Master Fu stood somber above the open Miraculous Chest, his hand and mind wavering. Just last week, Ladybug had delivered to him an ancient tome filled with the secrets of the Miraculous, lost since the time of the Spanish Inquisition. Its emergence both delighted and troubled him. With it, he could guide Ladybug and Chat Noir on their journey to become heroes and put an end to Hawkmoth's selfish pursuits. However, the girl who had the book before her, the Akuma Ladybug had described...Volpina. Fu's fingers brushed against the fox tail pendant. How did Hawkmoth know there was a fox hero? How did he know what the Fox Miraculous would look like in its active state? Granted, Nooroo could have told him, but he only ever expressed interest in the the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous. Why would he ask about the others?

Too many questions, though they all had the same answer: the Miraculous book had been in Hawkmoth's possession. Where did he get the book? Had he managed to translate its pages? What had he learned of his enemies? What had he learned of himself? Master Fu could not wait for Hawkmoth to make the first move. After taking the last week to meditate on his options, he decided he must prepare. Paris needed a new hero.

"Who will you send, Master?" Wayzz asked from his perch on the old Guardian's shoulder.

"I cannot send Keela," Fu sighed. His hand left the fox pendant. "The wounds Volpina inflicted are far too fresh. I would send you, but I need time to choose a worthy successor. That leaves..."

"Vii," Wayzz hummed.

Fu nodded. "Bees are powerful and loyal allies, but they take time to develop into such. Vii's chosen will be vain, selfish, arrogant at first. But they will prove a great hero once they come into their own."

"Do you have someone in mind, Master?"

Fu nodded again. "I do. Now, Wayzz, I know you are one to question my decisions, and I thank you for that." Fu shot the kwami a smile. "Keeps me on my toes, gives me perspective." The smile faded and his hand landed on the golden comb. "However, this may be the one time you outright disagree with me."

"Whoever you choose, Master, I'm sure they will become a magnificent bee."

(#)

Master Fu stood in the shadows of a building just outside Le Grand Paris, surveying the scene before him. The orange glow of the Paris night filled the streets and contrasted with the silvery gown of the woman floating just above them. Her blue hair sat in a jumbled nest atop her head, her blue mask speckled with silver glitter. She was barefoot and in her hands she clutched a navy blue pillow. Several Parisians lay on the sidewalks or sat in their cars, dozing, snoozing, and snoring. Chat Noir stood guard in front of the hotel, his eyes drooping and unfocused. His jaw tightened against a yawn, and he glanced back over his shoulder. Ladybug lay on the ground just outside the hotel, sound asleep, Chloé Bourgeois on her knees above her, shaking her and yelling in her face.

"Wake up, Ladybug! Wake up!"

"Tell that annoying brat to shut her yap!" the Akuma shouted to Chat Noir. "I need my beauty rest!"

"If yooaaaaaaaaaaawwwww..." Chat yawned, then slapped himself and blinked the sleep from his eyes. "If you think I'm letting you get past me, then you're dreaming, Slumber!"

Slumber pulled back her pillow and swung it at the cat, a cloud of silver dust flying from it. Chat rolled to the side and jumped with his staff held high. Slumber blocked with her pillow, folded it around the staff, and yanked it from his hands. In Chat's fatigued state, he couldn't react before the back of her hand sent him flying into a car. Another swing of the pillow and he caught a cloud of dust to the face. He blinked, his eyes bleary, then stretched, curled into a ball, and began to purr.

"Should we not intervene, Master?" Wayzz asked from his master's shoulder.

"Do not pick the fruit before it has ripened, Wayzz." His way of saying 'Be patient.'

Slumber advanced on the hotel. Chloé turned her terrified eyes to to the Akuma, then back down to her hero. Frantic, she reached into her purse and produced a bottle of water which she shook at the Akuma, yelling, "I hope you're happy! This is nine euros a bottle!" She unscrewed the cap, turned it over, and dumped the contents all over Ladybug's face.

The spotted heroine coughed and sputtered. She swatted at Chloé, sat up, and drew a hand across her face. "Wha-what happened?"

