Bert, the carpenter, stood with arms crossed, squinting up at the dripping mess of the gingerbread gable above him. The syrupy runoff dripped lazily down into a rainbow puddle at his feet, what was once-pristine candy cobblestones now was nothing more than a sickly, sticky mass of gumdrops and sugarcane.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, pulling out his pencil to make notes on his clipboard. He’d been called to strange jobs before, but this, well this took the cake. Literally.

“What’s ridiculous?” came a voice behind him, smooth and sharp as a shard of peppermint. He didn’t need to turn to know it was Mathilda, the owner of the sweet, chaotic, candied house.

“The gutters are clogged again,” Bert said, tapping the clipboard with his pencil for emphasis. “I told you last year, Miss Mathilda, those licorice ropes can’t handle the seasonal rains. And the sugar lattice just isn’t holding up.”

Mathilda, draped in her layers of dark, velvety robes with a hint of powdered sugar dusting her cuffs, sighed theatrically. “But Bert, you must understand, the aesthetic …”

“The aesthetic!” Bert cut her off, exasperation curling his words. “The beams holding up your entire east wing are made of chocolate. Chocolate! Do you know what happens to chocolate in the summer?”

Mathilda’s eyes narrowed, the green irises glinting like boiled sweets. “Yes, Bert. I am well aware of the properties of chocolate. I work with it quite often.“

“Then why …” Bert continued, waving his pencil as if it were a sword in the war against impractical architecture, “… do you insist on using it as a support structure? You could use oak, or spruce, or pine. You live in a damn haunted forest. There is wood everywhere.”

“Oak and spruce aren’t nearly as enticing,” Mathilda said, her voice dropping to a honeyed whisper.

“Enticing?” Bert’s brow furrowed.

“Enticing to whom? Birds? Bees?” He glanced at a nearby window where a curious sparrow pecked at a sugar-crusted sill.

Mathilda folded her arms, her smile as brittle as the spun sugar that decorated her front porch. Before she could answer, the contractor, a burly man named Hugo who had the unfortunate job of overseeing this confectionery construction, stomped over. He shook his head, bits of frosting flecking his bushy beard.

“The marzipan columns won’t last another storm,” Hugo, Bert’s foreman, said while glancing at Bert with an unspoken shrug that meant, Good luck reasoning with her.

“I told her that,” Bert muttered, scribbling more notes.

“Oh, Hugo,” Mathilda cooed, sidling up to the contractor. “Think of the magic! The charm! What would the forest creatures say if this house were made of something so dull as plain old wood?”

“They’d probably say, ‘Thanks for not snaring us in your caramel,’” Bert grumbled.

Mathilda shot him a look, the glimmer of mischief replaced momentarily by something colder. Bert shivered, the air around him suddenly sweet with tension.

“You just don’t understand. If you think you’re not up to the task just say so. How does the expression go? A crappy worker will always blame his tools. ” Mathilda said, her voice tight. “The candy is necessary.”

He didn’t bother correcting her that the tools were not the issue. It was the concoction of candy materials that held the blame.

“Necessary for what?” Hugo asked, his brow lifting. “The local kids don’t come near this place unless they’re dared. And even then,” Bert added, “they leave a trail of breadcrumbs to find their way back out.” He chuckled at his own joke, but Mathilda did not join in.

She exhaled slowly, the frost in her gaze thawing just a little. “It’s … it’s for my customers. They expect a certain… ambiance.”

Bert and Hugo exchanged skeptical looks.

“Customers?” Bert echoed.

“Yes,” Mathilda snapped, then softened her tone with a thin smile. “Travelers, wanderers… people looking for a taste of something different. I told you that you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try us,” Hugo said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Mathilda hesitated, eyes darting to the candy cane columns, the frosted eaves, the gumdrop-studded shutters. The house stood as a monument of to the whimsical or the mad, depending on who you asked. Finally, she sighed and gestured around her.

“If I build with wood, with stone, it’s just another house,” she said, voice low and almost wistful. “But with candy, it’s a promise. A whisper of enchantment. Something that sparks curiosity.”

Bert’s pencil stilled. For a moment, he almost believed her. Almost. Then he glanced at the sagging chocolate beams and the honeycomb rafters that were teeming with ants.

“Well, Mathilda,” he said, rolling his shoulders, “if we’re going to keep up your… ambiance, you’ll need to reinforce this entire structure. And I mean with something stronger than caramel cement.”

“But Bert,” Mathilda said, leaning in conspiratorially, “where’s the magic in that?”

“Right now,” Hugo said, pointing to the sagging porch, “the only magic happening is this place not collapsing while we’re talking.”

Mathilda pursed her lips, eyes narrowing as she weighed her options. Finally, she relented with a wave of her hand. “Fine. Reinforce the beams. But the chocolate facade stays.”

“And the gutters?” Bert asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Replace them with something sturdier,” Mathilda said. “Maybe—sugar-glazed iron.”

