Chapter Text
A sixteen-year-old Nathalie Sancoeur sits quietly on the couch of her living room. A French history book rests wide open in between her hands as she rereads the words of that specific page needing to memorize it before the upcoming exam.
“The French Revolution began in 1789.” She mumbles under her breath. “Napoleon Bonaparte appointed himself France’s first consul, marking the end of the revolution.” She reaches for her notebook, making note of that when suddenly her younger sister appears.
“Nathalie.” Camille calls her name despite Nathalie’s eyes being glued onto the notebook.
“What?” She responds, still not looking up as she continues to write.
“I need you to help me with my algebra homework, I don’t understand any of it.”
“I thought we had progressed last night.” She finally glances up, readjusting her glasses as she looks into Camille’s stressed gaze.
“But I’m confused again.” The younger girl begs her sister, “please help me.”
“Fine.”
The sound of their mother’s voice coming from the kitchen alerts them. “Dinner will be served soon, girls. Please go wash your hands, you can work on your homework after we eat.”
The girls are ready to obey when the sudden sound of the front door frightens them, making them instantly pause. It opens loudly and abruptly, and they watch their father race into the house in a state of terror and shock. They have never before seen such fear reflected on their father’s face and despite their confusion, the man continues to move around in an unexplained desperation.
“Mathilde.” His hyperventilating voice calls out his wife’s name. “We need to go right now, pack as much as possible. The girls are in danger, we’re in danger.”
“What?” The woman exclaims through her confusion. “You need to calm down, Lucas. Please explain to me what is going on.”
“I - I,” the man can barely speak, stumbling through his words. His face is as white as chalk and sweat drips down his forehead in a rapid manner. “I saw him detransform!” He finally manages to say.
“Detransform?” Mathilde asks, “What are you talking about?!”
“He de-transformed in front of me. I saw him, Mathilde, and now we’re-“
But the man falls silent when their front door flies open again. They all freeze, a chilling coldness invades their home the moment the uninvited visitor steps inside.
“The Supreme?” Nathalie breathes out in fear. “What are you doing here?”
“Stay back, Nathalie.” Her father commands in a trembling voice, moving forward to stand protectively in front of his wife and daughters.
“Lucas Sancoeur.” The evil voice slithers through the silence of their living room where only their labored breathing can be heard. Throughout his body, every single miraculous is attached, letting them know he is practically invincible.
Everything has transformed into something dark and unexplainable. Nathalie’s eyes scan it all with great intensity as she watches the villain of Paris enter their home while speaking to her father in such a perverse and frightening manner.
The villain who’s been taunting Paris for the past three years.
“Lucas, my friend.” The terrifying man continues, “you saw something you weren’t supposed to, and I’m afraid I can’t let you live.”
“No, no.” The man begs, “I promise I won’t say anything-“
“I can’t risk it.” He speaks as if he were talking about something plain and simple, his voice reflecting his calmness while Nathalie and her family tremble in fear. The Supreme begins to approach the frightened man, the mask of his face conceals his identity yet nothing can conceal the evilness of his dark gaze.
“Leave with the girls.” Lucas tells his wife, except the woman won’t move an inch. Her black hair scrambles over her shoulders as she walks closer to her husband in an attempt to protect him.
“No, I won’t leave you, Lucas.”
“Nathalie, Camille!” Their father barely manages to say as The Supreme pushes him against the nearest wall, his hand quickly making way to his throat. “Run away, run as fast as you can!”
Then he goes mute, the tightness around his throat silences him immediately.
“Let go of my husband!” Mathilde begs.
“He saw my true face. I’m sorry, Mathilde, he must die.” His eyes sparkle strangely and with a specific sense of familiarity, the woman’s face quickly morphs into one of uncertainty.
Who truly hides behind that mask?
Could it possibly be someone they know? He speaks so calmly as if he knew them.
Her blue eyes begin to gush a river of desperate tears as she watches the villain of Paris squeeze the life out of her husband as she uselessly begs him to let go of her husband.
Putting aside their shock and fear, Nathalie and Camille begin to do as their father commanded.
