Chapter Text
My Dearest Alya,
I regret to inform you that this will be our final correspondence. In the shadows of these hallowed halls I can see Death lurking; in the field beyond my house I can hear my ancestors beckoning me home.
If - by some miracle - I survive until tonight, I will have you know that it is only because my parents have intercepted this letter and restrained me from performing the unforgivable act on myself. I cannot go through the pain and suffering another night will bring. As my closest friend these many years I know you will understand.
It is with the heaviest of hearts that I must bid adieu, sweet Alya. My heart will be forever yours.
Your friend into eternity,
Marinette.
Staring at the letter in her hands, Marinette weighed the benefits of spending money on a note like this. A carrier pigeon would do, but hers was one that routinely got lost on her way. She didn’t want a stranger reading this note, for obvious reasons.
The post would be delivered early today as the entire town was preparing for the ball to take place that night. Sighing through her nose, pressed rose-colored balm to her lips and sealed the folded note with a kiss.
She supposed she could always just walk to her friends house; it wasn’t too far away. Pulling on her robe, she rose from her desk and began searching for her shoes.
Surely-
Tick!
Marinette spun towards her window in time to see the pebble bounce off the glass. A grin broke out on her face as she recognized the familiar greeting. Before she had reached the pane she knew what she would find.
Sure enough, standing below - just in front of her mother's garden with a wicker basket on her arm and a smile on her lips - was Alya Cesaire. Though Marinette’s room was at the highest window in the household, her closest friend had excellent aim and never missed her target.
Which was Marinette’s room, at the moment.
“Have you heard the news!” Alya shouted before Marinette could finish lifting the sill. “They’ve invited us all once again, and this is the night children can go as well!”
“I would not be up so early if I had not known.” Marinette called, gesturing to the house behind her. “My parents have been baking all night.”
“And what have you been doing?” Alya asked, shifting the basket to her other arm. “I saw you writing at your desk; don’t tell me you have a suitor you haven’t told me about.”
Marinette giggled, lifting her envelope with a flourish. “Absolutely not.” She said. “The only suitor I would consider is you, my darling. Come upstairs so that you may read my heart’s desire!”
Alya squealed, already running toward the front of the house.
Marinette spun towards her room, frantically scanning for anything that might be amiss.
Her room was larger than most, due to the fact that her parents had transformed their highest level into a living area for their daughter upon moving in. To her right, her bed laid deserted, piled high with pillows and blankets even as the country neared the hotter months. It didn’t matter to Marinette; she was always cold.
Next to her bed were discarded scraps of paper, torn, crumpled, and thrown from her drawing books in frustration. Paints and drawing pencils were laid on the floor all around, and to the left of her writing desk three dress forms stood, in various stages of completion. The vest she had pinned haphazardly two nights ago was on the ground.
Her writing desk, which sat directly in front of the large square window, was the most disconcerting area of the entire room. It was an utter mess of inkpots, stationary, and pretty love poems, save for the small area she had cleared to write Alya’s letter.
Her bookshelves that ran along the far wall were the only thing that didn’t need tidying. Then again, it had been many, many months since she had had time to read anything new. It wasn’t exactly an accomplishment.
Grateful that she had one less thing to worry about, she scrambled to make her room more presentable. She kicked the paints and pencils under her bed and quickly stacked her pillows at the headboard. She rushed to her dress forms, tossing scraps of fabric and the vest into an empty basket in the corner. Her desk could be dealt with at a later time.
She began plucking the crumpled papers from the floor to toss them towards the waste basket. Not bothering to check if she made it or not, she spun on her heel as the sounds of Alya stomping up the stairs neared.
Marinette had just shoved a discarded dress into her closet when the door to her room burst open.
“Your letter has consumed my every waking moment of running up the stairs before your parents could see me.” Alya announced, tossing her wicker basket to the floor. She leaned against the door frame and placed an arm across her forehead. “Give it here before I faint.”
Marinette laughed, holding the letter out. Quickly, Alya snatched it away before making a running leap to her bed.
“A kiss to seal it?” Alya gasped, bunching a blanket to rest her upper body on. “How very romantic.”
“You deserve nothing but the best.” Marinette said, sitting back at her writing desk. “Besides, I think this note warrants something a little extra.”
Alya hummed in agreement, her gentle fingers unfolding the letter.
As her eyes scanned the paper, her brows lowered.
Marinette could tell when her friend reached the end. First, her lips puckered in distaste. She tilted her head to the side.
Then, she sighed.
“You are... the most… dramatic person... I have ever met.”
Marinette scowled. “I will have you know I meant every word.”
“We’re going to a ballllll!” Alya exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “You love romantic stuff; why are you dragging your feet about this?!”
“But it’s because our parents are working,” Marinette said. “Which means technically we’re not guests of the ball, but personal punching bags for Her Royal Hellness. All. Night. Long!”
“I’ll have you know,” Alya said, placing her chin on her crossed arms. “That the aura you are emitting right now is utterly unacceptable.”
