Today, Marinette marked her seventh year since meeting the Dupain-Chengs, six years and five days after she was officially adopted, and fourteen years, three months, and six days after the day she was born. For somebody who was chronically late, she sure did keep perfect track of the calendar.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was born on a winter day in the latter months of the season. The teenager was not yet fourteen, and she lacked much ability in the time or date keeping area, but her life was essentially exactly what she wanted it to be. It was close enough to perfect compared to her... past life.

(Mari Al Ghul was not born on any single day because that girl did not exist.)

That particular day, it was a clear and sunny morning. The sky was blue and cloudless, and the wind was neither crisp nor cold. It was a stark contrast to that day she stumbled upon her new life and the wonderful couple she now called her Maman and her Papa.

Unfortunately, the heroine was unable to entirely enjoy the perfect day as she peeled her eyes open sore from a late night to her alarm clock flashing the current time: 8:11am. And she sleepily sighed, coming into a yawn.

Wait, she froze. 8:11am!?

She shot up from her bed immediately rushing towards her closet. Kwami, she was going to be late. Again, she thought anxiously. Alya will kill her.

"Tikki!" She whined as she sorted through her blouses, "Why didn't you wake me?"

"I tried, Marinette! I swear!" Tikki, her lovely, amazing, patient mini godly companion hovered above her head as she handed her pants. "You wouldn't budge!"

Marinette outwardly sulked as she changed out of her pajamas and into her outside clothes.

She sprinted down the stairs trying to kick start her brain awake when she nearly tripped over her own two feet. Okay, so she needed to be quick but not deadly killer quick.

Learning how to walk again was surprisingly difficult for someone who's already done it once before in her lifetime. She kept tripping over her own two feet for virtually no other reason than the fact that she conditioned herself into abruptly stopping before she could slip into old habits such as her mercenary speed.

"Careful on the stairs, dear!" Chimed her Maman who was used to her klutziness. They often joked that she got it from her Papa, who was almost as clumsy as her.

Only Marinette knew the real reason.

"I will!" She answered brightly.

Seven years into her new supposed-to-be perfect life, she was still learning how not to walk as if she was approaching a senator's jugular with a knife (she would know). It was difficult to unlearn a lot of the things she was conditioned to do from almost birth.

She entered the kitchen skipping over to the couple planting a kiss on their cheeks each.

"'Morning, Maman, Papa," she greeted as she was handed a baggie of croissants, macarons, and a baguette. She genuinely smiled, bashful. "You remembered."

"We could never forget, honey," Tom wagged a powdered finger.

Sabine jumped, "The oven, Tom!"

"Oh!" Tom yelped as he suddenly remembered the full baking tray he was holding in his hands. Sabine cackled, and she laughed for a second, trying to relish in the moment, but every second felt like a ticking clock in the pits of her chest.

She was definitely going to be late.

She sprinted out of the shop with a croissant in her mouth, miraculously managing to not get hit by a car on the way to Collège Françoise Dupont. She sheepishly shimmied into her classroom, carefully letting her feet thunk onto the wooden boards knowing full well that everybody would hear her walk in.

She would've liked to say that she made it in the nick of time, but she was a minute late and Mme. Bustier was already sitting at her desk in front about calling attendance.

(A tall woman, slim. She had red hair and freckles, and had soft skin on her hands except for the calluses on her fingers she gained from writing, well manicured fingernails up to boot. The desk obstructed her feet, but she knew from previous knowledge that she was likely wearing white pumps, a disadvantage in combat but not the most impractical shoes she could have—no.)

She was over this. She needed to stop evaluating people on how swiftly she could take a knife to their throat.

She was out. She was safe from their influence. She had no reason to recall the feeling of blood spatter on her cheek or a time when she couldn't sleep without being watched.

Marinette sighed.

"Marinette," Mme. Bustier started.

"I am so sorry, Mme. Bustier. I just keep sleeping through my alarm!" Marinette said exasperated, and it was the truth.

There was a time when she would stress herself silly with her alarms, a time when she even tried to pull constant all-nighters because she kept sleeping through them whether it was five or twenty.

She was too comfortable in her new room to activate the part of her brain that was made for missions. Still, she was plagued with nightmares each and every night. She used to take pills for them, but she stopped seeing her psychologist after begging to stop seeing them after years, effectively losing access to the prescriptions.

Therapy would have been good for her if she wasn't... well, her.

"I'll let you off this time," said Mme. Bustier. "I'm not mad. Just disappointed. I know you're a good student, Marinette. Just, try not to do it again."

"Thanks, I'll try," she muttered despite having said it more than a dozen times.

Alya chuckled as she waved her over to their seat. "Again?" She whispered.

"Hey, not by that much..."

The bespectacled girl leveled a look.

She yawned. "Fine, yeah."

As Marinette sat down, she thought of how before she never would have allowed herself to ever be late. No would have allowed her to be. She would have groveled at the feet of whatever authority was tasked with supervising her and prayed to whatever god that she would not suffer so much for it.

Damian would not have been late.

Tardiness could jeopardize a mission, so she was trained to be on time, every time, anywhere she needed to be.

The urge to be as on time as possible inspired much anxiety when she could barely wake up in the mornings. She cursed.

Why do so many things have to happen so early in the day?

"I've finished grading your papers from our pop quiz last week," Mme. Bustier said as she handed each of the students their respective papers. "Most of you did very well, some of you did very poorly."

"Give a round of applause to our class president, who may have been late today but as we all know is usually very responsible," She said as she handed Marinette her paper, "for getting a perfect score."

Tests were jovial in the face of the larger picture but it gave her satisfaction to have them be perfect. It was one of the few things she could control.