They run with all their willingness towards the back exit of their home. “Let’s go, Camille!” Nathalie holds onto her sister’s wrist. “We can't stop now!”
And just as they are about to make it out of the house and into the garden, The Supreme releases the grip on their father, instantly aiming the yoyo pertaining to the Ladybug miraculous onto the chandelier above them.
“You aren’t going anywhere!” It’s a loud sound, adding onto their fear and desperation. Glass is crashing and shattering around them as the crystal pieces glide down from the ceiling onto the fleeing girls. The enormous chandelier falls, crashing straight onto Camille.
“Camille!” Nathalie exclaims at the sight of her sister trapped under a large piece of glass. Blood seeping from under her injured leg, the sounds of her distress echo through Nathalie’s blazing ears.
“Go without me.” Camille begs in a near whisper as Nathalie kneels beside her. “Go, Nathalie.” She pleads again, “run to the neighbors house, ask for help, tell them to call the police, hurry.”
Nathalie nods through her tears. “I’ll bring help, I promise.” She reaches for her sister's hand, “I love you, Camille.”
The younger girl smiles even through their current misery, and then Nathalie runs as fast as she can, the screams of terror sound through her ears as The Supreme taunts her family.
“If only Betterfly would surrender his miraculous, you wouldn’t be in this situation!”
That’s the last thing Nathalie hears The Supreme say before she leaps over the wooden fence that divides their home from her neighbor’s.
Fists balled up as she bangs with all her strength and all her desperation. The door seems to nearly shake to Nathalie’s violent bangs yet for all her willingness in that moment, no response is heard. Her fists burn and bleed to the immense force she’s putting into it, but the silence from behind the door is loud making her realize no one is coming to her aide.
“Help, help me!” She screams for what seems like forever until a loud explosion coming from behind stops her dead on tracks. Her body freezes, it’s an overwhelming sight as her family home burns down in flames.
The heat reflects against her as she slides down the door where only seconds ago she had been pleading for someone to open.
“Mom, dad!” Nathalie screams out in horror. Her throat burning with every breath, “Camille!”
She wants to run in, she wants to do something but her brain is in a state of shock. The world has stopped, her thoughts are colliding between reality and fantasy.
This must all be a horrible nightmare of some sort. This can’t be happening, her family has to be safe.
Then the door behind her suddenly flies open. “Nathalie?” An older woman stumbles breathlessly to the sight of the burning house. “Nathalie, is that you? What is going on?”
Except, she’s in some kind of strange trance.
Not able to react, Nathalie only drags herself over the slippery and wet grass. The cold breeze of the night hits her with force as if she were being slapped repeatedly.
“We were afraid, what’s going on?” The woman rushes into her house, ready to call emergency services as the house next to hers continues to burn and collapse.
“My parents, my sister.” She mumbles as her eyes continue to lose themselves in the flames before her.
“Help is on the way.” The woman tells her as she helps her stand up.
Minutes drift away until the sirens are heard, announcing the arrival of the firefighters. “They’re here.” Nathalie hears her neighbor say as she holds onto her with force, making her stand up.
“Is anyone inside the house?” A firefighter asks them.
“Yes, yes!” Nathalie suddenly stammers breathlessly, “my parents and my sister are in there.”
She watches them enter the home while others actively work on putting an end to the blazing fire created by the cruelest man alive.
Time has paused. She can see it on the firefighters faces as they exit her crumbling house.
The somber expressions on their ashed eyes makes her heart sink down to her stomach.
“Where are they?” Nathalie asks in between her desperate tears, wanting to hang onto hope, needing to believe her family is okay. “Please say something!”
A single firefighter looks down at her with a pitiful expression, “we’re sorry, there are no survivors.”
Her world has fallen apart.
“No, no!” A sixteen-year-old Nathalie Sancoeur collapses as she screams out her pain, denial taking over her weak body.
Her world has changed forever.
That night, they killed the young and innocent girl that lived within her to replace it with something else.
Something unimaginable.
Something indescribable.
———
Twenty Years Later-
Nathalie watches through her apartment window as the sentimonster dissolves into nothingness. She rolls her eyes at the sight as she reaches into the pockets of her coat.
