The icy wind of Paris slid mercilessly through the streets, as if the city itself breathed through its incessant murmur. Inside the limousine, the silence hung thick, oppressive. The glass walls reflected the lights of the city, but Nathalie saw nothing but Marinette's figure.

It was an ethereal, almost ghostly sight. Marinette, her jet-black hair blowing in the wind, her figure so full of life compared to the coldness of her own existence. And yet, her heart, which had remained so firmly sealed for years, now beat with an unusual force, as if a being completely alien to her took the reins of her emotions.

She watched as Marinette laughed, with that clean, pure laugh that seemed to defy the oppression of everything she knew. A laugh so full of light that in the cold Parisian night it seemed like a beacon that attracted her, that submerged her in a sea of doubts, of impossible desires. In her eyes shone an unparalleled sweetness, an innocence that Nathalie felt she had already lost.

The limousine stopped at the right distance. Nathalie watched as Marinette stopped, and her eyes fell on her as if she recognized her, as if something in her soul was connected to the young woman. The girl, with her gaze so direct, so full of life, made Nathalie's chest tighten with a force she had never experienced before.

And there she was, under the dim light of the streetlamps, oblivious to everything Nathalie felt, but at the same time too close.

The image in her mind, the image that had become a prison, hit her like thunder. The talisman.

That photo.

That little scrap of paper that held a picture of Marinette on an ordinary day, a smile overflowing from her face. It was an innocent smile, one that Nathalie never thought she would need. And yet, she couldn't let it go.

"Miss Sancoeur."

Placide's voice broke through like a whisper in the thick air, a sound so soft, but with relentless precision. Nathalie looked at him through the rearview mirror. He remained in place, as always, with his impeccable posture, with that calm attitude that almost seemed indifferent. And yet, in his eyes, a reflection of something that Nathalie couldn't identify. Was it understanding? Was it sadness?

It was hard to say.

Yet there was something in his silence that understood everything she couldn't say. There was something in the stillness of his gaze that felt closer than any word. The sadness that weighed on Nathalie seemed like a blanket covering her, a blanket that no one else could see. Neither Gabriel, nor Adrien, nor even Marinette herself, who had never imagined the silent war that was taking place in the soul of the woman who was watching her from a distance.

Nathalie nodded slightly, as if that were enough to divert the demons that roared inside her.

"Let's go back to the mansion".

The voice came out of her lips like a sentence, but it wasn't. It was a resignation, the acceptance of a reality that seemed as impossible as it was cruel. Placide didn't ask questions. He just started the limousine's engine with an automatic gesture, as if the weight of his understanding had already been said in the shared silence.

The air seemed to become denser inside the vehicle, and Nathalie felt more trapped than ever in her own thoughts. Every breath was difficult, as if the simple act of living had become an unbearable weight. And worst of all, she couldn't get rid of her.

From Marinette.

From her smile, from her laughter.

Of that photo that remained in her desk drawer, like a curse she herself had invoked.


The mansion was in complete darkness when Nathalie returned, as silent as a grave. Gabriel was busy in his study, immersed in his own interests, and Adrien, as always, in his own secluded world. Nathalie had no one to answer to, not even herself.

She made her way to the office, her steps muffled by the fine carpet. Without making a sound, she approached the drawer where she kept her secret. With trembling but determined hands, she opened it.

The photo stared at her from the bottom of the drawer, the image of Marinette seemed to move, as if the young woman were getting closer and closer to her. Nathalie's breathing became heavier, and in the depths of her eyes a darkness that had no name was reflected.

The small image became her curse. A curse, a talisman that she could not get rid of, but that kept her tied to an impossible love, a love she could not offer. A passion that had lain dormant for years, covered by obligation, by duty, but that now, more alive than ever, slowly devoured her from within.

Nathalie looked at the photo for the last time, and a tear, shy and solitary, rolled down her cheek. And with it, the silence of the office embraced her like a second skin, welcoming the tragedy she herself had invoked.

