding and half-amused. Now she had sat up straight, her entire face filled with an expression of mocking curiosity as she arched a brow. "There was a better, more peaceful way to solve that? That I should have taken a better approach?"

"Yes," Although she knew that Camille would disagree - because she could never see things from her perspective - Marinette had tried to voice her side once more. Lips pinched, voice quiet, blue eyes firm and resolute, she tried her damnest to make it clear, make it obvious, just how strongly she felt about doing the right thing.

Violence wasn't always the answer. Bullying and dominating others only got a person so far in the world, regardless of their age, race, gender or ethnicity. Eventually, you ran out of bodies to climb over; eventually you would have to rely on others, watch as they built each other up and left you behind.

"How blind you are, Miss Pink and everything perfect," Rolling her eyes, Camille more or less spat the words as darkness overtook her once pleasant face. "Can't you see? Being good, being peaceful, it doesn't get you anywhere. If I was peaceful that day, chose to sing kumbaya with those filthy worms, then I would have been destroyed. I would have been beaten and raped and made to be ashamed because I had rolled over and taken it."

Raped? Beaten? Humiliated? Marinette had not known those details about the event - important pieces of context that added much more to the mostly murky picture. Acting in self-defense was much different from actively hurting others. Attempting to protect yourself was never wrong, especially in such circumstances. But, even so, killing others - even in the act of self defense - was inexcusable. Taking a life was an unforgivable crime.

Yet, knowing part of Camille's history, Marinette could see why she had taken the course of action she did. Part of her understood, resonated, with the fact that she didn't want to relive her past, to go back to just rolling over and taking it.

"I didn't," Speechless, Marinette could only whisper the words as tears pricked at her eyes. Sniffing as she fiercely scrubbed at her eyes, she pursed her lips once more. "I didn't know that."

"There is a lot that you don't know," Camille muttered in response, a bitter, solemn thing that felt like sticky tar in Marinette's stomach. "You lack a grasp of the wider world."

"I'd beg to differ," Marinette refuted, tiny but still there as she frowned a little. Looking Camille in the eye, her words targeted at her specifically, she couldn't help but voice the lesson she had always strived to spread as Ladybug, "I know that a little goodness can go much further than a whole load of bad."

"And I know that a little goodness could never be as powerful as a single evil thought," Camille clipped back swiftly, sharp but not venomous as she met Marinette's stare with one of her own. "Tell me, Marinette, what unites the world in a time of great chaos? It is not good intentions, the wish to help one another. It is selfishness, the need to save one's self and preserve what they have. All good deeds are born from one single act of evil. To be good, you must be bad. To be bad, you must be good. There is no picking sides."

Already, Marinette was aware of those truths. No-one was truly good and no-one was truly evil. Part of the beauty of being human, of being complex and thought-filled and individual, is that no-one can ever be the perfect example of a 'good person'. Instead, everyone lived by a rough outline of what made someone good. Basic laws and the idea of treating each other equally were things that displayed such a thought-pattern clearly.

Goodness came through the use of empathy, the unique ability of humans as a society to feel for one another. That was why, when all was going to shit and some crazed lunatic was once again trying to take over the world, people united to combat that evil. Humans could imagine how other people felt; that determined the path they took.

But Camille seemed to think differently. In her mind, humans were selfish and individualist. Unless something benefited them they would not waste the time nor effort on trying to help. Even in times of great struggle and suffering.

"It's not picking sides," Sighing, Marinette shook her head. Why couldn't Camille see it how she did? How could she not see, value, how people could be good? "It's seeing what does the most good for the most amount of people."

"It's a lie," Camille responded, still fixed with her ideas and now paired with a smug, self-assured smirk. "A lie that all of you good Samaritans tell yourselves to feel better about what you do."

Before Marinette could refute, the bell was being rung - signalling the five minute mark until the end of visitation. All around their table, people began to prepare their goodbyes. Small children wrapped skinny arms around their parents, tears wetting t-shirts or being swept away by hands. Parents and children were smiling at one another, promising to visit at another time. Between them all, the wardens still lingered, watching and waiting.

Sighing as she began to collect her things, Marinette couldn't help but voice her final argument, "You're wrong Camille," She had looked the criminal straight in the eye, just as firm and resolute as she had been. "Not all good is born from evil."