"You were asleep! I totally helped!" Chloé beamed.

"Why am I wet?"

"You insufferable..." Slumber ground her teeth together. "Time for you to hibernate again, little bug!" She pulled back her pillow once more.

Ladybug shoved Chloé through the hotel doors and threw her yoyo skyward. "Lucky Charm!" From the cloud of red lights fell an aluminum can. Ladybug caught it and remarked, "Soda? But I'm not even thirsty." She turned it over and read the label. Miracle Worker™ Energy Drink. Ladybug smirked, popped the tab, and guzzled the cans contents. "Mmm. Strawberry!" She tossed the can into a garbage can and turned back to face Slumber. The Akuma cast another cloud of dust at Ladybug, who didn't even dodge. She weathered the assault and still stood, as awake and alert as ever.

"What?" Slumber cried. She swung again and again, each cloud of dust breaking across Ladybug's form and leaving no discernible effects. The heroine strode forward, Slumber's only method of attack neutralized. The Akuma lowered to the ground, conceding defeat. Ladybug plucked the purple sleep mask from her forehead, tore it in half, and purified the butterfly that fluttered out.

"I still don't see anyone here who would be a suitable candidate for the Bee Miraculous," Wayzz whispered. Master Fu only smiled.

Ladybug's magic flooded the city, waking Slumber's victims, save for the girl who had become Slumber, who dozed in the streets. Ladybug asked Chat Noir to take her home and make sure she got some well-deserved sleep. Then, the heroine turned her attention to the girl poking her head out of the hotel doors.

"Chloé," Ladybug sighed as she strode towards the hotel. "I don't think eleven o'clock on a school night is the best time to blast the new Jagged Stone album out of your room."

"But, but," Chloé stammered. "I knew it was your patrol night, and I wanted you to hear it, so..."

Ladybug gave a fake smile, but still spoke through gritted teeth. "And while I appreciate it, you need to consider everyone else in the city trying to sleep." She pulled her yoyo from her hip and prepared to throw it into the rooftops.

Chloé crossed her arms and pouted. "Then, couldn't we at least hang out sometime and listen to it together?"

She didn't notice Ladybug's look of disgust, though Master Fu did. "I have a responsibility to this city, Chloé," she grunted, just barely concealing her displeasure. "I can't take time to just 'hang out' with people." Before Chloé could get another word in, Ladybug disappeared into the night.

"I don't understand, Master. Who?"

"Staying by her hero's side even with an Akuma targeting her, making a sacrifice to help, wanting something as simple as to be friends with Ladybug."

Wayzz's eyes narrowed. "I'd hardly call a bottle of water a 'sacrifice'."

"To someone like her, wasting overpriced spring water is a great sacrifice."

"I know what I said earlier, Master, but I must say that I do disagree with you. She makes people vulnerable to Hawkmoth's influence almost daily."

"And when she realizes just how much work she's making for herself, she'll put a stop to it." Master Fu fiddled with the black box in his pocket and watched the heiress wander back into the hotel.

"Chloé Bourgeois is our bee."

(#)

Chloé tapped her foot against the cafe's tile floor and glared daggers at the man ahead of her in line. After the night she had, she needed her half-caf nonfat latte (no whip, half shot of hazelnut) to get her day started, and this geriatric nuisance in a gaudy, red Hawaiian shirt almost as wrinkly as he was had dared to pay for his coffee in pocket change. Chloé shot a quick glance to her phone. 7:50. It was a good thing this cafe knew her order and already had it waiting, because even if her driver decided to take a few risks on the road the only way she would make it to school on time would be if she ran into class. But no. Chloé Bourgeois does not run.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," the man said. "It seems I'm a little short."

The heiress rolled her eyes, shoved the man aside and slapped several euros on the counter. "Here, is this enough to get his coffee and mine?" she spat. The shocked barista, a girl with blonde-in-a-bottle hair and a nasal piercing, looked from the euros, to the frustrated girl, to the man in the Hawaiian shirt.