Needing to calm her rising anger, Nathalie pulls out a cigarette. Her thumb flickers with the lighter until she’s able to see the bright wavy flame. The cigarette lights up in an instant and the smoke enters her lungs in a soothing and pleasant manner.
“Betterfly.” She utters the hero's name as smoke floats out of her mouth and nostrils. “You continue your useless war against The Supreme as if you had any chance.” The sight of the magical butterflies sweeping through the damage created moments ago by The Supreme infuriates her even more. Soon all the damage is gone, looking as if nothing had occurred.
“Don’t you see that you can’t win?” She asks as if the hero were in front of her. “Twenty-three years fighting yet you’re still trying to do the undoable. You’re a pathetic and useless hero.” She mouths with such hatred.
Aiming the cigarette into the ashtray nearby, Nathalie soon lets her nails dig into the skin of her aching palm. “The Supreme.” The words slip away from her parted lips, “I’ll have my turn, and then you’ll regret it all.”
The ringing of the doorbell alerts her, putting her thoughts on a momentary pause.
Feet moving in direction to the door with no real desire to see anyone. Her fingers twirl around the knob, revealing a gleeful looking Dylan Monet standing on the doorway of her apartment.
“Hello, Nathalie.” The man says as he steps in.
“What are you doing here, Dylan?”
A stack of math, geography, and history books rests on his arm. “The books,” he motions to them as he prepares to set them down, “remember?”
“Oh, that’s right.” Nathalie wants to shake the grogginess out of her brain since she’s been overly absentminded these past days. “Just put them there.” She says in her usual plain and firm voice as she points at the small coffee table.
“I’m sorry it took me so long, the road was blocked.” The man’s eyes drift to the large window in her apartment, “The Supreme again.” He says it practically under his breath, causing a major annoyance in Nathalie.
She hates when he starts acting that way. “Don’t act that way, I’ve already told you I don’t like it.”
“Forgive me.” He quickly goes to apologize, “I just don’t want to trigger you.”
“You don’t trigger me.” Her hatred is so present in her bright blue gaze, and he could never ignore it. It’s taken him years to realize the wreck she truly is. One perfect disaster that he will never comprehend, but he doesn’t need to either.
She’s unpredictable.
As best as she can, Nathalie Sancoeur hides her feelings to the world. She hides her thoughts, her knowledge, her emotions. A stone is what she reflects as she diminishes any feelings of sympathy for others to only appear as an expressionless human with only brief words sitting at the back of her throat.
Hands reach out for the math and geography book, “I’ll take these, I’m not sure what type of tutoring the student will require.”
“You’re leaving now?” Dylan asks as he watches her reach for her bag to then place the books inside.
“Yes.” Nathalie responds, “the interview with the father is in one hour, but it’s a bit of a distance so I should get going.”
“Will you mind if I stay? I'd like to get the history books I lent you last week.”
“Sure, whatever.” She says clearly uninterested, “lock the door before you leave.”
She walks out the front door, leaving Dylan all alone in her apartment.
The man’s lips form a sinister smile, one he’s never revealed to her. “You’re as naive as always, Nathalie Sancoeur.”
———
The cab stations itself at the entrance of a black iron gate. With her coat wrapped around her cold body, Nathalie exits the car in direction to the house. Her index finger presses onto the doorbell, and soon a camera appears.
“How can I help you?” A voice is heard from behind the doorbell camera.
“I have an interview with Mr. Agreste.” Nathalie answers.
The gates open, revealing a quiet luxury mansion with vintage accents. It exudes the essence of elegance and comfort rather nicely, and Nathalie immediately thinks that this might be the wealthiest neighborhood where her services have ever been required.
The main entrance door is already open and when she climbs the natural stone steps, she finds a woman waiting next to the large door.
“Good evening.” The woman greets her. “You must be Nathalie Sancoeur.”
Nathalie nods, “Yes.”
“I’m Ines, Mr. Agreste’s assistant.” Ines motions for her to enter the home. “He’s on a phone call, but he should be wrapping up any minute now.”
Nathalie scans the mansion with curiosity yet dissimulation. However, she’s never before been inside such an elegant home. The sight of the large staircase is somewhat intimidating, but Ines continues speaking, not allowing her to think much.