"Then why are you here?" Camille had responded, certain and cool as she remained in her seat. Both hands were now behind her head, scattering the bright red of her shiny bob. "If I had not done what I did, had not killed the people I did, would you have come to visit me then? Would you have wanted to know me?"

Obvious. Both of them knew that the answer to Camille's question was just as obvious as the fact that the sky was blue. If Camille had not attacked the city all those months ago, then Marinette would have never really known about her existence outside of her brief stint as Magician. If Camille had not attacked then Marinette would not be here, hoping to change her past mistakes and remove her naivety. If anything, she would have remained naive, running on rooftops with her feline partner as they both carried out a meaningless role. An empty role.

Destroying part of Paris had been what brought them together. Deciding to kill those people, deciding to try and end the world, was what had made Camille come to this point. Her malevolent actions had led to them crossing paths.

And both of them knew it.

"I thought so," Satisfied with the silence, Camille hummed as she smirked. "You still lie to yourself."

Once again the bell rang, this time signalling the end of visitation. Still stood beside her chair, now blinking because of the bell, Marinette couldn't help but shake her head. Too much was going on. Too munch information, too many emotions, had passed through her skull for the day. Right now she needed a nice nap.

"Goodbye Camille," Deciding to leave their conversation at that, Marinette sighed as she adjusted her purse on her shoulder. "I'll be back soon for another visit."

"Well, I hope you never come back," Camille had said, no longer smiling as she stood up and let the nearby wardens cuff her up. "Maybe then I'll finally get some peace and quiet around here."

Once again there was a pause in contact. At this point Marinette had come to expect long dry periods between the face-to-face visits, especially after learning why she had been denied a visit to see Camille. Relations between the woman and the security team at the facility were definitely strained; that much had been obvious from the letter Marinette had been sent as well as the body language from the wardens.

However, even with the pause in face-to-face contact, Marinette had letters to look forward to. Written by hand and stamped with the sloppy seal of approval from the prison's censorship team, more or less every two weeks she received some form of correspondence from Camille. Even though they were often spiteful and sharp, Marinette enjoyed the thought of Camille expending the effort to reach out to her. With Chat Noir's absence it did wonders to soothe her loneliness.

Plus, on those days where she felt aimless and lost, anxiously shuffling about her home with a million different devices on, listening to the news on her phone, TV and laptop, Camille's letters did help to ground Marinette somewhat. If anything they kept her focused, motivated, on her mission to track down an item that could potentially help Camille finally see how the goodness in others could always trump evil.

Perhaps that was why it was good news to hear about the latest visit - booked and slotted in for two months from the very date of the last one. Camille was not aware of the visit, her latest letter seeming highly fixated on the fact that Marinette seemed to only send material items but never her own presence. In fact, as if to scorch Marinette further, she had remarked about how the famous Ladybug must be terrified of a criminal like her.

Initially, Marinette had been rather hurt by those words. When she had read that line, halfway through a breakfast bagel, she had nearly choked on a chunk of bread. For the rest of that day Tikki had to assure Marinette that she was not terrible. Camille was simply missing the human interaction and didn't know how to voice it appropriately - those had been Tikki's words. Women like Camille would never be nice.

"She will appreciate you going to these lengths," Abyss had told her one night, their eyes glowing bright in the lamplight of the room. Together, Marinette and the kwami were casting an illusion over a gift for Camille. One that had taken a lot of digging, bartering and illegal web activity to obtain. "Even if she does not show it, Camille will be grateful for the gift."

That night, as they had worked together to make the object look like a plain piece of paper, Abyss had shed some light onto the cryptic enigma known as Camille Bisset. From Abyss, Marinette had learned that they and Camille had been in each other's lives for around four years - just after she had been akumatized by Hawkmoth. During that time, they had both learned from another, absorbed the traumas of the other and vowed to remain together for as long as they could.

Through Abyss' vague words, Marinette began to see a clearer picture of Camille. Once a happy girl, in awe of her father now turned into a damaged and embittered woman, seeking vengeance against those who let her suffer, she was much more complex than the average human being. So much lingered around her. So many secrets were sewn into her past.

