Chapter Text
Frustratingly, I didn’t even remember being someone. Someone that was not this ‘Zoé’ everyone kept calling me. I had no memories of any me before this one. Still, I had knowledge of hundreds of books, games and stories of all kinds. From that knowledge I could guess at my own situation.
Reïncarnation.
On my third birthday, I suddenly woke up with fragments of knowledge I should never have had. A small blessing was that this body could not yet concentrate on one emotion for too long. This kept me from panicking, but it also kept me listless. What in the world could I do with this knowledge? Annoy my already irritable mother?
I assumed she was my mother. We didn’t interact much, but she shared my blonde hair and was the only other person that wasn’t a servant. She was always busy, always ordering others around. The person on the phone, my nannies, the housekeepers, me, all in the same breath. It was impressive in a way.
Nothing was ever good enough. But her opinion might as well have been royal decree because the hour she demanded it a handful of assistants arrived. Each outfitted with clipboards and ideas on fashion.
One by one they attempted to impress her. She remained unimpressed. One young man with an ascot went for a lasting impression by suggesting yellow was last season.
This had been the wrong thing to tell my mother. She looked like he had just tried to guess her age at twice the actual number. “Last season?!” She shrieked: “Who do you think you are?! You incompetent mistake! You’re fired! Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.”
I recognised that catch-phrase! That was Chloé Bourgeois’ catchphrase from Miraculous Ladybug. The one that she copied from her mother. Her mother who had a bad habit of firing people over nothing. Suddenly everything clicked and I recognised Audrey Bourgeois.
“Out! All of you!” Audrey’s voice pulled me back in, stalking off and fuming to herself. Sheepishly the assistants made for the door. This left me with my nanny, who knelt down beside me and, with a gentle smile, asked: “Is everything alright, Zoé?”
Zoé.
I was Zoé. Audrey’s daughter Zoé. Chloe’s half-sister Zoé. I was a character in the show. Not only did I have knowledge I couldn’t have, I had knowledge about this world as a cartoon. But the Zoé in the cartoon wasn’t a toddler. She was a teenager. Did this mean the events I knew were going to happen when Zoé, when I, was older? Years in the future? My mind was reeling, but my nanny was waiting for an answer.
“Yes,” I said in a small voice.
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Marinette and Adrien got superpowers from magical jewellery. They would fight Hawkmoth, secretly Adrien’s father, who used his own magical jewellery to cause chaos in Paris. The main issue facing the heroes was that they didn’t know who the villain was. But I did know. I could tell them. Even if all I did was tell Marinette that Gabriel Agreste was Hawkmoth, that would help all of Paris, wouldn’t it? I could meet Ladybug. I could help Ladybug.
It would be a goal to work toward. A far-off goal I had no idea how to reach but a goal. I wasn’t just lost anymore, reborn who knows where. I still didn’t know anything about me, but I had a reason to do more than just be.
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I simply could not connect to Audrey. I like to think I tried. She sure hadn’t. If she came home before my bedtime her eyes would linger on me, as if she’d forgotten I even existed. Only when I complimented her fashion choices I wasn’t immediately redirected to a servant. Instead, she would mention the material, designer or correct me on the proper name of the article of clothing. Maybe I should have expected no differently. Chloé never managed to make a connection after all, and she had been trying for more than a decade by the start of the show.
Chloé.
Audrey might have been a dead end, but Chloé wouldn’t be. Even in the show she teetered on the path of acceptable behaviour. I wasn’t sure how old she would be now but judging by myself she would still have to have been a child. I had no way of reaching her, but Audrey must have a way of reaching Chloé’s father. If I could get to Chloé before Audrey ruined her, she could still become a decent person. That was going to be my step one.
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One morning, nanny in tow, I managed to find my way to Audrey. She was doing her make-up while wearing an earpiece connected to a cell phone. That meant she wouldn’t leave for a while yet. I really hated waiting. It may have been because in my 3 spoiled years of existence I had never needed to wait for the entirety of a short phone call. But hard as it was to get a word in normally, it would be impossible when she was ranting.
“Chloé.” I tried after she had finally hung up.
“What?” She was surprised I was even here. Then she looked at my nanny: “Get her what she needs.” And just like that, the conversation was over. This was bad.
“Is Chloé in Paris?” I tried again before I was led away.
“I think she is asking after your other daughter, ma’am.” My nanny helpfully replied. “Are you?” she asked, turning to me with a smile. I didn’t even know her name. I couldn’t keep track when Audrey kept firing them.
“Yes!” I nodded happily: “Sister Chloé.”
“Why do you even care? You’ve never met her.” Audrey unbottled her mascara.
“I want to talk to Chloé.” I insisted. Being limited to a toddler’s vocabulary didn’t do me any favours.
“Chloe speaks French.” She was clearly running out of patience: “Do you speak French?”
She got me there, but I couldn’t just admit defeat: “I want to speak French.” I barely managed.
“Fine, get her French lessons.” She fiddled with the earpiece hooked into her phone.
“Are you sure ma’am? Zoé is only three years old.” The nanny countered.
No! If she talked Audrey out of it, she would push back any semblance of a plan I had. Luckily, Audrey had already lost all interest in me and was arguing into the phone again.
This was a big victory, getting anything at all, even if it may not have seemed as much. I had fumbled, asking to meet Chloé before I spoke French. Yet, her not knowing how to treat children worked in my favour. I got French lessons.
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French was hard.
I would hate to have to learn a second language with the understanding of an actual toddler. Including French I had quite a few lessons, but I didn’t mind. Lessons were more interesting than ‘age-appropriate’ toys. I was even getting better at writing, just working a pen wasn’t an ordeal anymore.
It would take a while, but I could do this.