Bert’s sigh was heavy, but he nodded. It was a start. He glanced at Hugo, who simply shrugged for the second time today.

“Welcome to the witch’s house,” Hugo said with a grin. “Where logic comes to die.”

Mathilda smirked, the glint of a secret dancing in her eyes as she turned back to her candy kingdom.

Bert couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how many beams he reinforced, some mysteries were better left unsolved. He finished the rest of his estimate for the bill for repairs and held them out to Mathilda.

She glanced at the cost then at Bert. “You wouldn’t happen to accept peppermints as payment would you?”

He gave her a stern look. “No.”

“How about a considerable donation of children’s cloths?”

“Children’s clothes?!?” Bert stammered. “You know what, whatever. We’ll load them up in the truck, the sooner I’m out of this damned forest the better. We will start the work next week when the materials arrive.”

As Bert pulled away, he glanced at the melting cottage in his rearview mirror. He couldn’t help but wonder what it was that Mathilda did for work and why she happened to have almost a metric ton of kid’s clothing, but work was work and he’d take on any job as long as he could make a small profit.

\\Monday. 03/15//

Angeline Hope and Care Youth Center. Two years of volunteer work, part-timing as a grader, all while keeping a B average despite the missed social dates on her calendar paid off! AT. Freaking. LAST!

And, better yet, doing it all without being Akumatized.

No way was that a good look, especially for a Psych intern.

Better yet someone who would be dealing with actual patients. She--

She had real lives in her hands!

She had lives and people in her hands.

Deep breath.

Deep breath.

Felicia closed her personal journal, a hot pink book that could easily slip between the pockets of her purse bedazzled silver for some accents. A few feathers sticking out as bookmarks.

Opening the door of her dumpy black car Felicia stepped one boot heeled leg out first and then let her swept pixie cut be exposed to the sun.

Lucky the care center didn't require strict dress codes. As long as there weren't explicit or possibly triggering images.

But some pops of color or a mane of tri-dye in yellow, electric blue, and purple was fine.

Felicia let out a breath, pumping her chest and jutting into a strict, straight archway towards the glass door.

Seeing the reception desk through it's window.

Poised, confident... after all, she had a job now. She was a working woman now.

Felicia put on her best and brightest smile, walking in and shaking the hand of the assistant or secretary person when addressed.

Speaking professionally to ask for the office of her supervisor: one of the counselors, Margaret Anciel.

\\Tuesday. 03/16\\

The dyed hair-- for once-- wasn't the problem.

Felicia had been more than used to that being the case when fuddy duddy bosses or teachers got a look at her.

No, today she reflects at her desk an hour and some before work-- with Tuesday as her designated off day from classes-- the problem... had been her first patient.

Whom had immediately thrown her from a loop with no idea how to proceed.

The "Ladyblog," the prime-- read: only source-- for all things Ladybug and Hawkmoth kept a running list of Akumatized persons. Well, two or three after the first.

Who was currently in front of her.

The fourteen year old who'd once been Stoneheart was here in front of her. And from how he said it, some issues had resurfaced.

Felicia didn't dare go into details. Not even in her diary and her notes for the internship course credit didn't require or want such details in her documentation.

That didn't mean she wouldn't pose some questions to the paper.

Just to get them off her chest.

Part of what Stoneheart described-- out of his own body, "looking in," disconnection from his limbs-- rang depersonalization immediately.

And that only dealt with the physical aftereffects of the possession.

And good Lord a teenager had been possessed. And more and more after him. To the point that just one search on the Internet brought up all kinds of chat boards beginning to form about the experience.

It was becoming-- it made her hand tremble to think-- normal.

Might horror movies be a good reference on where to start? Make sense of it a bit with the added benefit of distance?

Except those movies never ended well.

Not to mention there could be a bunch of other things that could trigger him besides possession scenes from demons.

Akuma.

Now that she thought of it, when she had lived in the freshman dorms some girls used to have anime blaring on their computer screens.

That first time "Akuma," was on the news she had remembered hearing the word in college.

Akuma-- was Japanese for demon.

And hopefully none of the other kids had made that connection.

She shuddered to think what might happen then the next time they heard "demon," in the media they watch or the books they read.

How did she go about making sense of his emotional trauma?

Would he want the memories of what he did back?

Can it be ethical to let him stay in that ignorant bliss?

Dare she thank the literal terrorist for that "mercy?"

Ugh. No, she decided. That was going too far.

It curdled her stomach to such a point downing the expired almond milk she'd ended up hating, would be a better alternative.

\\Friday. 03/19//

Some parents were preemptively bringing their kids in.

There was definite fear.

Felicia almost let her annoyance show. Plenty of times.

The way those kids looked up at their mother or father, or whichever adult-- a bundle of taut nerves-- brought in the child.

Any kid would think their parents had become afraid of their children.

And were definitely now afraid of their emotions.