And one question that remained unanswered was how exactly she came across the Chaos miraculous.

Careful and quiet, Abyss didn't talk much about their past nor Camille's. Aside from a vague notion in passing, or a slight afterthought, the kwami was mostly silent as it strayed in its tiny corner, away from all of the other kwami. When Marinette had asked Tikki and Plagg about Abyss, both kwamis were just as closed-off and defensive, stating that they weren't at the liberty to talk about such things.

Clearly, the kwami harbored secrets that they would not always share. Upfront and honest, Abyss would always vocalize that they were a secretive and pensive being. Tikki and Plagg, however, much too smothering and overbearing, would not reveal that they were secretive. Instead Marinette had learned it over the years: first through the trials and errors of facing Hawkmoth and now with the trials and errors of contacting Camille.

So, when the day came for Marinette to visit Camille, she had told Tikki to remain at home - if they needed to become Ladybug then she would summon the kwami. Today's visit, with its sentimental value, would be a relatively private thing. No Tikki watching anxiously from Marinette's purse; no outsiders judging because they wouldn't see anything but a scrap of tiny paper. Plain and simple like Camille. Private and yet meaningful just like Abyss.

Getting checked through security was a much less embarrassing ordeal this time round. As Marinette held out her arms, let the warden pat her down, she didn't even bat an eye, used to the process. Even when they pulled out the paper (Camille's cloaked gift) she hadn't held her breath - not like when she had mailed her first box to the prison. Instead Marinette had smiled, saying her thanks as it was handed back.

All too soon she was walking into the familiar visiting hall once more, this time empty of inmates and instead housing visitors, sitting at half-empty tables. Again, most of the population were of the family type: grandparents, children and more professional-looking people. Many of them recognised Marinette as she made her way to Camille's usual spot - a table located in a far corner of the hall, closest to the barred door that linked the prison to the visitation hall.

Five minutes was all it took for the barred door to click open, inmates filing in and getting their handcuffs popped off. At least three wardens per inmate were on duty, again in heavy-duty gear and sporting their restraining gear on their belts. Last and wearing a firm scowl, Camille walked through the door, five wardens at her side and her cuffs having what looked like ankle restraints as well.

When her handcuffs were released, she looked somewhat relived. That was until she saw Marinette.

"Took you long enough," Storming up to the table, an invisible storm rumbling behind her, Camille glowered as she approached Marinette. "What happened? You suddenly think you're too good to be around a killer?"

"No, not at all," Marinette responded, her voice small and yet calm as she shook her head. "I just needed the extra time."

"Could've fooled me," Camille spat, heavily planting herself down in her chair. Harsh and squealing, the legs scraped against the linoleum ground as she pulled herself closer to the table. "You have a habit of doing that, you know. Dumping people when you don't need them, when you feel good about helping them out. Was that why you kept sending the care packages to absolve your own guilt?"

"No," Shaking her head again, Marinette responded in the same small and calm tone. "I actually sent them to make sure life was bearable for you. But that doesn't matter, I came here today to give you this."

Pulling the scrap of paper from her pocket, Marinette placed it onto the tabletop between them. Thanks to her hard work with Abyss, Marinette was able to sustain the illusion of a blank piece of paper to the unsuspecting eye. Trixx had been rather useless in that regard, the unifying of the Ladybug and Fox miraculous not being nowhere near as strong as this illusion; Alya had noticed the difference between both scraps of paper right away.

But this one, enchanted with the improved spell, would definitely last. Marinette had made sure of that before she came here, intending for Camille to receive this gift that had been well overdue.

"I'm sorry that it took me so long to find," Smiling a little, Marinette pushed the slip of paper toward Camille. "I know your father would have wanted you to have it."

Still. Frozen. Camille was a silent and statuesque thing as she stared at the tabletop, the piece of paper resting on top of it, with wide and unblinking eyes. On her face, her red lips twitched somewhat, as if they were about to say something, but not even a gush of air came from them. Instead she was silent, unresponsive, as she gingerly reached out for the slip of paper, almost cradling it within her hands as tears built in her eyes.

For a moment, seeing the pure emotion wash over Camille's face, Marinette truly thought that she was getting somewhere. Seeing something human, something relatable, within Camille's face really gave her hope. But only for that short moment.