"What have I done?"

The question floated in the air, an echo of despair that no one else could hear. And in that deadly silence, a single thought crossed her mind: It was too late.

The war that was fighting inside her soul had already been lost.

The wind in the mansion seemed to whisper. The ancient walls, covered with family portraits that held secrets from generations past, seemed to breathe in silence. In that dark space, where time had no name, Nathalie felt completely isolated. The tear that fell from her face was like a drop of poison, sliding gently until it got lost on her neck, a silent manifestation of everything that had been broken inside her.

The photo of Marinette was still in front of her eyes, that small image that represented everything she couldn't have. In her eyes, the spark of hope was slowly fading, like a candle that burns out in the darkness. Why, after so long, did she feel this love? An impossible love, not only because of the barrier of distance, but because of loyalty to Gabriel, because of her own duty that had chained her to a destiny she no longer wanted.

With trembling determination, Nathalie put the photo back in her drawer. But her hand didn't move away right away. She couldn't. The pressure on her chest was unbearable, as if every second that passed, bringing her closer to the reality of her heart, was tearing a piece of herself away.

Deep in her soul, something was beginning to crumble. Her loyalty to Gabriel, to Adrien, to her life as it had been, twisted and creaked like a structure about to fall. What was left of her, if everything she felt was twisted into a whirlwind of despair and unrequited love?

Suddenly, a figure appeared at the entrance to the office. It was none other than Placide. His presence was not surprising, but at that moment, for Nathalie, he became the last anchor to reality. His face, normally impassive, seemed marked by a shadow of sadness, as if, for an instant, he had seen through her. The silence between the two became thick, dense as the air in a closed room.

He did not speak, he did not need to. Nathalie, still with her hand on the closed drawer, turned to him, her face soaked in the tragedy of what she could not put into words. One look. Just one look.

Placide said nothing, but there was something in his gesture that said it all: understanding, compassion, the acceptance of something so broken that it did not need to be explained. He approached calmly, unhurriedly, as if he knew there was no need to rush the fall.

Nathalie, finally unable to hold herself up, lowered her head, letting herself fall onto her desk. The tightness in her chest became unbearable, and for the first time, she allowed the pain to take over her completely. She was not ashamed of her tears. She knew Placide had seen them, and yet she remained in place, a silent witness to her fall.

"I don't know what to do." The words came out of her lips broken, choked by a sob.

Placide, without saying a word, leaned towards her and with a simple but understanding gesture, offered her his shoulder. There were no promises, no false hopes, just a genuine gesture of support. And that was enough for Nathalie to allow herself the comfort she had so long denied.

In that wordless embrace, Nathalie found the vulnerability she never wanted to accept, but which, at the same time, made her feel human, so terribly human. Her pain, so deep and dark, began to be a little more bearable with Placide's silent warmth.

The room was bathed in shadows, and the only sound that could be heard was that of their breathing, intermittent, as if the entire universe had decided to fall silent for a moment, letting them live in that instant suspended in time.

Nathalie, as her head rested on Placide's shoulder, looked once more at the closed drawer. She knew that the talisman would still be there, but she also understood that, for a moment, the weight of that image had ceased to be a condemnation.

In her heart, a fragment of hope lit up, as fleeting as the light of a dying star. Far away, in some corner of her soul, she knew that the love she felt for Marinette would never disappear. But she also understood that accepting that reality, that impossibility, could free her, even if only a little.

"Maybe," she thought, "pain is just the price of what you can't have."

And with that thought, she gave herself over to the momentary calm, to the truce that Placide offered her, without words, only with the purity of a gesture of support that only the silent could give.

The clock in the mansion struck the hour, but time, for Nathalie, no longer had any meaning. In the silence that surrounded them, the air was thick, as if the walls themselves pressed inward, holding back everything that needed to be said but dared not be spoken. In that space, only the naked truth remained, hidden among the shadows and echoes of the whispers of her own heart.