Felicia had a graduate thesis planned on the oh so common phenomenon of parents invalidating their children in their negative emotions. Always brushing them aside as petty and minimal.

That such displays were better silenced.

Now though, the adults in this city were certainly paying attention.

Then again, whose to say she wouldn't become the same once she became a fuddy duddy adult.

Almost a contagion that adulthood short-sightedness was.

Felicia got some mental numbers-- and kept it to a general observation!-- due to being on processing at the front desk.

Of which she met who on the LB list had been The Bubbler.

Who in real life was quite the easygoing person. And spoke in slang.

Here for his brother's session having been newly Akumatized.

Christmaster.

Felicia informed both boys of the doctor on their case.

Her own supervisor who had allowed Felicia to call her Margie!

And had a great amount of tips when it came to her patients once Akumatized.

\\Sunday. 03/22//

[PAGES REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

On and on it went like that.

The pages were either shredded, and had been found across where Felicia had eventually come back to herself, scattered around like snow.

Or had been blotted out with black marker or spiteful, hateful faces and words.

'Idiot.'

'Bloody HEarT!'

BLOODY HEART SHOULD DIE!

With a picture of a heart stabbed with a curved knife.

The paper, the offensive ink, all of it was all over her bedroom. Under her bed, on her bed, ink decorating the walls and over her vision board and scheduling calendar.

She didn't have the energy to clean up all that.

Not that there was any fixing it either. It was just too many pieces.

That Reverser guy, he'd really had a time throwing his paper planes everywhere. That was the last thing Felicia remembered when she'd met a nice enough young man with round glasses and wild hair-- he worked at the museum he had told her-- and paid for her coffee and sandwich.

And her college instincts, always told her never to reject the chance for free food.

A scream, and then she had blacked out not long after.

At least, most of her diary was salvageable.

And those words-- they weren't true.

Felicia knew full well they weren't true.

//Tuesday. 03/24//

It-- it turned out to be quite good for her.

Turns out a lot of workplaces implemented mental health days after Akuma attacks.

The youth center had actually been one of the first to do it for their employees.

Felicia had opted to take that day-- but only one-- since really, she was fine. Nothing had happened to her except a ransacked diary and apparently having shafted that poor guy who had paid her food for all he had.

Not that he hadn't given as good as he got.

While screaming about solid proof and the 'brain rot' that conspiracies were.

Either way the guy had tracked her down.

Apparently he had pieced together a little more about the other day than she had.

Possibly since Felicia did her best to induce her mind to repress the whole experience.

After all, she hadn't insulted the kids she'd only vaguely, still safely, written about.

That had been her.

The-- Alicia! Alicia wrote all those horrid insults in red about Stoneheart and Bubbler and Misfortune, and Silencer.

Some other staff in the center had gotten hit by Reverser apparently.

A lot of people had been on edge.

A lot of people were sharing stories.

But even if Felicia had felt like it, it would again be very improper to put in the details.

Margie had been MIA the whole morning too.

Except she had clocked in.

It was one of the older men-- who worked with the center's insurance for counseling-- who had taken her outside the breakroom to discreetly tell her.

Margie had clocked in that morning, but had needed time in her office. To figure out how to face her coworkers with the truth.

She didn't stay shut up all that long.

Just when lunch break started, Margie had called for their attention.

Prefacing that she had cancelled all other sessions, which also meant her interns would be free to leave once she was through speaking since she'd be going home as well. It was no secret what she was about to say-- she mentioned that school's gossip-- Sunday's Akuma would be everywhere soon. She just asked that the information for the moment be kept in the office for the time being.

She had gotten his permission to say it too.

"The Akuma, it was my son-- [...]."

Frankly, I did feel awful for Margie.

A parent should never be afraid of their child getting angry or having a breaking point.

And Margie, well she was better than that.

Still, to think your child in their vulnerability ended up used by some malicious, powerful, and dangerously obsessive adult-- and the obsession was about some stranger's jewels rather than you, you were expendable!-- it was absolutely horrible. Disgusting to consider or contemplate.

Much less ruminate over the way Felicia was sure poor Margaret Anciel was doing.

Felicia decided to catch her as she left.

"Ma'am, I just-- are you okay?"

Margie's eyes ended up widening in surprise for just a moment.

Only to sink and fresh tears cascading down.

She put a hand over her mouth-- today painted a sunshine yellow-- to try and cover the noise.

Felicia ran toward her. "I'm-- I'm really sorry."

"No, no dear. My goodness this is--"

"Don't you remember the first thing you told me ma'am?"

"It's not completely the same."

Felicia nodded, she did have a point, but even so--

"I think it's the same enough," she answered with a grin, "it isn't the emotions that are wrong and neither are the responses, we can only get better with time and willingness! Even if I get Akumatized, I'm entitled to feel what I'm feeling. So, you are too ma'am."

Margie laughed.

"Thank you. Still, I should," she cleared her throat, "you aren't responsible for comforting me. And I'm sorry if I put you in that position. Have a safe trip home Felicia."