“He will interview you, mainly on your previous tutoring experience, your education, things like that.” The assistant guides her to a sitting area near a set of large double doors. “Wait here, when Mr. Agreste is done, he’ll come to get you.”
Nathalie nods once again. “Thank you.”
She watches the woman leave, and then she’s left all alone. Her eyes continue to scan the house until the sound of the doors nearby make her pause completely.
“Good evening.” A firm and very masculine voice sounds through, cutting into the silence of the mansion.
Nathalie quickly stands up, coming into sight is a very tall and warm looking man. “Good evening.” She responds, and the emotionless expression of her pale face and lost gaze causes a sudden wonder in the man in front of her.
Gabriel Agreste is used to people wanting to please him always. Being overly polite and charismatic is something he sees in individuals often. Except the woman who currently stands in front of him is so different from what he’s used to seeing. She simply stands there, showing no particular concern to please him or make herself likable to him, and he likes that about her.
“I’m Gabriel Agreste.” He extends his hand to her, and she immediately grabs it.
“Nathalie Sancoeur.” The nails of her fingers dig into the back of her aching palm as usual the second he lets go. Scratching into the old and new wounds on the back of her hand.
It’s a habit by now, she can’t help it.
“Please.” He motions for her to enter his office.
The moment Nathalie steps inside, she comes across a well organized atelier. It's clean and sophisticated with mannequins wearing elegant couture dresses and hats. There’s a runway, and photo frames of fashion shows, models, and high fashion clothes decorate the tall walls of that place.
“Have a seat.”
As they take a seat, Gabriel’s questions come right in. “How long have you been tutoring, Ms. Sancoeur?”
“Fifteen years.”
“All subjects?”
“Yes, all subjects.” She agrees.
“I’ve seen your resume, and it’s impeccable.” He reaches for the folder resting on the corner of his desk where he knows he’ll find that perfect resume. “There’s no doubt you’re qualified, but you should know that my son is a bit difficult.”
That isn’t a surprise to hear. Nathalie has dealt with a number of difficult students throughout the years.
“He has trouble staying on track with school work, which is what made me consider a tutor for him. He’s been having a lot of trouble with mathematics, so I’d like you to focus on that subject.” Gabriel sighs heavily, “I just ask that you’re patient with him.”
“Patient.” She breathes out, “of course, I’ll be patient with him.”
“He’s fourteen, so I think school is getting a bit more challenging for him. But given your resume, I think you can manage.” He smiles, but Nathalie makes no attempt to mimic his gesture.
“Yes, sir.” Her plain voice merely responds.
“I would like for you to begin tomorrow, it’ll be four times a week in the evenings. Can you do that?”
“Yes, I can do that.” She responds.
“Great, then I’ll see you tomorrow evening.” He stands up, extending his hand to her once again. “Thank you so much, this means a lot to me. I want the best for my son, and I know you’ll be great for him.” He smiles again but Nathalie simply keeps her serious expression and nods at him.
He walks her to the front door of the mansion, and as he watches her leave, he can’t help but think how strange she is.
The strangest person he has met in recent years.
———
Nathalie walks through the darkness and down the sidewalks and alleyways of a silent Paris as she returns home from the interview at the Agreste mansion. The coldness of the night makes her hands go numb but that doesn’t really seem to bother her. The emptiness of her heart is that persistent feeling that never allows her to feel peace.
Twenty years have gone by since the murder of her family and the years don't change her pain. All it does is make her anger and hatred grow, and then she thinks that perhaps she’s wasted her time. It’s been too many years, and she’s never had the chance to make anyone pay for what occurred that night.
The darkness continues to settle around her, leaving nothing but her vengeful soul lingering around along with the bitter reminder that she hasn’t had her revenge. Once again, the stinging of her left palm wriggles in making her wince out loud as she leans against the brick wall of an isolated alleyway.
This time, Nathalie looks down at the wounds of her palm and upper wrist. All created by herself in moments where her anger and pain wanted to overflow so she instinctively began to claw at her own worn out skin. Blood is an odd mixture. A single red sight of betrayal that only reminds her of that night. When a detective brought her to identify the burned and wounded bodies of her parents and sister. The dried blood on her sister’s leg made her nauseous, Camille had suffered until her last breath.
