Dusk

-8-

Marinette's P.O.V.

I freeze as he sorrowfully sings another verse. With his head to the sky I can barely make out a mask covered nose. 

Did he do this? If he did, how???

What was this man?

I begin to feel my heartbeat in my chest and the pounding thumps through my ears. I clench my hands and try to partially silence my breathing. The fondness I had for this man began to melt away as I realized this wasn't some flaming rock, it was something he had done. 

Utter and inevitable destruction.

To think, I had let this man touch me. I had let him carry me to my window, opened it to him, and he had stood in my room. I had admired his glistening eyes and golden hair; hyper fixating on the curve of his nose and jet of his jawline, unintentionally idolizing him as someone who was misunderstood. If he could so easily do this to the earth; what could he possibly do to a fragile human body? 

A fragile human body like mine

Or my mothers.

I gulp and stare at his back, you could only just make out the ripples of muscles along his shoulders and back. 

I blink a few times and return to my senses.

I needed to leave.

Holding my breath, I turn around and take two slow and gentle steps; letting the gap in limbs I had been peering through close and come together as if there wasn't a wasteland on the other side. Fear prickles at the back of my neck and a shudder runs through my body. I snap my head back towards the brittle land, expecting to find two green eyes staring into my soul. Finding nothing, I continue to glare at the entrance to hell I had found. Telling myself to take a breath, then get out of there.

I take a deep breath and slowly begin to turn back to make my escape. 

"Who are you."

I come nose to nose with a familiar long silver stick, the other end being held by a clawed black hand. I can almost feel the cool sliver press against the bridge of my nose. 

I avoid his gaze and the baton slides up, making contact with the center of my forehead as he presses so uncomfortably gently against my head. 

He is toying with me. This is the end.

Like a cat and mouse game.

If I were going to make an escape, it had to be now.

Without thinking, I spin around; the baton roughly sliding across my forehead and suddenly being gone. I then jump through the brush that I once had considered somewhat safe. Taking a quick glimpse of the sky as my feet crunched on dead brush, I found that the orange hues were fleeing the sky and teasing stars prickled my sight. 

So taunting. Something so beautiful, and it may be the last thing I see. 

Tears slip from my large eyes as I run across the barren circle, I knew I was heading in the exact opposite way of my home, but even there I wouldn't be safe.

If I could've even made it there.

At this point, anywhere away from him would be good enough for me.

I near the center of the dead circle and my right foot hits something unbelievably hard. I fly towards the ground and my elbows break my fall. Dead particles of brush and life fly up into my face and I panic as they enter my open mouth. I begin to cough and splutter, trying to get the charred pieces away from me. My hands begin to turn black with the dust and I let out a cry of despair. 

Darkness. Death. It's what I am surrounded by.

"Who are you? What are you doing here."

Hearing the voice again brought me back to the previous night. But this time, it was deeper. 

"I have killed people."

Is this what he meant as he had to?? Far from the truth.

"Farewell Princess, maybe we will meet again."

What a meeting this has been. I should've stayed home.

My Father.

Fresh tears well up and I want to scream. I'm leaving him. I won't see him again. How could I do that??? He told me not to go out. I did anyway. Such a stupid little girl.

My words flew into my mind; those spoken not even 24 hours prior.

"You're not a bad person."

With that, I decide I will not go down without a fight.

 I flip over; my hood falling off my head. I scowl at the beautiful man, staring daggers at his sculpted face partially hidden by the hood and mask. His baton is extended once again, but this time he gripped onto it with both claw covered hands. He stood in a fighting position above me, one my mother had showen me when I was younger. From this angle, a few more stray locks of golden hair peeked out of the hood than usual and his jawline was more defined than ever. Some muscles were on display of his partially unbuttoned midnight black shirt that revealed the top of his tanned chest, he looked a little sloppy and in a disarray. His boots were muddy and covered in black ash, just as I now was. His hands looked bloody and beaten based on the small scraps of skin I could see. His face was wet, I didn't know with what. The rosiness of his cheeks peeked out from under the dark mask, and the area around his eyes looked flushed.

Even as I saw his beauty, I felt the fondness try and fight its way back into my heart. Here I was, sprawled on the ground as he hovered over me with his weapon of choice, possibly minutes away from death, and I'm looking at him like he's the only one who could save me from himself.

Rumors of a beast worse than any horror story from your fairy tale books. A man, if you could call him one, was a terrible person who had been around for ages. Hundreds of years, and left only terror and bad luck in the dust. 

Hypnotizing green cat-like eyes lure you into a false sense of security before he strikes, and nobody ever sees you again. Midnight black slits hidden in radioactive green hues attract you, and his talon-like claws at the end of each long finger rip into your chest, then rip out your soul. He strips your spine from your own body. Just like meat off a bone.

The last thing you see are his eyes.

 "You can do whatever you want to me, but I will not let you win." I say in one breath, spitting out the last few words like he was the dirt under my feet. I feared if I took more than one breath that I would appear weak and scared.

Which is exactly what I was. But he didn't need to know that.

I cursed myself for letting his first impression of me, the 'damsel in distress', a little girl who tripped and fell and needed help home.

He wouldn't dream of that now.

Come at me, Cat.

 I dare you.

______________

About to start writing chapter nine.... how are we feeling? What is your opinion on how Marinette is acting? Predictions on where this story is going? Let me hear it!

- chatattack <3