Placide, always discreet, remained there, holding her in her pain without a single judgment, without a word of comfort that could make the storm calm. His shoulder was a refuge, the only solid rock amidst the turbulent waters that dragged Nathalie towards an abyss that seemed to have no end. But even in the darkness of her suffering, something began to crumble within her. The wall she had built over the years, built with loyalty, with duty, and with sacrifices, began to slowly crack.

—I don't know what to do. —Her voice was a whisper, almost inaudible, but full of the desperation she had been keeping in her chest for so long. It was a confession, a silent cry to herself.

Placide, without moving away, held her even closer, as if he didn't want to let her fall, as if he couldn't let her fall. And it was in that instant, when the pain completely enveloped her, that something inside her broke in a way she never imagined. A long and painful truth emerged, as unexpected as it was terrifying.

Love for Marinette was not just a storm that dragged her along. It was not just an image in a photo that she kept like a talisman. It was a flame, an unbreakable passion, but also a fire that consumed her and that, for a brief moment, she wanted to extinguish. But she couldn't. And she didn't want to.

Nathalie slowly raised her head, her gaze, although clouded by tears, fixed on Placide's face. Her silent confidant. Her inexplicable support.

"Why... are you still here?" she asked, almost as if pleading.

Placide looked at her with a solemn expression, but his eyes were not indifferent. Something deeper than simple understanding shone in them. There was the acceptance of a soul that knew the weight of sacrifice, the price one pays to maintain dignity in the midst of chaos. He didn't say a word, but his answer was clear as the calm water of a deep lake:

"Because you are not alone."

And suddenly, Nathalie understood. In that instant, in the stillness of the dark room, she understood that she did not need a love that destroyed her to feel complete. She did not need Marinette to see her the same way, she did not need a promise that could never be fulfilled. What she needed was, perhaps, the freedom to be able to live with her love without it consuming her completely. Love could be a talisman, yes, but it could also be the curse that one imposes on oneself.

The moonlight filtered timidly through the window, touching the walls, the shadows, and at last, Nathalie's figure. In that dim light, everything seemed softer, quieter, as if the world itself respected the pain she felt.

Her gaze changed, though. She wasn't completely free, not yet. But for the first time, she allowed herself a breather. The talisman was no longer her only longing. There was something else. Something that had been buried for so long, covered by the need to be perfect, to do her duty. And now, with the vulnerability of her soul laid bare, she understood that what she really needed was not the acceptance of an impossible love, but the acceptance of herself.

Marinette's face would remain part of her story, but now, in the darkest corner of her soul, she understood that her destiny was not tied to an image frozen in time, but to the freedom to live with the love that, although unrequited, was hers and no one else's.

"Thank you," she whispered, with a softness that surprised even herself. It was not just a thank you to Placide, but to life, to the moment that had given her the opportunity to see beyond the tragedy she had plunged into.

Placide nodded, without a word, but his gesture was more eloquent than any speech.

The night dragged on, but something in Nathalie had transformed. Although she was still aware of the impossible distance between her and Marinette, she knew that this distance should not be a condemnation. She could love her, yes, but she could also move on. Life went on, with all its nuances, its shadows and its lights.

Nathalie closed the drawer, leaving the photo inside. But this time, she did not feel it as a curse. Now, it was just a memory of what had been, of what she had dreamed of and, finally, of what she had let go.

The talisman no longer had power over her. And, perhaps, that was the greatest act of love she could offer herself.


Time had passed, but the echo of Nathalie's decisions continued to resonate in the walls of her soul, softly, like a distant melody. Gabriel Agreste's mansion, once a refuge of obligations and sacrifices, had changed. The shadows were not so oppressive, and the light coming through the windows seemed warmer, as if the sun had finally decided to embrace the darkest corners of her life with its warmth.

