Dusk

- 2 -

Marinette's P.O.V.

Going to sleep that night was different.

After the man left, I organized my small bag and placed my blanket in the basket to be washed the next day. Setting my journal gently on my small desk, I cleaned my littered pens and inks and placed them into a small cup that Alya had made me for my birthday when I turned 17 only a few months ago. Back when the sun warmed your skin, birds danced in the wind, and cloaks weren't needed to shield yourself from Jack Frost.

But I did none of this before locking my window and shutting my curtain.

After I was enveloped by the safe darkness of my room, I felt around for my candles and matches. Finding them, I lit a flame and my room lit up with familiar shadows and deteriorated colors. Though I am much fonder of the moonlight streaming into my room, giving it a slight blue hue, I was uncomfortable with the fact the man would return. Even though he helped me, the thought of him watching my every move from the neighboring rooftop made the goosebumps reappear on my forearms.

I tried to ignore the obvious fact that the man had no trouble unlocking my window with one hand while simultaneously holding me with the other. He could easily come back in, but he hadn't yet.

Has he before?

Speaking of this, I did not tell him where I lived. Had he been watching me? If so, for how long? Had I forgotten and actually told him where I lived? I doubt that, I feel as if I would remember his curiously kind voice.

I scrunch my brow and begin to undo my dress, frowning at the brown and green stains on the cream fabric. This had been one of my favorite creations, mother had adored the sketch.

I had even been planning to make her one to match.

I sigh, and remove the garment, leaving my undergarments on. I walk to my small bucket of cold water and splash my face, slightly dampening my dark hair. Releasing my long dark locks from their single high bun, they cascade down my back in loose waves. Running my fingers through the mess, I set on my bed and begin to use a moist rag to wipe the dirt and dust off of my legs, feet, and arms. I finish by drying my hands and placing the rag on a rack to dry. As I worked, I sang a small tune my mother always used to sing me.

Rubbing my arms, I walk back to my bed and pull back the dusty rose sheets and comforter. As I climb into bed, I glance over at my desk and see the framed drawing of my mother and I, standing beside the forest. We had it painted because in the back, you could see a small little bunny and deer prancing around. My family had never been rich, but we were ok. Sparing the money to hire a painter wasn't ideal, but my mother knew it would make her younger daughter very happy. My mother had always loved animals, and she passed that down to me. In the picture she wore a deep blue dress with criss cross ribbons and small white flats, I wore a dark green dress with the same criss cross fashion with matching emerald shoes. Both of our hair curls around our face and falls way below our shoulders. Though the scenery and our choice of attire were beautiful, my favorite piece of the art were our smiles and the small but ever present locket tied around my mother's neck. She never took it off, but when her body was found, it was nowhere to be found. I had never glimpsed what was inside, and neither had father. He had told me that looters probably found the body before we did and took everything of value, trying every excuse to hush my wailing cries, but it didn't matter how it came to be gone.

Just that it was, in fact, gone.

After all, why would they take an old locket and leave her wedding ring?

Unknown P.O.V.

I retract my baton to its smaller form and crouch on the neighboring house. I had been blocks away, but something had urged me to turn around. That this girl was different. Tucking my staff into my cloak, I narrow my eyes on the girl. She had locked her window and closed her curtains, but the silly girl had let them drift slightly open once again at the turning of her dress.

I hadn't watched her undress, to say the least. If she had gone any further I would've left. But she didn't.

I watched as she wiped the damp rag over her porcelain skin and smudged away any dirt from the ground and any dust from the trip back to her house. Any green streaks from the grass she had been lounging on. I cocked my head as she seemed to whistle a tune as she worked away, cleaning her desk and rearranging her desk. Focusing on my hearing, I struggle to hear the sweet tune muddling through her brain. As I found it, my lips pulled up into a relaxed grin. My eyes softened and I became comfortable on the edge of the roof.

If I were to say I had never seen her before, I would be lying to myself. Watching her draw could soothe my aching joints and limbs forever. Seeing her face light up as I coaxed yet another woodland creature from the woods to give her inspiration gave me great joy, really my only source of it. I wasn't sure if that was what kept her coming back, but I wouldn't take the chance.

As she does away with the now dirty rag, she releases her dark hair from its restraints and I sigh as her waves flow down her back. She pulls back her sheets and settles into the bed. The small flame illuminates her soft features. The curve of her nose just right. I see that she's staring at something beyond the flame, and my curiosity got the best of me. Pulling up my cloak, I quietly jump to her balcony and slowly peek through the window and through the crack in the curtains.

My eyes widen and my hands freeze on the sides of her window. My feet refuse to move. In the small picture frame, an image of a young girl supporting the same beautiful locks as the mature girl in front of me. But that, at this point, didn't matter. It was the locket around the older lady's neck that caught my eye. I stared at this small painted detail until the flame was blown out of existence. I quickly back away from the window and jump off the balcony and to the next roof. I extend my baton, readying myself to vault into the darkness.

But not before pulling out a small silver locket from my cloak.

One identical to the one in the painted picture.

Marinette's P.O.V.

With that thought, I pry my eyes from the off-golden frame. My hand cups around the small flame beside my bed on my nightstand.

I take a breath, and blow out the light.

______________

Just a smaller chapter for chapter two, I feel like a lot happened in the first chapter so I thought I'd slow it down a bit and give some background information. I'm trying to have a minimum of 1k words for each chapter, even though chapter one was over 2k. It's only chapter two and I'm so pumped for this story!! I hope all who read this are too, no matter how many readers there end up being. I know I got lucky with The Diary. (Looking and reading back I cringe a bit, but we all start somewhere. This, I know, will be better and mature) I have so much planned. I don't know how far this story is doing because I am trying to release chapters in batches of 3, so the first three with be released together. Hope you enjoy it!

- chatattack <3