𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 || MLB

SIXTEEN

It had been a couple days since their palace tour and since then, Marinette had sorted out a lot of things.

She had told Alya about the smaller details of her life here, for the sake of telling her and for the sake of nostalgia of a kinder life.

And she'd picked up the load of the preparations for her coronation.

She had signed invitations for important invitees herself, written down her speeches, finalised the decorations for the palace, given a go for the order of the ceremony and countless other things, little and big.

She had also approved the hanfu she was going to wear for the ceremony, which for her, was the biggest problem solved.

Marinette had an eye for detail and symbolism and so did Seamstress Ying. It didn't matter if they were mentor and mentee, they both had equal amount of nitpicking to do over every single idle thread.

Her guilt was eating at her, for lying to her friends, for having everyone involved in the preparations work overtime and adjust to her secrets. She was a mess. Liar.

A clock was ticking in the back of her mind, counting every minute and second that led further to her impending doom.

Marinette had a feeling nothing good awaited at the end of the countdown.

It was easier to pretend when the sun was shining, bright and glorious. In the daytime, she smiled like her friends weren't losing hope over her but her defences were crumbling.

She was getting tired of trying to hold up the armor, it was burdensome.

All those philosophical analogies about her being a golden bird trapped in a golden cage and taking a flight of freedom went out the window as she buried herself elbow deep in paperwork into the nights.

Alya was working on securing her citizenship and Sabine was doing her best to smoothly handover the rule to her daughter, it was getting hectic for them all.

And the little rest she hoped she would get at the end of the day was snatched away by nightmares.

With every tick of the clock, her night terrors increased.

She would wake up gasping for breath, beads of perspiration coating her skin and her face ghostly pale.

Her memories of those nightmares were a blur and perhaps that was a mercy. She could never recall any of her dreams, as much as she tried. Better the devil you knew.

Tears would blur her vision, hot and piercing and her hands would shake and Marinette could only burrow herself into her covers in vain hope to subdue the horrors of her nightmares.

Marinette preferred control over things she did, control over things that happened around her. That had been one of her motives when she became Ladybug.

If there was a situation, Marinette wanted to do her best to deal with it.

She had no intentions to please anyone, there was no need of that. But that feeling of her insides turning over within her as she witnessed something, unable to intervene, unable to help, Marinette never wanted to feel that.

But her nightmares were creations of her own mind, a trap she had crafted for herself, meticulous and merciless. A manifestation of her guilt and her self hatred that she tried her best not let take over.

And they knew her best. They tore down her defences, drilling through her walls until she lay there, bare and terrified and stripped of all her strength.

They snatched away her control. They tied shackles around her arms and dragged her back kicking and screaming as her own conscious spilled the blood of her loved ones.