"You," Hissing, ominous, Camille glowered as her expression morphed into one of fury. Behind her thunder clouds seemed to loom, rolling invisibly through the air. "You did this so that I'd feel like I owed you something, didn't you?"

"Of course not!" Immediately, Marinette shakes her head, offended by the very idea of that possibility. Tears were now prickling in her eyes, threatening to spill. "Do you really think that badly of me? Do you believe that I would use you, manipulate you, when you are at your most vulnerable?" Taking in a deep breath, Marinette steeled herself, "That object belonged to your father. Legally it is yours and I'm simply returning it to where it belongs."

With you - was what she had wanted to say. That object you hold in your hands, cradle so protectively against you, belongs right there, with you, where it was always meant to be.

Camille fell silent once again. Behind them one of the wardens rolled their eyes, seeming to be entirely unamused by the entire spectacle. To them it was just a piece of blank paper, a simple scrap of a dead tree that didn't contain anything important. But to Camille, who could see the true object hidden behind the illusion, that scrap of paper was priceless. from how she was clutching that piece of paper, Marinette could tell that much.

Even without a thank you, Marinette knew that she was grateful. Abyss had been right: Camille did appreciate the gift.

Placing the scrap of paper within her pocket, Camille stood up and turned to leave. An early departure. A silent and early departure. Even when she had turned back to glance at Marinette a final time, her blue eyes filled with something indecipherable, the woman had said nothing as the wardens cuffed her once more and she was marched back through the barred doors leading to the prison. Not a single word.

And, in the wake of her silence, was a tight-lipped Marinette, wondering why her heart felt so pained to see her go without even saying goodbye.

Subsequent meetings ended up flowing much more nicely. After the gift was given, Camille leaving without saying another word, a shift seemed to occur between them that solidified a much more friendly and casual relationship. Every month, at least once and month, Marinette would book a visit to see Camille. That same month, every month, they would launch into a new conversation, sharing different theories and philosophies on how they would tackle each situation.

Ever since the attack that had happened in Île de la Cité, this was the most normal that Marinette had ever felt. Whenever she attended her visits, opened a new letter from Camille, she felt normality bleeding back into her once dramatic and chaotic life. Before, it used to be Adrien acting as that placeholder, the rock that kept her solid when she was threatening to drift to sea. Now it was Camille, but instead of being a rock, slowly chipping away into the sea, she was the sun, drying up the waves with her overwhelming rays.

There were plenty of things that they learned from one another. There were plenty of things that they saw in one other: the potential to be a better hero, the desire to do well but often failing in that regard. Both of them were failures - broken chunks of a perfect product that didn't know what to do with themselves. But, when they came to speak, shared how their experiences affected how they saw the world, they felt like they could understand what it was like to have a purpose - a true calling.

Maybe that was why Marinette had placed so much energy and effort into visiting Camille. Between putting together her care packages, attending visits and completing mandatory bill-paying work, the young woman had definitely packed out her schedule with caring for Camille.

Part of her new fixation made her think about Adrien, the boy who used to make her laugh as they'd ran about Paris, two scared shitless teens fighting against powerful akumas. In the past she had also focused on caring for him. Filling out her timetable, adjusting her plans around him, Marinette had made Adrien the centre of her universe. In the past, he too, had made her the centre of his, chasing her around and around and around for years on end.

But where were they now?

Now they barely spoke. Alya and Nino provided some updates, stating that he was doing well, trying to recover from supposed PTSD from the attack - which Marinette knew was most likely a real thing. Sometimes, at night, she still had visions of that night. Fireballs raining down from the sky, charred and crumbling bodies clawing at her arms, Marinette could bring herself right back to Île de la Cité during the attack. Fresh. Burning. Filled with death.

An anniversary vigil was coming up, prepared and planned by family members of victims and survivors. Ladybug and Chat Noir were meant to show up, to pay their respects and issue that public apology that they were yet to announce. But now it was just Ladybug, a teary and panic-ridden Ladybug, that didn't know what she would do if she hadn't had the unexpected support of her new inmate buddy.