A smile blossomed across the man's face. "Thank you, young lady. Such a kind act will not go unrewarded."

The frustration faded from Chloé's eyes when she turned to look at the man, to be replaced with...what? Shock, perhaps? She wasn't a kind person. She had a reputation as the hard-as-nails daughter of the mayor to uphold and couldn't let anyone think she was a pushover. So, why did she pay for his coffee? Her eyes cut back to her phone and the anger returned. Oh, that's why. "Th-this isn't charity, Grandpa!" Chloé stammered as she swiped the small pile of change into her open purse. "I just want you out of the way faster because some people in line have places to be!" She whipped her head to the barista, snatched her coffee from the girl's hand, and snapped her purse closed on the way to the door, oblivious to the hexagonal black box now nestled in among the lipstick and mascara tubes.

Master Fu apologized to the barista after accepting his own coffee, black, and walked out into the morning air. He watched a heated exchange between the Bourgeois girl and her driver, something about 'ignoring traffic lights', and the girl sped away to school. Fu sipped at his coffee and whispered to the kwami just under his collar.

"You see, Wayzz? Beneath that pride and stubbornness lies a good heart, and I think she can sense it. Something in her prevents her from acknowledging it, but when she overcomes it, she will become a great hero."

(#)

Chloé strode into class with seconds to spare, sad that her Adrikins was attending another photoshoot and wouldn't be joining them until just before lunch. The last of her coffee had just disappeared down her throat as she approached her desk when she saw a golden opportunity before her, or rather behind her. She smirked and tossed the empty foam cup over her shoulder, right into Marinette's head. The cup bounced off of the girl's hair and landed top down on the designer's open sketch book, a small dribble of brown liquid spreading across the page.

"W-what the..." Marinette stuttered. She whipped her tired eyes about in search of the perpetrator, and when she spotted the smirking bully, she angled her eyebrows in rage. "Chloé!"

"Oh, I am soo sorry, Marinette." Chloé voice dripped with sass and sarcasm. "I thought I was throwing that towards the trash can. I'm sure you can understand the confusion."

Marinette grasped the cup, the sides buckling beneath her grip. "I'll throw you towards the trash can!" She jumped from her seat, hands outstretched, but Marinette's copper haired companion, Alya, grabbed the girl about the waist and pulled back.

"Not worth it, girl! Totally not worth it!"

Chloé snickered. "Though with all the growling and snarling, I suppose you're more of a garbage disposal." Alya's grip started to fail after that remark.

"Chloé, Marinette. Please take your seats," Ms. Bustier called out to the pair.

Marinette stopped struggling against Alya and shot her eyes from Chloé to their teacher and back. She growled and dropped back into her seat before taking a handkerchief from her purse and blotting the stained paper. Chloé took her own seat, not too worried that the teacher had scolded her. She took pride in knocking the baker's daughter down a peg. Class began, but the young heiress tuned out Ms. Bustier to focus on the whispered conversation to her left.

"I swear, is she trying to get you akumatized?" Alya sighed.

"I know I shouldn't get so upset, Alya," Marinette hissed, "but I didn't get any sleep last night and I don't have the energy to deal with her."

"Why couldn't you sleep?"

"I was, uh, really inspired to work on this design, so I decided to have an energy drink. I guess I can't handle caffeine too well, because I stayed up all night working on this and now, thanks to Chloé, it's ruuu..." Chloé tilted her head to hear just how ruined it was. "Actually, this shade of brown works really well for this coat."

Chloé straightened in her seat. "So, she accidentally helped you?" Alya chuckled.

"In a weird way, yeah. I mean the next couple of pages are too stained to use, but they were blank anyways, so..."

Chloé ground her teeth together and hunched in her seat. Why? Why couldn't she ever get a leg up on that insufferable goody-two-shoes? Chloé went out of her way to make the girl's life miserable daily, and yet she always came out on top. Why is she always so lucky? How is she always so lucky? Why does she have everything without even trying? Why...