\\Thursday. 04/03//

The schedule works out like this...

Monday: [15 yrs. old. Trust issues with authority figures. Not originated in the home] [15 yrs. old. Consistent insecurities and anxiety associated with said insecurities. Dating an athlete with an equal passion for swimming to hers]

Tuesday: Alternate between processing at the front desk or a single patient. [12 yrs. old. Bounced around in multiple homes in foster care. I maybe shouldn't write it down but, tells stories. A lot of stories]

Thursday: [16 yrs. old. Stoneheart. Seen excellent progression and coming to terms with difficult, sometimes contradictory feelings about many experiences. Needs steady validation. Quite sensitive, not always a great idea to touch him if he starts panicking or crying in session] [Timebreaker. Sessions discontinued and referred to colleague due to-- conflicting interests] [13 yrs. old. Model with the Gabriel brand. Has other mental health issues that have been well managed with medication and counseling. Sought the Youth Center to address fears of current events privately]

Interns only get two patients on a given day. And never every day of the week that they work.

As mentioned, Stoneheart is really making amazing progress!

And, well, he did a lot of the work.

Sure she was aware she helped a bit. Asked the right questions on occasion, spoke with him honestly and with compassion, learned some, and failed in some parts.

Felicia was never afraid to admit her failures.

Not when one of the first things she had learned from her supervisor is that the mistakes in their profession only ever hurt the patient. Especially when they are treated as correct and permissible.

So, she admitted it when she misread his cues and apologized when touch was unwanted.

She apologized their second session when his size had admittedly made her freeze for a few seconds too long.

Currently they were talking about some of the plans he had with his sweet girlfriend. She'd admittedly watched the news.

She knew who, all of Paris could at least place those two kids' faces as well as Ladybug and Cat Noir's.

"I think it'll turn out just fine," she replied with a smile, "now you have been wringing your hands, of course everything at your own pace--"

--It was important to use those reminders. It was much more important to mean them.

"Ummm just-- the trash did almost hit Paris, we could actually see them. They were like stars."

Felicity hummed, nodding her head.

"I can understand..."

"Why do people do that? I mean the ones who can do so much good," he wondered more quietly, fists now clenching on his knees, "they make the dumbest decisions. Then again he's Chloe's Dad so--"

"Well I can't completely answer that. Not any good answer," Felicity admitted, "but also you can't change others or well-- what I mean is the best you can do is control how you respond and make yourself heard and [...] you're doing a great job."

He sighed.

"Really, it's honestly impressive. There are so many people who want to do good but for one reason or another stay on the sidelines," she explained, then pointed to herself, "And in a lot of ways I'm one of them. You really do make me proud [...]"

"Thanks," he said, smiling and blushing, his whole face pink.

Felicity held back her own light, good-natured laughter, covering up the growing overeager smile with her hand.

Clearing her throat she checked the clock herself and found with an unpleasant, air-sucking punch that they were just fifteen minutes from their allotted hour.

"Alright now we can finish up with this topic or we can move on to some of the exercises we've been practicing and write you down for your next session."

Stoneheart nodded, quite quick and anticipation in his eyes. "The second one."

"Okay then, now begin with your feet firmly on the ground, your knees apart... first--"

Stoneheart didn't like the feeling of his toes curled and digging into the felt of his shoes. We skipped that part of the exercise each time.

\\Monday. 04/13//

Felicity currently gasped, her chest constricting like a cobra, choking her breath and lodging a hard ball of tension there.

Margie was at her side right now, hands on her shoulders which did help to ground her.

Even though she didn't completely understand.

"When I said good morning to you today, you saw it in my arms."

She nodded, "that's true I did."

"That diary," Felicity started looking at her shaking hands as scant tears began to prickle at her eyelids, "Oh God I'm so stupid I wrote private things in there! I wrote about my patients!"

"Felicity you did your best," Margie insisted, "did you use their real names?"

She shook her head, she luckily hadn't done that but anyone could look up to corroborate a lot of her data anyway. And for Akumas? She was certain they would.

"I make sure I know where it is, I don't let it go too often," she answered to Margie's next question. More security.

"Okay, okay we'll find it. And it is probably in this office building. So, not just anyone will read what could be considered private and even if they did open it they will probably just look for a name or number."

Two things she hadn't done. Hadn't seen the point and besides, a measure like that posed it's own risk.

Felicity nodded anyway.

Looking up she had eyes on some patients as well as custodial staff and a few of the actual doctors on staff moving out and around of the office.

Each and every one of them could have her diary. Could read that information and it would all be her fault. Worse yet if it happened she dropped it just outside the door. A homeless man could pick it up and then--!! Then--!

Well granted she didn't know what then in that situation. But still, it wouldn't be good and maybe no one else would know ethics had been breached, except she would know.

She should be fired.

Margie permitted her to spend an extra hour searching before starting her shift.