And then she blames herself.
If only she had reacted faster.
As Nathalie prepares to abandon the alleyway, the sight of a shadow nearby makes her movements fade away. A guttural voice, a harsh-sounding loud whisper echoes through the dark and thick air around her.
“Hello, Nathalie.” She turns in all directions, wanting to find the figure who’s wanting to taunt her, calling her name in such a perverse manner. “I can smell your hatred from miles away.” The voice continues, and in a split and unexpected second, he is in front of her. His hands push her back into the brick wall, and then she’s trapped in between The Supreme and a filthy wall in a random alleyway in the middle of Paris.
The only light that reflects is that of a worn out lamp post standing high above them. The dim yellowed light reflects perfectly onto the face of the feared villain of Paris.
The man who’s been taunting Paris for the past twenty-three years.
The man who murdered her family.
The man who made her into this emotionless looking human who’s full of hatred and deep desires of revenge.
Adrenaline immediately courses through her body, her breathing is labored and nearly out of control as an explosion of emotions and anger branches through her chest and down her spine. Reaching out for her weakened limbs, and then she wants to scream.
“Get off of me.” Nathalie is the first to speak, uselessly attempting to push him off of her, but her eyes don’t reveal any sign of fear whatsoever.
“It always surprises me how you’re never afraid.”
“You’re just a man.” She says as if it were the first time he’s cornered her this way. “A man that would be nothing if not for those jewels you were lucky enough to steal.”
The Supreme’s eyes begin to glow with a deep sense of anger to her words yet Nathalie makes no attempt to stop herself.
“Look at you.” She scans him from top to bottom as her blue gaze focuses on the magical jewels pinned all over his body. “You’ve been fighting Betterfly for decades, and not once have you been close to succeeding. You’re pathetic, you’re a loser, you’re a joke.” She lets out a mocking little giggle, and that finally sets him off.
“Shut up!” He snaps in anger. “You shut your mouth, Nathalie Sancoeur.” His hand makes its way up to her exposed throat, “I could kill you right now, and no one would know.”
“Do it.” She manages to say despite the grip on her throat, “Kill me like you killed my family.” And she means it, many times she’s wished that he would end her life. His grip tightens around her neck, and this time Nathalie thinks he isn’t going to let go. Still, she manages to stare at him, his eyes are darkened with pure evilness.
Then the same question arises amongst her shallow breaths.
Who truly hides behind that mask?
Is it someone she knows?
Her father saw the face of the man who now wants to squeeze the life out of her.
He saw it, and that’s what drove him, her mother, and her sister to their deaths.
“I should’ve killed you years ago.” He mumbles close to her ear as Nathalie is at the verge of losing consciousness. “You’re as naive as your father was.”
Instinctively, Nathalie reaches out to dig her nails into the exposed skin of his face. Despite her previous comments of not being afraid, her body instinctively finds a way to latch onto life. Desperately fighting in hopes of not dying.
“But I like to play,” and suddenly he lets go.
Her back slides down the brick wall, crashing forcefully into the pavement underneath them as her lungs greedily gasp for air. The Supreme gets on his knees, staring straight into her pale gaze, her eyes are watery and red as the lack of oxygen was starting to melt her down.
“Look at you.” It’s he who now repeats her same words. “You're just a woman, you’re pathetic, you’re a joke.” Nathalie watches him stand up as he continues his rant, “I on the other hand am the feared villain of Paris. I can do as I please-“
“But you still can’t take the butterfly miraculous from Betterfly.” She interrupts him, and once again he snaps in anger. The images of his defeats hurt his ego immensely.
Twenty-three years of defeats yet he can't imagine giving up. He needs that miraculous in order to feel a sense of accomplishment. He reaches down to take a grip of her hair and lifts her up from the ground again as she groans out in pain at his violent actions on her weary body. “You’re playing with fire, Nathalie.”