“Ech. You’re even talking like her now.”
“Come on, girl! We have an all-access pass to the Bourgeois estate! There will be dancing and food - two of your favorite things. Plus ,” Alya waggled her eyebrows. “I have under good confidence that unknown, highly eligible bachelors will be attending.”
“Alya, the last time you said that, I was forced to dance all night with a duke whose smell was reminiscent of a duck pond in late July.”
“I happen to know many fine-smelling duck ponds in late July.” Alya sniffed.
Marinette raised an eyebrow. “The one behind my grandfather’s house.”
Alya wrinkled her nose, memory clouding her eyes for a moment.
“Okay,” she conceded. “so maybe last time wasn’t… ideal. But that was her parents’ party, and I’ve heard Chloe Bourgeois keeps wonderful company!”
“That is very surprising.” Marinette snorted. “I thought she hated everyone.” She plucked a piece of fabric from her chair and held it against her chest. A turn in front of her mirror proved her theory; it wasn’t her color in the slightest. But maybe with a cool-toned overlay… “Speaking of, did you hear that she refused an audience with the prince? She’s absolutely mad.”
“You’re deflecting.” Alya said flatly.
Marinette turned. “I am not!”
“You are.”
“I am not .”
“You are !” Alya said, sitting up. “We are going and we are having fun .”
There was little in this world that Alya could suggest that Marinette wouldn’t willingly go along with, and Alya knew this. But, on the rare occasion Marinette didn’t agree with something?
Alya had this look that made her such a fantastic investigative journalist. The Signature Alya Stare , as her father loved to call it. With one glance she could weed out information or convince you to take part in her most mind-boggling schemes.
Marinette hated the Alya signature stare.
But there was one thing Marinette had over on her. She had the uncanny ability to create plans to get out of any situation. She’s just needed a moment to gather her thoughts so she could find a suitable excuse.
“Okay.” Marinette conceded after a moment, a plan formulating. “But-“
“No! No buts , Marinette. You are going to attend for the full time and we are having fun and that’s final!”
Damn.
“I don’t see why I must.” Marinette groaned. “You have fun without me all the time; you don’t need me there.”
Alya waved a hand, brushing her concerns away. “All of that is in the past, Mari. We are both seventeen now, and if you won’t take advantage of the fact that Chloe has connections outside of this town, then I will.”
“I have nothing to wear.”
“You’re a dressmaker. You do that for a living.”
“But florals are out indefinitely and pink is very last season.”
“Pink brings out the color of your cheeks. Besides, tonight I’m wearing the orange dress you created for me.” Alya said, a funny glint in her eyes. “Which means I will need my number one wingwoman. So, really, you must go.”
Marinette walked to the trunk at the foot of her bed, shooting her a look as Alya scooted closer.
“Perhaps I was going to propose to you,” she sighed as Alya peered over the edge of her comforter. Marinette opened her trunk and began rummaging through her old drawings. “You wound me with talk of other suitors, you know.”
“Oh, please, Marinette. Everyone knows that if anyone could handle me, it would be you.” Alya turned on her back, holding Marinette’s letter to her chest. “But... perhaps I want a challenge. I’ll date a snooty countess. Or a prince!” Alya’s smile grew. “Or a soldier.”
Marinette laughed outright at that. “You? With a soldier?” Her eyes caught on a familiar sketch. She held it up so Alya could see.
“Cute.” Alya mused. “Could use lace-“
“Trimming? That’s what I was thinking.”
“Exactly.”
“So, a soldier?”
She crossed to the dress form where the dress was placed in the corner, pulling lace and a needle from her desk drawer as she passed by.
The dress in question was nearly finished, all it really needed were a few adjustments here and there. It was certainly fancy enough to attend a ball of the Bourgeois household. With a soft pink bodice and completed full satin skirt… the adjustments wouldn’t take much time at all.
Her friend yawned before answering
“I like a challenge,” Alya said finally, turning her face to take in the full warmth of the sun. “They’re all so… so self-important . It would make my year to put one in his place. I could do it… you know.”
Her words became slower, as if wading through thick syrup. One glance proved that Alya was close to sleep, her eyes blinking slowly in the early morning light. Quiet, comfortable silence settled between them.
She has always admired that Alya could fall asleep anywhere.
Marinette was vastly different. For her, close friendship was something she had to grow into. She could handle herself fine in a public setting, and carry on a conversation as well as any other young person her age.
But she liked being in her own space, and she had never met someone who made her feel comfortable enough to fall asleep around.
Until Alya. Her best friend had changed her life for the better when they had met nearly four years ago. She had been the catalyst for Marinette becoming more open, more sure of herself. She wouldn’t trade her time with her for the world, and truly believed Alya could do anything she set her mind to.
And the idea of her best friend putting one of Chloe Bourgeois’ fancy soldier friends in his place?
Especially with the reputations they all had.
Alya’s eyes were already closed by the time Marinette spoke again.
“That is something I would make a hundred dresses to see.”