Princess Marinette

The rain simply falls, it's inevitable.

It rained.

Marinette wasn't quite sure when it had started, when she had left she had still been dry, and yet somewhere on the way to Alya she was soaked.
It wasn't often that it would rain in the midst of summer, especially not in France.

Perhaps the rain came from Britain, preparing her for the melancholy weather she'd meet in England.

Perhaps it was Paris, mourning over the loss of the three citizens and over the absence of their bakery.

Or perhaps she brought it herself, trying to find rainbows inbetween the blinding sun and the pouring rain.

None of it mattered though, the rain was here and it wasn't gonna leave until it was decided it did so.
For the rain was a matter which didn't decide when it appeared.

It was the wind who decided where the rain would pour. And it was the clouds who decided when and how much.
The rain just fell.

"Girl! There you are, I was worried," Alya called to her, standing in the doorframe as she had searched for that one familiar face. "Come inside! Quickly, or you'll catch a cold."

Alya hurried Marinette inside, she was shoved in front of the heating and a warm cup of chocolate milk was placed in her hand. "Careful it's hot."

"Thank you," she replied. The warmth slowly spread through her body, starting in her hands. The sudden temperature change made her skin prickly, and everything became a bit too hot for only a second.

"That came out of nowhere! If the rain hasn't stopped tonight you can sleep over. No way am I letting you back outside while it's like this, girl."

"Thanks," she replied once more. A silence fell over them, even though they both tried to ignore it.

Alya was waiting for Marinette to explain the problem, which needed her advice. But she didn't say a word, didn't even smile or frown, so Alya was left to wonder.

The thing was, Marinette knew from the moment she had looked at Alya, that she could not tell her.
She wanted to so badly, but she knew it would break her, and herself.

And at the same time it was all she wanted to do, somewhere in the back of her mind she told herself she should. Or at least that she would leave, and never return.

Yet she couldn't find the words, how should she begin in God's name?!
She had to hide the fact she was British royalty, but still explain why she was moving to England.

She barely had the strength to glance at her and still hold her tears, how was she supposed to talk?

But she had to. Before it was too late to say goodbyes, before there was only a week to hate each other and forgive and make the most out of it.

Yet this feeling, this situation, it brought back the scent of school assignments, the shivering procrastination, the brute punch of panic.

"You want a cigarette? It might help," Alya suggested after seeing her hesitate. "Or maybe something stronger than that?" She waved to the hot chocolate in her hands.

"Actually, yeah. Just pour a bit with the choco." Maybe it'll calm the nerves.

Alya stood up and left, and not much long after she returned with a bottle. "I got it."

They drank and they laughed, but eventually she never told Alya what she wanted to.

The rain had kept falling.

----------

Two weeks had passed.

"Problem nineteen; I hate goodbyes." Marinette stared at her feet. Empty, hollow, tears dried out, thoughts lost. Nothing to feel her soul again.