"Chloé?" She perked up at her name. Ms. Bustier gave her a knowing glance and asked, "Would you care to tell us what event Tchaikovsky wrote the 1812 Overture to commemorate?"

"Uh..." She glanced sideways to Sabrina.

"Eyes up here, Miss Bourgeois."

Chloé's eyes returned to the teacher. "Um, the War of...1812?"

Ms. Bustier shrugged, sighed, and turned her attention to the rest of the class. "Would someone who was actually paying attention like to tell us?"

Chloé rolled her eyes and turned her attention down to her phone to browse through recent Ladyblog posts, her issues with Marinette all but forgotten. She would never say it out loud, be she actually loved the digital shrine Alya had erected to Paris' heroes. These very pictures were used as references for Chloé's custom Ladybug suit. In the middle of another interview article, Chloé found her phone plucked from her grasp. She looked up into Ms. Bustier's perturbed expression and her own face shifted from apathy to anger.

"First, not paying attention, and now playing around on your phone?" the teacher huffed. "Since you insist on wasting my time, I have no choice but to waste yours. I want a two thousand word essay on The French Invasion of Russia on my desk Friday morning."

Chloé slammed her fists on the desk. "That is so not fair! I don't have time for any stupid essay! When Daddy hears about this..."

"Oh, he already has, Chloé, and he agrees that you need to be more serious about your studies." She walked over to her desk and deposited Chloé's phone in one of the drawers. "You can call him and tell him all about this once I've returned your phone after class. So, twenty-five hundred words, Invasion of Russia, Friday. And I will be checking for Sabrina's handwriting."

"But you said two thousand!"

"And then you talked back to me." Chloé opened her mouth again. "Would you like to make it three thousand?"

Chloé clammed up after that and Ms. Bustier finally got back to teaching. She flipped open her history book to make it at least appear as though she were studying. Eventually, once the class settled into a comfortable rhythm, Sabrina slid a folded piece of paper across the desk. Chloé barely spared it a glance. She felt the ginger nudge her with her foot under the desk and finally flipped open the note.

I'll still help.

Chloé rolled her eyes and scribbled out her response. You better help me. And stop kicking me. These pants cost more than your dad makes in a month.

Sabrina read the note and nodded. The smirk returned to Chloé's face. Sabrina knew her place, she wouldn't be alone working on this stupid essay, and soon, she would have lunch with her precious Adrikins. All was right with the world.

(#)

All was wrong with the world. Chloé jabbed the top floor button on the elevator hard enough to almost break a nail, but even that would have paled in comparison to the stream of injustices she had suffered today. Adrien hadn't returned to class until well after lunch; the Agreste label was working on a collaboration with some Italian designer Chloé had never heard of, and the extended shoot schedule left Chloé without a lunch partner. Then, when finally Adrien came into class, clumsy Marinette tripped and practically threw her sketchbook at his head. It popped open to what Chloé assumed was the coat design she had 'helped' with, and Adrien had complimented it! Though he was an Agreste, he simply didn't understand good design if he was praising coffee stains. After school, a quick call to her father confirmed his conversation with Ms. Bustier: Chloé's neglect of her schoolwork was no longer acceptable. If she aspired to become mayor of Paris herself someday, poor grades would not reflect well with the constituency. Blah blah blah. But it wasn't until Chloé stepped into the hotel elevator that she got the biggest disappointment of her day in the form of a text from Sabrina.

Sorry can't come over to help w/essay. Grandparents visiting this week. Will email you references and articles later. Love, Sabrina.

When the elevator reached the top floor, she strode down the hallway to her room, fist clenched around her phone. "First that old man, then Sabrina's grandparents?" she growled. "What is it with old people ruining my day today?" When she entered her bedroom, she threw her purse and books onto her bed and flopped face-first into the down comforter. She released a groan into the bed and turned over onto her back. She would have lain there all afternoon if two thoughts hadn't forced her to move. One: That ridiculous essay wouldn't do itself...unless Chloé could convince her bestie, Ladybug, to help her. According to the Ladyblog, there was a Ladybug in Ancient Egypt, so the superheroine must have been alive in 1812. And two: lying in this position was going to ruin her hair.

