"The biggest downfall to love is loss. When you love someone, you risk the pain and agony of one day having to say goodbye."

— Forbidden Love

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

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Marinette hesitantly stood outside of Chat Noir's hut, her hand hovering delicately over the wooden doorknob. She could hear several soft voices from the other side of the wooden mass, murmuring too low for her to make out anything they were saying, but she could, however, distinctly make out Chat Noir's aggressive retorts—loud and abrupt shouts which clearly proved that he was not liking, nor appreciating, what was being said. She was almost convinced that now was not an appropriate time to interrupt, especially when she heard Chat Noir yell even louder than before, resulting in a female voice scolding him of his behavior.

With shaking hands, she opened the door slowly.

Once she was inside, Marinette was first met with the sight of four older woman from his tribe, all facing their backs to her as they tried to assist their prince in something. But Chat Noir did not want to seem to cooperate and was slashing his head whenever they tried to dampen him with cloths.

"Sire, please," One of the women pleaded, "This is for your own good..."

"My good? My good?!" Chat Noir growled, slashing his head to the side again when another woman tried to reach out for him. He may have been paralyzed from his shoulders down and unable to escape his maids' hands, but Chat Noir could avoid the crown trying to be placed on his head for the ceremony—a weeded crown threaded with white daisy flowers, which would condemn him to the ritual once it was placed on his head. He pulled his head away again when they attempted to place the crown on him, and he had absolutely no idea that Marinette merely watched from the doorframe, concern written across her features. "Only I know what is good for me. Fuck this ceremony! I would rather die than let my father perform the ritual!"

Marinette stared wide eyed as she watched Chat Noir struggle. She felt herself drawn to help him, but she feared intervening would only make matters worse. Attempting to leave quietly to avoid further complications, Marinette took a hesitant step backwards.

Unfortunately, one of the women turned just in time to catch her under the doorframe.

She smiled almost sadly towards the young girl, and then she was turning to the other women, catching their attention with a tap to their shoulders. "The prince seems to have some company."

The other maids turned around, eyeing Marinette with curious gazes. Eventually, they began to step away from the prince's side and collect their belongings, quietly passing by the young girl and out of the door. Marinette stood completely shaken as the door softly shut behind her, and her heart began to pound heavily in her chest when she realized she had been left alone with Chat Noir.

"Marinette..." Chat Noir's whimpered voice brought her back to her senses, and she looked up to catch his uneasy gaze watching her closely. "You came..."

She nodded, slowly approaching his bedside. "Of course, I did. Your father said that you wanted to speak with me."

Chat Noir's somewhat hopeful expression vanished in an instant and was instead replaced with a look of regret when he heard her words, and he remained silent as he watched her slowly approach and kneel at his bedside, leaning her forearms against the sheets beside his limp arm. Gently she placed her palm against his limb underneath the sheets, and he would've never known she'd touched him, had he not been watching her movements.

"Would you have come back had I not asked?"

Marinette met his eyes again, and she found his pleading look silently begging her to say no. But deeply, Marinette felt torn between her unborn child—who in a way, had become a burden—and the happiness she shared with Chat Noir at her side. She wanted to trust him and live out the rest of her days with him, but she found herself unwillingly pulling back; distancing herself in a way from him because she felt unsure—unsure if he would want to be with her and raise a child that was not his.

Finally, she exhaled slowly. "I would have. I-I just needed to clear my head for a little bit."

He nodded slowly in return and his eyes averted away from hers sadly, but Marinette could tell that the man she had come to love so dearly sensed the doubt laced behind her voice—almost as if he hadn't entirely believed her. He did not have much to hang onto anyway. Chat Noir felt that Marinette would leave him due to her current predicament, and he had no right to ask her to stay.

Sometimes the greatest form of love is letting someone go.

"What is this I hear about you possibly walking once again?" Marinette asked to break the silence, and he couldn't help but look up to meet her eyes again, frowning slightly when he noticed the small smile she offered him—a smile he knew all too well by now to hide her true emotions.

"The Descendent of the Wing, yes." Chat Noir sighed heavily, "It is a healing ritual... when performed with my father's staff, it can heal any sickness or disability."

But the mention of the ritual only saddened him further, and Marinette seemed to notice this. Raising a perplexed brow, she asked, "And would that not be something to rejoice about?"

"Maybe," Chat mumbled, "Except every work of magic comes with a price."

"What sort of price?"

If only he knew... if only he could predict what the staff wished to take in return. His father and his descendants before him may have been blessed with the wield of magic, but possessing such powers were never something to be taken so easily.

"I-I do not know. The staff takes what it wishes."

And it had taken his mother. But Chat Noir never once blamed the golden rod for that. He blamed his father for agreeing to heal a human—one who was not their kind—with his magic, risking the consequences to be one of his own people. Chat Noir blamed the human who dared to trespass into their home, seeking health to only disappear without a thanks the moment he was healed. Whenever those thoughts crossed his mind, Chat would clench his fists in fury.

