The Boy In The Coffin

Delicate

I'm down below where the floor is out of focus,

Pent up and played down, rained in and worn out,

Picking away at the studs in the boards.

They're all too familiar. I've been here before.

The air is like lead and I've swallowed what I've said.

I'm a broken machine and a match already burned.

And I'm quiet, all despite the raging in my head,

Collapsed inside and out until my strength can return.

I'm undone. All I know is the weight of the world,

So empty and so uninspired.

Sorrow, sleep, and disbelief,

Caught up in the weight of the world.

I'm down below where it's silent and it's safe,

Resounding with the question of "Where to, from here?"

I know my direction, I know what it takes,

But I'm weak and I'm weightless with everything to fear.

I write about what's real to me when all I feel is make-believe,

But I won't say there's nothing left.

There's everything, but just out of reach.

—Weight- Hands Like Houses

Sunday again.

Two weeks since Adrien's death. Paris has been burning since Friday, the media are aflame with horrible rage toward their only hope of crawling out of this mess. Marinette was avoiding the internet again. In fact, she was avoiding everything again. Her phone droned and droned with messages from her friends. Some attempted calling her home to speak to Marinette's parents. Tom and Sabine had tried asking what was wrong, and Marinette didn't even have it in her to say "nothing" anymore. Their inquiries had been met with retaliation. She didn't need anything right now. She just needed time to think about the decision she was about to make but the voices of doubt wouldn't stop.

Tikki had talked to her about it in front of the other kwamis—which was definitely on purpose, so more of them could try to convince her that this is a terrible idea she's conjured up. But nothing can stop her. Her mind is made up. She had silenced them all before they could instill any more doubts in her mind.

When Marinette's parents saw her emerge from her room after having holed herself up for all of Saturday, they wore smiles and were hopeful their daughter hadn't quite spiraled back into the dark place she had been in before. She was trying, and that's all they could ask for. When she left the house, Marinette had told them that she was just going to be visiting Alya for the day, and that the two would get breakfast together.

That couldn't be further from the truth. But at this point, Marinette is so used to lying that it doesn't come out in high-pitched squeals and stutters like it used to. Now, she lies with such effortlessness that she doesn't even question the morality of it anymore. As long as her lies are for the greater good, it doesn't really matter.

Despite having been unable to eat the day before, there's not a single protesting sound in Marinette's stomach when she leaves without eating, knowing full well she won't be at her destination. In fact, it's more likely her stomach would have protested if she had tried to eat. Once she had gotten the kwamis off her back, there had been a whole day of deliberating how this visit to the Agreste mansion would go. And it was nauseating. She had been doing her best to keep a level head. This was just another plan to bring down Shadow Moth just as she and Chat Noir used to discuss almost every day of their lives.