Chapter Text

The room was dim, smelling faintly of wood and dust. A small fire, the only source of light in the vast, seemingly ancient chamber, gnawed hungrily on a charred log, desperate to stay alive even though the once roaring fire would soon be extinguished. Though a steady source of heat was released from the struggling flames, the room held an ominous chill.

On the fireplace’s mantle sat an old record player, though it seemed innocent at first sight—perhaps an heirloom or just an antique picked up at some point—it held a dark, yet a quite mystical secret. Designs ran along the sides of the record player, laughing as they raced the spinning disc that gently sighed the music that filled the room. The minuscule light reflected off the metal parts on the player, boasting its erotic shape and casting off an eerie glow in the process.

The walls were lined with bookshelves stuffed to the brim with books so old that each word inside the spines must’ve possessed a fine layer of dust. The stories spilling from the books told of the times of yore—the times when the despised super-villain, Hawkmoth, decided to take innocent Parisians and use them as his prey to do his bidding. These were also the times when the two superheroes, Ladybug the kind and the cunning Chat Noir, arose using special jewels called the Miraculous to save Paris from its adversaries, and vanquish the mastermind behind the akumatized villains.

Once Hawkmoth had been dealt with, the Miraculous holders were no longer required; Ladybug and her partner vanished. It had been nearly a hundred years since that fated day, and not many remained who knew the two lionhearts. Be that as it may, the tales of the heroes and their selfless deeds were passed down through the generation; they were a permanent part of Paris’s history.

Fitted snugly in the corner of the room farthest from the door sat a woman, clearly aged by the stringy gray hair that clung to her scalp in slightly matted clumps and the wrinkles that rolled off her skin. Each part of her, from her long, slightly twisted fingers; to her back, which carried a small, painful-looking arch; to arthritic feet covered by fluffy pink slippers, bore a story that could only be understood if one was there to witness it.

Though now frail and old, the woman had once been beautiful—her long thick black hair carrying the slightest touch of sapphire framed a gentle, youthful face overflowing with love and wonder of the world surrounding her. Her eyes, blue as the sky, sparkling like the great oceans themselves the sun reached down to caress just after twilight, taking in the sight of the handsome blonde boy she would one day refer to as husband. However, now, those same eyes glimmered sadly in the feeble light, containing a kind of dullness that can only be attained by facing and triumphing against many hardships throughout life. It was easy for one to look at the woman and be overcome by pity at the sight of her.

Slowly, the woman rocked back and forth on a chair seemingly as old as she was. With each rock back, the chair complained with an eerie groan, which provided a sort of tempo for the woman as she hummed along to the gentle music floating through the room.

Perhaps the most intriguing thing about the room, however, was not the frail woman, or even the quite mysterious record player on the mantle. It was the small red creature positioned on the woman’s knee, sitting so still and quiet that she could’ve easily passed for a small stuffed toy or a figurine of sorts. The occasional twitch of her chest as she breathed was the only thing that betrayed her of being inanimate. On the very top of the creature’s head was a large black dot, accompanied by two more on either cheek, and protruding out of the sides of her head was a pair of antennae that fell past her blue-black eyes and popped out against her red skin. The creature turned to face the woman, revealing what might’ve been a short tail, or a set of wings.

“What time will she be her master?” she asked in a small voice, squeaky against the near silence of the room. She gave a small squirm of excitement—it had been since before the woman’s husband had passed, nearly forty years, that she had been outside the walls of the house. The woman, herself, normally didn’t leave the solitude of her home; the last few times she had was to choose the boy who had arrived a few days prior and left with a cheese-addict, yet lovable creature similar, but not identical to the one on the woman’s lap. The most recent time had been to choose the girl whom the red creature was waiting with bated breath for.

“Could be any minute now, Tikki.” she sighed, her voice wavering and her heart aching with dread, as she knew that when the girl left today, the woman would be parted with her oldest and most loyal friend. But, alas, Paris needed its Ladybug and Chat Noir back, and as the keeper of the Miraculous, it was her job to decide which hands the gems would end up in.

As they waited, the woman slowly closed her eyes and allowed a memory, one of which seemed to the woman as if it happened only days before, overtake her senses.