Between the Heavens and the Embers

Chapter XXII

"Silence in the courtroom, please!"

The judge's voice echoed through the room, jolting Marinette from her thoughts. A sudden rush of unease washed over her.

"Are you okay, m'lady?" Chat Noir whispered from beside her, his gloved hand gently squeezing her right hand.

She nodded, swallowing her anxiety. "Don't worry," she replied, returning his squeeze. "I'm fine."

His gaze lingered on her, as though searching for the truth behind her masked eyes. It seemed like he was about to say something, when her mother, who was currently wearing the peacock miraculous, glanced at them. "Are you sure you want to watch this, ma chérie? Do you need to go outside?"

Marinette gave her mother a small, almost imperceptible smile. "I'm fine," she repeated, but the word felt wrong on her tongue.

"Fine" might have been a strong word. It had been four months, and she couldn't yet determine if she was healing or deteriorating. Her own testimony had been the only time she had truly spoken in all these months, and it had been a struggle to push out even a single word. Thankfully, only a handful of people had been there to hear Ladybug; the lawyers, the jury, the judges, and the stenographer. The trial had been a media sensation, but it had been held behind closed doors. Only a select few were privy to the proceedings, including a handful of trusted heroes, those who knew Ladybug's identity.

She turned her gaze toward the front of the courtroom, looking at the back of the heads of Gabriel, Nathalie, James, Lila, and Dylan. Not once during these four months had they dared to meet her eyes. Marinette yearned for some acknowledgment. She would've loved to see guilt, embarrassment, or even anger in this expression. Anything but this cold ignorance.

They had been her family, her friends, her mentors. They had, quite literally, been her entire life. But now, their indifference, their refusal to look at her, cut deeper than anything ever could. Her heart ached as she realized that despite the years they had spent together, and the love she had held for them, she was nothing to them. Worst of all, she knew it. She knew she was a plan, they'd wanted her dead, but a small part of her couldn't help but cry for their attention.

They said time healed wounds, yet it had done nothing more than leave her with scars impossible to heal.

She felt like a ghost. She wasn't the Marinette she used to be, nor was she Victoria. So, who was she, exactly? Nothing, no one. She was an observer, detached from reality, merely a spectator to the events unfolding all around her. Her mother had suggested talking to a psychologist, but the thought of baring her soul to a stranger was much more terrifying than the silence of her mind.

Marinette was suffocating. She was stuck underwater and was slowly letting herself fall deeper. It was as though sirens were grabbing her arms and legs, mesmerizing her with their melodies and convincing her to go to the deep end with them. It sounded oh so peaceful. So calm. And then, from time to time, someone would reach out a hand. They would try to pull her above the water, where she could finally breathe, but it seemed completely out of reach.

The adrenalin had sustained her in the immediate aftermath of the battle, but once the chaos had subsided and the authorities had taken Gabriel into custody, Marinette ... collapsed. Her mask of strength had slipped, and she had been forced to confront the years of torment, pain and betrayal.

For days, she had remained confined to her bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, lost in her own thoughts. Silence had enveloped her, stifling every word and emotion. She hadn't even shed a tear, not even when she'd been reunited with her mother—whom Adrien and Alya had revealed everything to—or when she had learned of her father's death, five years prior. A broken heart, apparently. He had never been able to grieve his only child.