But he could no longer feel his hands. Therefore, he could no longer clench.

However, he did feel Marinette fingers reach up to brush his long bangs away from his eyes, and he turned his head to look over at her, finding her concerned gaze in return. "Is that how your mother passed?" she asked softly.

"I believe so," he replied, watching her eyes closely as she stroked his scalp with her delicate fingers. "I do not exactly know the whole story... my father has yet to explain it to me."

She hummed in response. "What exactly do you know?"

"That all use of magic comes with consequences.... and my father risked everything to heal a human," he explained, slightly irritated with the thought. "I do not know what the price was for it, but it is highly possible that my mother's life was what the staff demanded once the human was healed..."

He lowered his eyes, guilt heavy in his heart. "...and my father did nothing to prevent her death. From what I remember as a child, he sort of let it happen... watching from a distance as his wife slowly perished. Had I been older then, I would have done more to keep her alive. But I was simply a boy back then, who knew nothing of magic, spells or why our worlds were so diverse. Now that I am aware of these things, I cannot allow history to repeat itself."

"But you must at least try," Marinette tried to plead with him, and he could see it in her eyes as he turned to look over at her once again that she was genuine. "What if the price is merely something of little importance?"

"And what if the price means everything to me?" He retorted almost instantly. "What if the staff demands for something I cannot bare to lose... like you for example..." He reasoned, and while he paused, he watched her eyes blow wide at his confession, and he was quick to continue on before she could insist that his recovery was more important than a risk on her life. He entirely begged to differ. "...it is possible that the staff may want to take your life Marinette, and the life of your unborn child. I could not possibly go through with the ritual knowing that your life is at risk. And that is just final."

"But that is just absurd—" she immediately tried to reason with him, and when she noticed the pointed look he gave in return, she silenced herself. Chat Noir simply watched her with a look that begged for her understanding; a look that she seemed to recognize all too well. But she wanted to believe otherwise. Marinette wanted to believe that happiness for him, and for herself, could be possible without either of them getting hurt.

"Marinette please," he practically begged her, "Do not try and persuade me to do this. If I were to lose you, then there would be no reason for me to live any longer. Please, you must understand this."

But she didn't. She could hardly understand his reasoning. Because she could not bear to live in happiness knowing that he would spend the rest of his life like this.

"I cannot," she replied truthfully, and she watched as his eyebrows knitted together in slight irritation. "As much as you want me to, Chat, I cannot. I cannot simply live out the rest of my life knowing that you will forever remain here... like this..." she gestured to his current predicament, and his eyes sadly followed her hand gestures. "...what kind of a woman would I be if I denied the possibility of your recovery? Forget what could happen if you do this, and simply do it! Take the risk, Chat Noir, please!"

But his silence was not reassuring, and therefore, Marinette continued on. "For as long as we have known each other, we have done nothing but take risks, and some of those risks had once been life threatening until now. You yourself took the biggest risk of all when you crossed over into my side of the world to prevent my wedding. So, what will become of us if we do not take one more risk?"

And as he listened to her words, Chat Noir found it almost impossible to deny the truth behind them. Since the beginning—when she had first crossed into his world, curious, determined and filled with questions—there had always been a risk.

She risked getting caught by both his kind and her kind.

He risked allowing her to join him on his adventures in his world.

She risked her identity being revealed when she accompanied him at a dinner his father had arranged.

He risked the crown by keeping her a secret.

She risked losing her independence.

He risked allowing his heart to fall in love with a human.

She risked her pride to be able to trust him.

He risked his vanity in order to trust her.

She risked her life to discover freedom.

He risked his life when he ventured onto her side of the world.

And now he was here—in a dead end, one might define—with only two options. His first would be to accept his new reality and remain paralyzed and unable to care for himself for the rest of his days, or he could accept his father's proposal of the ritual and pray the staff took something away that mattered least to him.

It was another risk, a huge risk—something that should have deterred him—and yet... he found himself suddenly considering the option despite his great hesitation. He wanted nothing more than to be healed and live the rest of his days with Marinette at his side, but what if the cost for his complete health was her life? If she was to die in order for him to freely live, then he would no longer have any more reason to live.

For the only reason he wanted to still live on this earth was because of her.

Chat Noir looked up again to meet her eyes, finding her already concerned gaze focused on him. There was a clear desperation behind her irises, silently pleading for him to simply take the risk and go through with the healing ritual. He then closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, knowing the decision he was about to make was incredibly selfish.

"Okay," he said hesitantly, meeting her gaze once again with a worried expression. His eyes only drifted slightly to find the weeded crown at his bedside—left there by his persistent maids. "I shall go through with the ritual."

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