"I say you turn up and have the balls to say you did nothing wrong," Camille had told her, flashing a prided and brilliant grin. "You didn't do anything wrong, so why apologise? Show them how much they rely on you, how much you have done and deserve to be accredited for. One mistake, this mistake, should not cost you everything."

Those words had been said at their last meeting, Camille having a strong opposition to the 'public apology' plan. In her eyes the French public needed to grow a backbone and realise that superheroes could not do all of the heavy-lifting for society. Just like those who work for emergency services and the department of justice, superheroes could die and could also face struggles against their enemies. Superheroes could also make mistakes - especially human ones.

While Marinette did agree with a lot of it, inspired by her dedication to the argument, she couldn't help but voice how that night had partly been her fault. She had failed to bring back the dead; Ladybug had failed at her one, assured job.

But, once again, Camille had brushed that all aside. Those points didn't matter because all of that pressure should not rely on one person. Ladybug was not a god. Bringing the back the dead was something only a god could do.

Of course, they could not discuss it all to a great depth - with all the wardens lurking about - but Marinette caught the gist of it through Camille's vague wording. Part of what she liked about talking to Camille was the fact that you had to piece it together yourself. Spoon-feeding you the answers was never her sort of style. If you wanted an answer, you worked for it. It didn't matter who you were to her.

But that wasn't the only thing that Marinette had noticed about Camille. Slight things, like her shifts between tones and how they indicated her true mood, had been noted over the course of their friendship. Sometimes, in her everyday life, she would try to mirror the elegant way in which Camille moved or remember a funny phrase she had said to her once. As more time passed, Marinette kept learning more, seeing more, and those things only made her care more.

Camille was becoming someone that Marinette cared about deeply. With all the time and effort and attention going her way, the almost unhealthy procrastination that were her prison visits, Marinette knew that her little hobby was becoming much more than that. This behaviour was hinging on becoming an obsession - just like when she had delved into her infatuation with Adrien, fourteen and fantasizing about her entire life with him.

"You're zoning out again, Marinette," Tikki. Frowning as she peered at her holder, the kwami seemed agitated as she noticed Marinette's vacant stare. "Are you thinking about what Camille said again? You know that you have to apologise."

Yes, she had to apologise for the disaster that was the attack on Île de la Cité! Tikki had said that was the best course of action and Marinette knew that Tikki often knew best. But part of her couldn't help but think of the Chaos miraculous user locked behind bars, confident and unapologetic in her demeanour as she blew red strands of hair from her eyes and examined her short nails. Camille wouldn't have apologised. Camille would have said the truth, revealed how she couldn't perform the tasks of a god.

But Marinette wasn't Camille. She was weak and admired how strong Camille could be, how wonderful she could be, if she just embraced being a hero.

"Tikki," Taking in a deep breath, she closed her eyes tight and tried to dispel the flutters that came to her system at the thought of Camille being a hero. "Can we talk about this later?"

"Why?" The kwami had blinked, frowning deeply.

But Marinette didn't respond. Instead, inside, she was panicking. Wildly. One: because she was in love. And two: of course, it just had to be the last person she had ever expected.

Three years. Three orbits around the sun and three cycles of three hundred and sixty five days had passed. Even without a calendar pasted to the concrete walls of her cell, Camille could tell that just by looking at the small, tiny clock which sat on her sad, empty shelf. Three years. Three years of visits and supervised meal times and more or less limited freedom because of her own decision to kill those three ingrates. Three years of being told what to do, lounging around in this facility as if it were a vacation.

Technically, in Camille's eyes, this entire process was just one long vacation. At any moment she could have chosen to break out and wreck havoc on the well-secured prison. At any second she could have made her grand and theatrical escape, triggering another encounter with Ladybug in her suit. But, she had waited. For three years Camille had patiently waited and enjoyed her break.

But now enough was enough; she was going to leave this dump.

Using the power stored within her, the woman held a hand to the lock of her cell door. Effortlessly, it clicked open, swinging open silently (without its usual tell-tell squeak and clang and groan) as she stepped out into the almost vacant halls of the Hawkmoth suite. Immediately, the attention of the nearest warden was caught, their eyes catching the movement of the cell door. Just as swiftly, they were a limp figure, slumped against the concrete wall.