She reported the missing item to the secretary, trying to keep herself calm as to not tip her off to the kind of important, vital information there was in it.

Instead just describing it's hot pink cover with silver bedazzling and that there were only six feathers now instead of ten. Not to mention that the back cover had been almost torn off in the Reverser incident. Along with some other bashing and bruising at its material due to being thrown at a wall. Least it looked that way best as she could describe or theorize.

Felicity searched under the chairs with subtle glances as if she were making printer rounds.

She looked at each side of the vending machine, covering that up as a worry nicking at her to check that the machine worked properly.

Slowly, slowly her panic eked into her body.

Her head felt light and dizziness overtook her.

But she had a patient this Monday. And she'd already had to cancel the Gabriel model today.

She narrowly got through with Silencer, even if per usual he was much more attentive to her rather than himself. And unfortunately today she had to show up to him with a negative, agitated demeanor.

Alone in her office, is when one of the older doctors presented her with a find from the Lost and Found box. Her heart skipped several beats-- she could swear his smile was smug when he handed it back with his well wishes.

Her diary.

Had he read it? Did he know? Would he report her to the veery important ethics and safety boards and get her blacklisted...?

Would she be expelled from school?

The Akuma butterfly... it was oddly fascinating.

[Felicity found a quickly taken snapshot afterward... just before it had landed in her precious diary].

She didn't remember anything after that.

\\Wednesday. 04/14//

She cringed, thinking of how rude she had been to Ladybug and Cat Noir.

Of course they had saved her, not without some headache she was sure. Ladybug had a pogostick of all things and she noticed Cat Noir's eyes widened at the beep of his ring.

Felicity however, had been all too focused on the once Akumatized object in Ladybug's hands.

"The back jacket was already like this?" Ladybug had said nervously. Felicity hadn't noticed so then.

Snatching her diary harshly from the poor girl's hands. And she could remember she'd flinched backwards, looking at the pavement. "I'm sorry I have no idea why--"

"You better not have read it," she snapped. And even there did part of the task of tearing offending pages out.

"I assure you we didn't."

AUGHHHHHHHHH!!!

\\Tuesday. 04/20//

She'd taken way more days off then what she was reasonably owned.

She hoped her superiors weren't too mad.

She hadn't bothered to reapply the dye job so her dark roots dominated her hair by now.

Felicity decided she would trim it back to the short punk-ish length that she liked over the weekend, head hovering over her bathroom sink.

Blast the water cold in her face as she washed it there too. The least she deserved.

Felicity could easily imagine how mortifying facing everyone would be. She was completely mortified to just face those double doors.

Nevertheless she entered anyway.

Margie rushed right toward her, followed in tow by a jumble of half a dozen other co-workers.

She was only one of two interns. They were the youngest and so, were sort of treated like younger siblings. The kind you spoil with small candies or a taste of fancy bistro lunches or sushi. The kind you get super overprotective with.

Point is, the others had pitched in for an especially sweet dessert for that day. Felicity wanted to crawl in a hole, nestle her legs to her chest in a pitiful little fetal position. And die. Just die please.

Unfortunately there was no such hole available.

She received desk duty. Surely a punishment for the entire mess in the first place but she genuinely didn't mind. Now that, was well deserved.

Margie came to her just as she exited the ladies room.

Apologizing for stealing me away to her own office for a few minutes.

Felicity was well and ready to be scolded or yelled at. Or worse yet, be given the mom stare of the century and the "I'm not angry--" and that dreaded-- "DISAPPOINTED." That word sent spiders down her spine.

It was almost sick in it of itself, how parents had such a powerful weapon.

It's almost worse that a good number of parents don't purposefully weaponize that against their kids. Though some do, a professor had explained how "disappoint," purposefully or not can be used as a weapon to hurt when the parent is frustrated or truly angry with their child and their behavior.

You do punish the behavior.

You simply separate the behavior from the personality itself. Which are neither mutually exclusive or innumerable linked like a conjoined twin.

But Margie, for some reason, did none of that. Even when she absolutely could. She was a mother.

"Listen Felicity, I have noticed how stressed you are lately and you just seem to be taking things pretty hard on yourself," she began compassionately.

"Because patient information could have been leaked," she said in a mumble, plenty disappointed in herself, "if anyone had found that diary-- and then I had to be so stupid as to get Akumatized over it."

"Felicity!" Margie intoned in a shocked, disbelieving way. "That simply isn't true. At! All!"

"Isn't it? I should, I mean I'm a support for others. Not just anyone can do that day in and day out," she argued.

"Well okay I agree, it isn't a profession for everyone," Margie conceded.

"So what does it say when the therapist-- who knows how people are manipulated-- gets manipulated by the literal terrorist and could have read everyone's secrets aloud? Who had them written down in the first place!"

Her breath was starting to quicken again.

She had seriously never been like this before. So on edge all the time and overemotional.

"The presumption that a person can't or is above manipulation is the very thing that makes you the most susceptible," she countered, arms crossed and seated on her desk.