Nathalie was no longer the woman she had been. She had transformed her pain, her hidden love, into something greater, something that had freed her. She had learned to live with her love for Marinette, not as a burden, but as a part of herself, a truth that no longer weighed her down, but rather shaped her. She had accepted it, as something that made her who she was, without needing to be reciprocated in the same way.

But fate, with its unpredictable magic, had its own plans.

It was a quiet afternoon when the doorbell at the mansion's front door rang, a familiar sound that always meant important visitors. Nathalie was in the study, going over some paperwork, when she heard the soft voice of the maid.

"Mademoiselle Agreste, there's a young lady here for you."

At first, she didn't pay much attention. The visitors were always business people, people who needed to conduct business with Gabriel or who came to run some errand for the house. But when she heard the name, something in her chest skipped a beat.

"Who...?" she murmured, immediately standing up.

The maid repeated the name, and in that instant, Nathalie felt as if the world had stopped.

"It's Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

With her heart beating in her chest like a drum, Nathalie walked toward the entrance, her mind in a whirlwind of emotions. As she got closer, her breathing became heavier, as if her body was preparing for something she had been waiting for in silence, for so long, and that she never imagined would come.

And there she was, in the foyer of the mansion, Marinette. With her hair tied back in a ponytail, her gaze fixed and her expression determined, but with a soft concern in her eyes. As if, somehow, she knew that there was something more than words waiting between them.

Time seemed to stretch as they both watched each other in silence. Memories flooded Nathalie's mind, those moments of doubt, of suffering, and of unexpressed love. But now, all of that seemed irrelevant. The past was far away, and what mattered was what was in front of them.

Marinette took a step forward, her gaze sincere.

"Nathalie..." her voice was soft, but full of a warmth that made Nathalie's heart skip a beat.

The distance between them wasn't just physical. There was an invisible barrier built by time and secrets. But in that moment, Nathalie understood that that barrier had begun to crumble, as if everything she had experienced had prepared her for this very moment.

"Marinette." Nathalie's voice came out shaky, but firm. It was a simple word, but as she spoke it, she said it all. There were no more doubts. There were no more secrets. Just the reality of what they felt.

Marinette smiled, a smile filled with something deeper than affection, something closer to a silent promise. No one said anything at first, but words weren't necessary. The connection between them already said it all.

With a soft sigh, Marinette took a step closer, and with a fearful gentleness, she took Nathalie's hand. It was a simple, yet powerful gesture that filled the air between them with palpable electricity. There was no urgency, no pressure. Just the desire to be together, to finally acknowledge what had always been there, in the darkest corners of the heart.

"I'm sorry, Nathalie. For not seeing it sooner," Marinette murmured, her voice cracking with sincere emotion.

Nathalie looked at her, a gleam in her eyes, not of sadness, but of unexpected gratitude. Because despite everything she had suffered, everything she had lost, this moment had come. And, somehow, Marinette had come to her at the perfect time.

"You don't need to apologize," Nathalie replied, her voice calm, but heavy with emotion. "All that matters is that you're here now."

With a gentle but sure movement, Nathalie lifted Marinette's hand and held it firmly, their fingers intertwining, like a pact, like an unspoken but fully understood agreement. There were no more fears, no more regrets. Love, though a burden at first, was now the source of her liberation.

The mansion, which had once been a place of shadows, now seemed to be filled with light, as if love had finally found its place there. The future, though uncertain, no longer seemed so terrifying. Together, without grandiose promises or perfect endings, they knew they could face anything. Love, in the end, was simply a journey, and now, Nathalie and Marinette walked a new path, one that united them in their fragility, in their strength, in their imperfect perfection.

And in that moment, with their hands intertwined and their hearts beating in the same rhythm, Nathalie no longer needed talismans. She no longer searched for them, because what she had been looking for had always been in front of her.


For this oneshot I used the real name of Adrien's bodyguard, that is Placide I.T.