Before she took her leave, Camille had some important matters to tend to - she couldn't do them with a thousand annoying flies buzzing behind her. So, walking away from her now open cell, Camille headed toward the general population block, where she would find the targets of her plans.

Extreme chaos more or less bloomed the moment Camille arrived to the general prison. Upon sighting, shouting and jeering and panic filled the air. When she opened up the cell doors, stormed in with a dangerous look in her eye, some attempted to fight and others cowered in their corners begging for mercy. Sexual predators received the worst treatment, crumpled up into balls of flesh of splattered everywhere with just a flick of Camille's wrist.

Sexual predators weren't the only targets though. Known cult leaders, serial killers and others who preyed on the vulnerable were shown no mercy when faced with Camille's path of destruction. Only petty thieves and those sent to the prison by unfortunate circumstances managed to escape with their leaves - breathing out in a mix of hysteria and disbelief as Camille simply turned away from them and moved into the next cell.

Those inmates ended up flooding the hallways, triggering alarms that the wardens had pulled in an attempt to spread word about the blooming riot. Banging on cell doors, picking fights with the riot staff who also came pouring in, they provided the perfect distraction for Camille to use in order to escape. Just as she had planned. Just as she had always wanted to do, ever since she'd landed herself behind bars.

All too soon, Camille was reaching the last few cells. Open. Kill. Let the others out. Any lingering wardens had begrudgingly ran past her, focusing on pacifying the new fire-starting inmates who were causing a ruckus farther down the cell block. Heavy smoke was drifting in the air. Shouts and screams and hoarse, barked orders were drifting through the halls along with the annoying blare of the riot alarm.

Chaos was sparking everywhere. Doom and destruction was settling into the very foundations of this prison, leading it down a spiral of panic and violence and a thinly veiled sense of control.

Those fools in the uniform of Paris' prison workers had been naive to think that they could contain Camille. As she stood at the wall that blocked her path to freedom, built to withstand the force of anti-tank shells and other extreme military force, she couldn't help but scoff. With one single hand, she could blow that wall to chunks - no machinery or fancy high-tech weapons necessary to prove them wrong.

With her palm pressed flat to the wall, feeling the bumps of the bricks beneath the smooth cement, Camille closed her eyes. In the next second, she had blown a massive hole through, sending bricks and dried mortar flying through the air like shrapnel from a bomb and bullets from a gun. Cold, fresh air gushed through the gaping gap and Camille couldn't help but breathe it in as she heard the riot behind her continue in full-force.

Yet they had noticed what she had done. Storming toward the hole, seeking their chance to escape, the prisoners had all noticed what she had done. And, aimlessly trying to restore order, the riot response staff had followed, tripping up stragglers and beginning to pull out tear gas.

Alas, it was to little avail. Because as soon as Camille stepped out into the open air, breathed in the fresh, flowing skies that had been blocked behind a screen of brick and paint and cement, she was gone. Disappeared like a specter within a cloud of fog.

Something had dragged her here. Standing outside of the building that she knew to be Marinette's home, Camille couldn't help but feel awkward and somewhat disjointed as she stared at her surroundings. For one, she had never expected someone like Ladybug to live in such a public building, the entire place being a block of apartments that appeared somewhat luxurious and yet equally as normal. Secondly, she was surprised to sense that no-one was home - put perhaps that was due to the stunt she had pulled earlier on.

Countless people passed on the pavement, not batting an eye as they went about their own personal lives. One mother with her children, pushing a stroller with a fussy-looking toddler, was trying to securely clip on her baby bag while the other child bounced manically on the spot. Around her, a group of students laughed as they snacked on fresh crepes, bought from a stand not too far from the apartment building.

Normal. Life around Ladybug's home was outstandingly normal and that fact couldn't help but make Camille's lips curl in distaste. How could she act like her own life was normal? How could she see these people, try to blend in with these people, who so easily would out her as abnormal because of her miraculous? Honestly, to Camille, it just didn't make sense. At all. Which was all the more reason to destroy this place.

Stretching out her hands, the woman pursed her lips. One second. All it took was one second and this entire little bubble, this entire building, would come crumbling down into nothing but pebbles and stones. Once again Ladybug would get the blame and once again the entire public of France would turn. That would tip her over the edge; that would remove Camille's problem.