"Okay then I should have calmed myself down then," she fired back, "isn't like I don't have the know-how."

"Felicity, I will not allow you to talk yourself down like this," Margie said, looking pained as she met her own eyes. "You are not perfect. No one is, but honestly I'd say the one perfect person or a robot, would make a terrible therapist. In life we all endure our own share of setbacks and obstacles. It's not always equal for everyone, some suffer more than others, some haven't suffered so when they do it is a big shock. We're here because enough people do understand that any individual shouldn't keep suffering."

She placed a hand on Felicity's shoulder.

"And that it isn't weakness to need help."

Felicity only dimly processed she may as well be yelling at Mrs. Anciel.

"It's almost like you want to get yourself fired."

And maybe it would help to remember that Mrs. Anciel was her superior. Not some buddy-buddy friend she could call by a nickname.

"Maybe I should be," she bemoaned, "maybe I'm not cut out for this."

"Dear I assure you, you are. The fact that you care so much tells me that you're willing to put in the work. Which frankly," Mrs. Anciel laughed a bit, "is much more than a lot of people in this industry bother to do."

"That's awful," Felicity warbled, never able to just point out how wrong that kind of thing is. When something so precious as trust and a literal life-- the trust of their literal life-- was given to you.

"It is and this job," Mrs. Anciel proceeded, "it is going to get difficult sometimes. You having a diary, even you writing about work and your questions, it isn't wrong in it of itself. You were coping."

"I shouldn't have written about the patients though. I shouldn't have."

"Listen, we all have a system. We have little notes to ourselves about specific patients and we name them all sorts of ways. I'm not surprised you chose Akuma names considering how salient the topic has been for so long now."

Felicity wrung her hands. The physical contact did help a bit. It was a bit like a prompt... sort of giving Felicity permission to look at her face. And her expression, she almost looked sad to see her like this. And she had never meant to do that to Mrs. Anciel.

"Though maybe, it would be better if that diary stayed at home," she proposed a bit uncertain. Felicity nodded and her expression relaxed.

Another little silent cue. Which put a smile on Mrs. Anciel's face.

And in turn, put a smile on her own face.

"Are you ready to go back?" she asked.

Felicity took a deep breath and nodded.

Coming out she stood a bit straighter.

\\----//

From the diary of Felicity Prise. It had once been hot pink and was peppered with the spots of silver bedazzling. Several pages had been torn out over time and the spine enduring abuse that left it cracked and almost tearing.

She smiled, looking at one of the last things she had written in it. She'd been twenty-two then, it wasn't too long when starting her first internship did she pack the book away in the attic of her childhood house on break.

"Maybe everything will be just fine."

"And when Hawkdork is defeated kids will be able to feel again."

\\4 yrs later. May 9th//

"You've always been great. Oh and don't forget tea on Tuesday dear."

Felicity laughed, the motion straining her cheeks.

But she had had such a turn of good luck lately.

"I know, I'll see you then Margie," she said. Margie hung up which left her to the doors of her practice.

Not to mention she had read about the Akuma Recovery programs getting a boatload of support from the new mayor's office and slowly but surely Paris itself was growing more lively and dared to be loud again.

Dared to express.

Felicity, when she had started in the London office, had been described to almost strut into a room.

All boundless confidence bordering on arrogance.

These days she preferred a single color job for her hair.

Today choosing a deep, soothing plum color.

She threw a hello to the secretary on duty today. A young student with beautiful blond curls, but a sour look to her named Allegra. But she did commendable work, now if only the girl accepted compliments.

"Yes greetings Ms. Prise," she said stiffly.

"Please you can just call me Felicity, I don't mind. I'm not a codger."

Allegra didn't respond to the joke and in fact her annoyance ticked just a tiny bit.

She leaned in instead, always focused on business, and Felicity complied to her hand signal to join.

Once Allegra deemed themselves in private she whispered, "this new patient, he's a celebrity. Not to mention he has family in France."

"Ahhh, I see," she said with an understanding nod. Then it was no wonder she'd been assigned a new client so out of the blue late last night.

Offices here she found, were automated with the newest technology and were also punctual yet speedy and most of all organized.

"Mmhmm," Allegra said, focus now on her yet unfiled nails. Which I gave a slight disapproving glance at, making the girl sigh. "Well either way the office owner himself is a friend of the kid's family or something--" and that made a bit of suspicion crawl up her back.

"Yeah I know," she said. "Completely sus, but it could also be so he actually gets privacy. He told me to pass that part on to his therapist. And also that it could make or break his grace for you."

"Okay then," Felicity decided, "thanks for passing it on I appreciate it."

Allegra simply shrugged and went back to her magazine.

Felicity made quick work of her simple breakfast, having the trash all stashed away when her radio chimed.

She rose from her seat, checking briefly to make sure her skirt was smooth and made a power walk to the entryway to greet her 10:30, who was even two minutes early.