“Maybe I like it.” Her hair sticks to her sweaty forehead without mercy as she attempts to pull away from him. “I like to watch as you prove that you’re nothing but a fool who can’t defeat one little hero who only wears one miraculous while you wear them all.”
“You don’t change.” He utters close to her face, his hot breath hitting the side of her cheek and suddenly she’s sure she will vomit. “But never forget your family is dead because of Betterfly. If only he would surrender his miraculous, I wouldn’t be this, I wouldn’t be The Supreme.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” she agrees, “you’d be far worse than this.” Her eyes begin to glisten with angry tears, and soon they betray her. They roll down her cheeks as the monster who murdered her family delights himself to the sight.
And she hates crying.
She despises it immensely.
It makes her appear weak and fragile, but she can’t control herself in this particular moment.
“You see.” He catches a tear with his thumb. “You’re nothing but a pathetic woman who can’t even control her emotions.” And as sudden as her tears appeared is now the sound of a voice coming from the end of the alleyway.
“Let go of her!” The voice echoes loudly around them.
Neither Nathalie nor The Supreme have a chance to respond.
Beside him stands the hero of Paris, Betterfly.
Nathalie feels her body freeze all over again.
She stands motionless against the brick aside from the heaving of her chest.
It’s The Supreme who wastes no time to react.
“Betterfly?” He turns to look at the hero. “How dare you?”
“You have no right to be harassing this woman,” Betterfly looks over at her face, and instantly notices the bruises on her throat and jaw.
“Don’t worry.” The Supreme says in a brassy statement. “Similar to you and I, Nathalie has an extensive history with me.” He attempts to touch her cheek, but Nathalie slaps his hand away, “but I shouldn’t be wasting my time with her. I should be trying to take that brooch away from you.”
The Supreme pushes Betterfly onto the ground, quickly getting on him. “Give me the brooch, Betterfly. Spare Paris of this misery that’s been going on for over two decades.”
“I can’t give you the brooch.” The hero responds as he uses his purple cane to make a pressuring distance between him and the villain. “The miraculous aren’t supposed to be used for evil only for the greater good.”
“I’m tired of that story!” The Supreme spits out.
“You must surrender all the miraculous you stole from the guardian.” Betterfly pushes the man off of him, quickly standing up. “Don’t you see that you won’t win?”
“I already have them all.” The villain responds. “All you have to do is give me that last one, and Paris will be free.” He clutches the flute pertaining to the Fox miraculous in between his hands. His anger at having lost the butterfly miraculous has haunted him for years.
After all, he didn’t think it’d all turn out this way.
Years ago when he decided to steal the miracle box from the old guardian, The Supreme didn’t think he’d drop the butterfly miraculous on the way home.
And the old guardian wasted no time.
He quickly found himself a young and willing hero to protect Paris and find a way to take back all the miraculous. The very man who currently stands in front of him.
The Supreme steps back, ready to disappear. “The war isn’t over until I have that brooch.” And then he’s gone, leaping into the high skies above them.
Betterfly stands there, breathing heavily to the encounter with The Supreme. It’s always a shock and disappointment when he’s able to get away. It makes Betterfly think that perhaps he should give him the brooch.
It’s been too long, and nothing has changed.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers as he turns to look at the woman who The Supreme was apparently taunting and tormenting. “Are you okay, do you-“
Except, her loud voice stops him, frightening him completely.
“Did I ask for your help?”
“Forgive me, I only wanted-“
But she interrupts him again. “I don’t need your help, you stay away from me.”
“I only wanted to make sure you were safe.” Betterfly attempts to explain his actions. “Besides, you’re injured. I can see it, and I know it was The Supreme who caused those injuries. Let me take you home.”
“Leave me alone!” Nathalie eventually yells out loud as she begins to run down the alleyway. “I don’t need the help of a selfish hero who pretends to protect Paris when in reality all you’re doing is destroying the lives of families with your endless war with that monster.”
Betterfly watches her leave, utterly stunned by her harsh words and odd behavior. After all, he didn’t expect to find her cornered and trapped by The Supreme the moment he decided to do his nightly patrol of the city. It’s all been so unexpected just as her jarring words.
“I knew she was strange.” He mouths as she disappears into the darkness of a silent Paris.