So why did her hands shake? Quaking, quivering, why did they refuse to bend and join in order for her to carrying out her signature final move? Even her lungs, usually unaffected by most things, felt choked and strangled as Camille stared at the building, at the level which housed Ladybug and her box of miracle jewels.

Obviously, Camille already knew the answer as to why she felt so shaky. To any intelligent human being it would be blatant, spelled out in bright red letters, just why she couldn't destroy this place. But, even so, Camille couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment with herself at the revelation. This action was supposed to be easy and effortless. This move was meant to seal her place of dominance over Ladybug and Chat Noir. It wasn't meant to feel so damn difficult.

Placing her hands back at her side, Camille uttered a series of dark curses as she stomped toward the back of the building. Thanks to the communal gardens, she could sneak up the back staircase and make her way to Ladybug's apartment. Once there she could collect her miraculous, reconvene with Abyss and get the hell of out France. Clearly, she needed to the space to sort out her thoughts and remember her mission - her important task.

Opening Marinette's front door had been effortless. With a simple wave of her hand, Camille had it swinging open for her, welcoming her with a silent arc as she stepped into the hallway of the miracle box guardian's home. Pictures hung on her walls, an array of past and present, displaying Marinette with her friends and family and perhaps even a potential partner - she seemed to have a lot of pictures of them.

Nevertheless, Camille did not become too invested. Instead, shaking her head, she remained focused on the task at hand. Walking through the hallway, following the signal that Abyss was emitting, the woman effortlessly found her way to what must have been Marinette's bedroom.

There, sat on her desk, was a strange ladybug-patterned box, oval in shape and elongated. Around it was an array of items, ranging from typical beauty products to picture frames and odd trinkets that must have had sentimental value to the woman. At least, that was what Camille could surmise from their past conversations; Marinette seemed to be a very sentimental and meaningful person. She didn't just do things for the sake of doing it.

One example was when she had given Camille her father's last wish - an item that Clara had sold before Camille could get it. Originally, Camille had planned to get it as she made her escape from France, finished with razing complete chaos over the country. But, when Marinette had brought it to her, Camille had been speechless, then outraged, then somewhat appreciative. Going through all that trouble to get something so simple had not been necessary - she realised that now. But Marinette had done it.

Part of Camille would be grateful for that, would give Marinette credit where it was due for that action. But only for that and nothing more. Which was probably why she could not bring herself to destroy Marinette's home - not after all she had done.

"Intruder!" Springing from the box as Camille stepped toward it, at least a dozen kwamis zipped into the air. Instantly, they were all brought to a halt, an array of bright and pastel colours, big eyes round and panicked as their tiny hands extended as if to push Camille back. Hovering at the front of their swarm, a calm and pensive thing, Abyss was their complete opposite; just like Camille, they had been waiting for this day.

"You're back," Was all they had said before nodding toward the box. "The miraculous is in here."

Nodding, Camille touched the spot Abyss had nodded toward and reached inside. Cool and almost refreshing, a wave of a strange sensation washed over her hand as she wrapped her fingers around the smooth metal of her pin. Then it was in her hand, in the open air, gleaming bright silver in the sunlight of the earth. Pinning the miraculous onto her shirt, Camille grinned. It felt great to be back. It felt great to have her miraculous back.

But not everything had been taken care of, unfortunately. Silently, Camille pinched her brow as she summoned a bouquet of flowers into her hands, bright and colourful like the array of kwamis frozen in the air. Along with it came a letter, penned from her jail cell and stored faithfully within her pocket for about a week. As Camille left the items, Abyss watched with a careful and yet questioning gaze, all six of its eyes blinking with intrigue.

Although, she didn't care much about it. No, once she was on her way, teleporting out of France's borders - far away from where she could be followed - Camille couldn't care less about what Abyss thought. Instead she was busy trying to process what she thought, what brought upon the hesitation and the shaking in her system. Hesitation was rare for her; shaking and confusion were even more scarce.

So what did it mean when she hesitated? What did it mean when she had penned and left that letter?

Honestly, Camille couldn't answer those questions. All she knew was that both of those actions had not been expected.