Besides her impeccable poise and adaptability there was a very prominent reason she received cases originating or tangential to the whole French region.

Since there'd been some miscommunication-- on the scope of influence for magical jewel terrorism and possession.

Those in her class who had decided to become psychiatric doctors, counselors, or therapists had decided to stay local. In ground zero.

Very often she found herself the only one almost anywhere who knew how to handle supervillain-induced triggers.

The boy was very nearly taller than her, even if by his file he was only eighteen years old three days ago.

"Hello there you must be Adrien?" she greeted warmly. "I am very happy--"

The boy with slicked blond hair and a formal black and white casual suit raised a hand. "No I apologize, my cousin insisted on something sweet," Adrien's cousin simply shrugged in the exasperatedly fond way only family could accomplish. "Go figure. No my name is Felix, he has no license yet so he needed a ride."

"I see," Felicity replied, "well still it is very nice to meet you Felix."

He graciously shook her hand.

And Felix it seemed, didn't quite know what to do with that. Ending the conversation with an awkward, "yes," before taking a few steps backward.

She watched as Felix very nearly did bump into who could only be Adrien whose green eyes were a much clearer, shining shade of green than Felix's own suspicious and deep olive ones and his blond hair had a windswept quality to it.

Adrien laughed, his smile almost coy and certainly goading at his brother's-- cousin's-- prickling irritation.

They certainly did look alike.

Felix pinched the bridge of his nose but nevertheless looked elegant as he walked off.

"Hello there," she said once Felix had turned the corner, "I'll be your therapist Felicity Prise, and you may address me however you wish. And you'll be--" she pretended to think, "Adrien--" giving him a chance to speak up if he had preference in how he was addressed-- "Agreste? I believe."

The boy simply nodded and shook her hand. Simple pleasantries.

"Well please step right inside," she said, welcoming him into her office where there was a couch and desk at a right angle with a chair in the near center on the rug.

Adrien carried at least three gummy snacks from the machine, a soda, and an extra chocolate bar.

"Thank you," he said in quite a kind, even voice.

Which seeing the couch, he slowly but surely deposited there. Possibly anticipating a possible negative reaction from her.

"Alright now will Adrien or-- Mr. Agreste be alright."

At the sound of his surname the boy flinched. "Adrien, Adrien works just fine ma'am."

"Of course," she said, "and I apologize if I brought up something unpleasant. It wasn't my intention."

"No, no that's umm--" Adrien tugged at his cardigan-- "it's the point right? Actually talk. Tell the truth."

He was still standing and currently hugged himself with one arm, digging his nails into the long sleeve of his own suit jacket which was a beautiful split between dark red and-- black.

An odd color pattern for sure, that possibly should have made him look much less soft and sweet.

And yet he looked just as gentle and "pretty," as she had known magazines liked to portray him as.

"That can only go so far as you feel safe and comfortable about talking to me. What you should know about therapy Adrien is that any one worth their license will do their best to respect your boundaries and place the control and decisions in your hands."

"Is-- that door is closed? Right?"

Adrien didn't look to check himself. Despite of or possibly because of his tension.

Felicity smiled, a bit sadly to herself, before striding over to close the door with a soft click.

"It is now."

"And, you can't tell anyone? What I say? Not even Felix of my Aunt? Or the police or news?"

Police and-- well she understood his apprehension with the news quite well. The question itself was not so odd. By now she'd had many patients whose secrets had been divulged without their knowledge nor permission. Or clients in positions akin to the young Agreste who'd simply never been permitted the notion of privacy or respect of themselves and their personal business.

"Nothing that you tell me will leave this room," she reassured, "as long as you are physically safe, not injured or in any way planning to injure or do harm to others or yourself. If I have reasonable doubt to suspect that you or someone around you is being harmed physically or emotionally, or if you have plans to harm you or someone else-- then as a practicing professional I will have to report that to proper authorities or your caretaker if they are a safe and trusted adult."

Adrien, his body language was still quite guarded, his eyes had shuttered darkening the color and gobbling up the gleam she had seen before, but he nodded.

Adrien nodded and sat down.

Arms crossed and making a show of crossing one leg over his knee.

When he leaned back into the couch he was lackadaisical in a daring way. The kind that tells an adult to scold them-- he would be happy to rebuke--

"I was Cat Noir and Hawkmoth, the Hawkmoth was my Father."

Felicity was frankly floored.

And enraged.

But above all--

She hurried to the radio that connected her with the front desk.

"Alli," she said...

And received a retort, "never call me that."

"Okay. But also cancel my next four appointments. Don't worry young man free of charge," she responded warmly, before turning back to the speaker, "I'll need all the facts."

She looked at Adrien Agreste again, who nodded almost in approval, beginning to look out the window as the confidence in his face fell to a grey daze.

Felicity set herself into the chair so she was face to face, eye to eye with Adrien Agreste.

"Alright then Adrien, let's begin."

