kidnapped - marichat au

t w e n t y - f i v e

Dear Adrien!

It's been years since the last time I've spoken to you.

And now that you're reading this note it is probably confusing why is now the time to tell you. I'm probably dead by now and you're the leader of Miraculous gang.

Well, my dear Chat Noir, you are the best son I could ask for.

Firstly let me start with apologizing to you. I always kept you away from your real family.
Why is that, you ask?

You see, family, friends, people you love make you weak. They will only hold you back and as your adoptive father couldn't allow that.

I don't regret it if that's what you're asking for.

Remember what I taught you, Chat Noir, regretting is the same as being dead.

I never told you who you really were, because I saw over the years how you missed your family, how if you knew who they were, you would just go running back to them.

And secondly. You were not abandoned. You were stolen, kidnapped, taken from your mother's arms, right after she gave birth to you.

Your father was pathetic, thinking he could stop our men. Your little brother, don't let me even begin with him.

And your mother... I saw her features in you. Same eyes and same colored hair. Your hair so wild, just like your father's.

You got your leadership after your father too. He's the world's most famous fashion designer. Maybe he will not be anymore as you get this letter, but he was.

All we wanted was money, to be honest. Then I saw something in you that seemed worth taking with.

Your brother was the one who we wanted to take. Felix was it?

But he already got memories of his parents, which would be hard to get rid of.

Then we saw you. Peacefully sleeping in your mother's arms.

It was really a second after your brother named you. I can still hear his tiny voice say 'Adwien'. He was so cute back then.

Right now as I'm writing this, I can see you as a teenage boy, still testing your skills. You are simply 13 years old. But when you're reading this you are an adult. A man who got this gang on top of gangs in Paris.

And I couldn't be more proud of you.

Sure, my word means nothing to you anymore, it never did.

I wonder if you ever concidered me as your father.

As for you, my dear black cat. Your real name is Adrien Agreste. You were born on the same day you were kidnapped.

Must say as a newborn you were so peaceful. I still had wonders if you could lead this gang somewhere.

But as you grew up, as I watched you train, your hatred growing more and more each day towards your parents, I saw I did something right.

I created a monster, nobody can beat. You're not as far away from the monster I am or I was.

Until the day you turned 13 I counted your killings. Want to know how many of them died by your hands before you offically became a teenager?

Thirty-eight killings. Can you imagine?

I don't even know how many you've killed since. And once again I'm proud of you.

With every kill, you started becoming the monster I wanted you to be. The monster who could take down the whole city.

The postman that delivered this letter - I believe he's dead right?

Being exposed like that would be an awful thing.

I want you to make even more of this gang, let it be something you're proud of. Huh maybe someday, you will be able to give all that you've done to your kids, who knows?

You, my dearest black cat are something, I could not be prouder of.

I'm putting this letter in the post office now, when you're only 13 and you're reading as you already grew up.

If I'm completely honest, you never did have childhood. You were born as an adult. You didn't play with cars or trucks. You played with knives and guns.

And as you're reading this, you are either crying or maybe you want to kill me yourself.

And I might be dead, but part of me, part of the monster I was, is still hidden within you. And there is no getting rid of it.

With love,

Hawkmoth.