She already knew most of the things they taught in collège, she was rushed through numerous curriculums during the time before. Not that anyone was supposed to know.

"Hey, girl," Alya said as they made their way to the cafeteria. "You look a little worse for wear. You good?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," She waved off. "You know me. I swear, I didn't mean to stay up so late. I just wanted to finish some stitching, and the next thing I knew it was 1am!" She threw a hand up in exasperation. It was true enough. She really did stay up to finish some stitches. But she was done by half past ten.

It was always the nightmares.

"Oh, did you hear? I heard there was a new girl in school."

"No," Marinette said. "I don't think I've heard."

"Yeah, I heard-"

Suddenly Chloe passed by which she could tell just by the tell-tale click of the girl's heels. "Whatever you heard is irrelevant! The bitch is blind, did you hear? Probably not. She's even more pathetic than you, Marinette! That's all you need to know."

Marinette blinked rapidly as she watched Chloe cackle away, puzzled. "We should warn the girl about Chloe later."

"Definitely. Poor girl."

She sighed as the blonde strutted away, Sabrina trailing behind her. Chloe, a less than savory person in school. She would have done something about her already if it wasn't for the fact that her 'daddy' was mayor.

At the very least, the target was usually always on her. A rich middle schooler with a power complex wasn't the worst thing.

"Anyways, are you doing anything after school?" Marinette asked. "I was thinking we could study at my place for finals. Maman promised to bake us cookies after school."

"Hey!"

The two girls turned to the voice in tandem as Nino appeared behind them, Adrien in tow. "I heard something about cookies?"

Alya playfully shoved him. "I swear, the only way to get you excited about studying is with food related bribes."

Nino playfully shoved her back. "As if you wouldn't. We all know Mrs. Dupain-Cheng's cookies are fire."

"Hey, Nino. H-hey, Adrien," Marinette politely greeted

"Hey," Adrien parted his lips to reveal a perfect smile.

Adrien, Adrien, Adrien. Adrien... Perfect hair, perfect eyes, perfect teeth. He was the perfect boy, and Marinette couldn't help but feel her heart flutter and her face go red, her hands starting to fidget in the process.

"We're invited too, right, Dudette?"

"Yeah, yeah. Totally," Marinette answered not at all listening.

Alya and Nino exchanged a knowing look. Alya gave her a stupid smile before bursting into snorting laughter.

She turned to pout, but ended up bursting into a fit of giggles with Nino following. Adrien obviously didn't get what was funny but laughed nervously as well.

Alya chose to pipe up as they found a table. "Oh! Marinette, isn't today the day you met your parents?" Alya asked.

Adrien gasped. "It's Marinette's birthday?!"

"Of course not!" Alya dismissed.

"Wait, Marinette is adopted?" Adrien asked in surprise.

"No way! I swear, Dudette looks just like her mom," Nino said incredulously.

"Yeah. I'm adopted," Marinette revealed.

Internally, she winced. She wasn't necessarily hiding the fact but she didn't make it a habit to tell people.

Some days, she loved the fact that she met her Maman and her Papa. She never would have been able to have this life, or go to school, or focus on things other than survival.

Some days, she hated it. She hated the fact that this was never her life to begin with, that she was born a monster and not a baker's daughter. That her hands were still covered in blood, and whatever she does now or in the future will never remove that stain.

"We've never mentioned it before?" The bespectacled girl asked, surprised.

"Never," Adrien looked thoughtful. Nino nodded in agreement.

"Well, this calls for a celebration!" Alya declared. Nino whooped. Adrien politely clapped.

Marinette shook her head, "No, no. It's nearly finals. Maman's already baking us cookies, and we need to study."

"You basically have a perfect grade," Alya gestured. "You can relax every once in a while. I know you already know the material front to back."

Marinette flushed in embarrassment.

"We can study." Alya pouted, "but I'm bringing ice cream.."

Marinette rolled her eyes.

"Well, I'm inviting myself and Adrien to this ice cream-cookie-study-Marinette met her parents-party," Nino declared with his chest puffed out.

"Sorry, I can't," Adrien apologized, rubbing the back of his neck. "I have a photoshoot scheduled after school and Gorilla is picking me up."

As much as she was ashamed to say this, Marinette was fully aware. She couldn't help it, she just needed to have the knowledge—she hoped nobody ever found her full Adrien schedule. It was obsessive, to say the least.

She knew, alright? It was a guilty pleasure. It was stalkerish, she knew. She didn't know how to stop. But he was so perfect. Surely, he would forgive her if he ever found out.

It scared her, how similar it sometimes felt to gathering intel on a hit. Which she wasn't supposed to know.

"Don't worry, dude. It's okay. Well, then, I'm inviting myself to this ice cream-cookie-study-party and nobody can stop me!"

Alya rolled her eyes. "Fine. Right Marinette?"

"Yeah, it's fine." Marinette giggled.

As she looked over her friends, she couldn't help but actually cherish the moment. It was supposed to be like this, smiling, laughing with people, cracking jokes. She even had a boy she liked. It was all so normal.

Sometimes, life really did seem perfect.

Suddenly, screams echoed through the cafeteria as students started running in from the north hallway.

"Akuma!" Somebody yelled as Marinette swiftly made her way over to the bathroom, not even bothering to excuse herself from the group. Just quietly slipping away.

Okay, so her life wasn't perfect, not with an Akuma showing up to destroy the city nearly every other day of the week. But it was a work in progress. She could be a perfect superheroine—the best she could be.

"Tikki, Spots On!" She yelled as she let the magic cover her body.