I am Kayadhu, the mother of Prahaladh, a character in the story of Prahalad and lord Narasimha.

I am a naga princess. I married the asur-raj Hiranyakashyap based on the treaty made while the Naglok was attacked by Asuras.

I am a great devotee of Lord Vishnu, but one day my brother in-law was killed by the lord. From that day my husband started hating the lord. All my in-laws were against the lord.

I gave birth to 4 sons Samhlada, Anuhlada, Hlada, Shibi, Bashkala and Prahalad and 3 daughters Divyadevi, Paulami and Simhika. Everyone in Asur lokh were happy, but they didn't know that I was a devotee of Lord Vishnu. Once Guru Shukracharya blessed me with a great son, but after learning about my Vishnu bhakthi, he was displeased. He feared my son would cause trouble to Asura clan.

So he told my husband to do penance at the Mandrachal mountain. My husband went for his penance and soon after I came to know that I was pregnant. Guru Shukracharya learned about my pregnancy and tried to kill the fetus in my womb, but Devi Ganga and Devi Uma foiled his attempts. There was also another group who feared my child. The 'Devas'.

The Devas feared the child would be born as a great powerful Asura due to my husband's hard penance. They thought he would wish for a boon that would make his to be born son powerful than Devas. Indra even tried to kidnap me and kill my child, but I was saved by Rishi Naradha. Rishi Naradha the great Vishnu bhakth took me to his ashram and made a special hut for me. I was taken great care by his pupils and other rishis and their wives living in and around his ashram. I loved the hermitage very much, it was so peaceful.

Sage Nardha used to say stories of Lord Krishna from some other dimension. He used to sing about the lord, many times I used to sleep midway hearing the stories. Many say my child heard the stories from my womb itself. Thus, he became a great devotee of Lord Vishnu. He was more ardent than me. He gave everyone uncountable happiness and hence, we named him Prahalad, which means great happiness. He prayed the lord all the time, and the lord was happy with his Bhakthi.

As soon as my husband returned from his penance, he came to the ashram to take us back. He learnt the deeds of Indra the king of Devas and took his throne. Our son was sent to the gurukul of Asuras, where he was educated by the 2 great sons of Asura Guru Shukracharya. They were happy with his fast learning and praised him in the court. My husband was very happy and asked him to say something he knew. My son said Ashtakshara and was immediately kicked by my husband. He scolded the guru's asking, what they have thought our son. The Guru's said, they don't know, from where he learnt the Ashtakshara manthra and will teach him good things.

According to my husband he has won over the 3 Lokhas and even lord became invisible seeing him, so he proclaimed himself God. He has forced his own worship all around the world. But when our own son praised his enemy, he became very angry. The gurus took our son back to teach, what my husband wanted, but he denied it. Then they saw that the child was also influencing other children so they brought him back and left in the palace. My husband was very angry with him and gave him a death sentence, but the lord saved him from all kinds of torturous death my husband punished him with. He even once caged me in my room and the child in a prison, that night the lord appeared as Prahalad to me and as myself to Prahalad to feed and make fall asleep. Once even his sister Holica, who had a fire proof cloth tried to kill my son by sitting on a pyre with, but with the lord's grace the cloth flew due to air and fell on my son due to which Holica died instead of him. Later once he ordered me to feed a cup of poisoned milk myself to my son, i cried but he didn't listen and forced me to do so. My son happily accepted the milk knowing it was poisoned, then a snake bit him and removed all the poison.

My husband saw himself, how my son was saved each time by the lord. He had a boon that neither inside the house nor outside, neither on earth, nor in air, neither in the day nor in the night, neither by any weapon, neither by humans or animals or birds or another creature created by Lord Brahma the creator he can be killed, so he was not afraid of anyone. He asked my son where is Lord Hari, my son said everywhere. He asked a specific location, my son said he is present in even in the tiniest of a rust or the tallest of a pillar. My husband took him to the spot, where there were 4 beautiful pillars in the palace. These pillars were built in front of my husband and he knew nothing could be present inside these. He asked showing them is Hari present in this pillar. My son said the lord is present in any pillar. But, this time my husband asked is present in this pillar. My son said yes.

My husband said if the lord is not in this pillar, I will pick you like a lion picks a cow and will kill you mercilessly, just like it. We were all terrified and anxious hearing my husband's words. He may now anytime break one of the four pillars, and if the lord was not in, he will give my son a cruel death. My husband broke a pillar and the lord appeared in a half man and half lion form, that is neither human nor animal, it was as if the lord heard my husband saying about killing our son like a lion kills a cow. The lord beat him to lose his consciousness, he took my husband to the threshold of our house, the time was evening, that neither day nor night. The lord sat on the threshold with my husband on his lap, that neither in nor out. He was the Lord Vishnu himself, that is not a manifestation of Brahma. Our threshold is made of a single step, that neither land nor air. The lord used his nails to dig out my husband's intestine, that is no weapon, this was the end of the great king Hiranyakashyap.