Chloé started to kick off her shoes when she noticed her purse had popped open and there were stray coins all over her bed. A frustrated groan crawled up her throat and she dumped the entire contents across her bed, intent on cleaning out the change. She paused when she spotted a hexagonal black box mixed in with her various make-up supplies. The contents of her purse were sacred and only the finest designer cosmetics were allowed to grace the ermine interior; she had a categorized list of the various labels burned into her memory. 'If only you could do that with 19th century history' part of her mind mewled.

She shook her head and wrapped her fingers gingerly around the box. It was made of rough wood, painted black and embossed with intricate red designs, definitely Asian in origin. Asian... That guy at the cafe looked Asian...

"Must have been mixed in with that old man's money." She turned the box over in her hands and smiled. "Oh, well. Finders keepers!"

Chloé's fingers found the edge of the lid and threw it back. She caught the faintest glimpse of a hair comb before a ball of yellow light darted out of the box and hovered just over her head. She shielded her eyes with her hand, and when the light faded, she peeked between her fingers and saw a blob of yellow with black stripes.

"Bee!" Chloé screamed and scrambled to get away. She tumbled backwards off of her bed, purse still in her hands, and landed hard on her back. She quickly righted herself and shot a hand into her bag. "Epi, where's my epi?" She groped around for a few seconds, but only found soft fur. She figured it must still be on her bed. She raised her head over the edge of the blankets and caught a better glimpse of the bug floating above her bed.

Now that she got a better look at it, Chloé wasn't sure why she thought it was a bee. It was, indeed, mostly yellow, with black stripes circling its bulbous head, a pair of black antennae, and yellow fur or fuzz around its neck, but the fact that it had a neck at all told her something was off. It was almost humanoid, albeit significantly smaller. It's arms and legs were solid black, it had what resembled a stinger coming from its backside, but the most intriguing attribute of the creature was its eyes: pools of deep sapphire blue. It had no pupils, but Chloé knew the bee thing was looking right at her.

"You are just hilarious, you know that?" it squeaked in a smooth, sweet voice.

"AHHH!" Chloé shrieked. "Talking bee!" She spotted the epinephrine injector on her bed and dove beneath the creature for it, ending up on the other side of the bed. She stood back up, brandishing the injector in both hands like a knife. "Stay back!"

The bee creature whirled around to face the frightened girl and planted its hand (stub?) on its hip. "Honey, what do you expect to do with that?"

Chloé glanced down at the injector, then back to the bee. "I-it's in case you sting me. I'm a-allergic to bee stings."

The floating bug's tiny mouth curled into a wicked grin. It cackled wildly then zoomed to within centimeters of Chloé's face. The heiress cried out again and fell backwards into her bathroom. "Oh, the irony!" It reclined in the air and shut its eyes, still smiling. "You don't need to worry about anything, honey. My words hurt worse than my stinger."

"Wha-what are you?" Chloé squirmed on the tile floor. "Why are you in my room?"

"I'm a kwami, an ancient spirit with command over powerful magic." The creature clasped its hands (paws?) together and its expression became one of yearning. "I'm here because some villain has imprisoned my sweet Nooroo."

"What's a 'Nooroo'?"

The kwami's face flattened and it grumbled. "One: the moth kwami. Two: don't interrupt me." It flew down closer to Chloé's face. "Because my Nooroo needs rescuing...and I guess the bug and cat need help, too...The Guardian has convinced me to once again lend my power to a mortal. You, honey, have been chosen to receive my blessings."

"Power?" Chloé asked shakily. "Chosen?"

The kwami zipped back down to the bed, lifted the comb from its box, then fluttered over and deposited the accessory in Chloé's lap. "This is the Bee Comb. One of the Miraculous."

At the word 'Miraculous', Chloé's attention shifted from anaphylactic shock to the prospect of having powers just like her idol. She dropped the injector, then lifted the comb in both hands. It was a silver hair comb with a round citrine set in the center and a hair clip set just behind the stone, but despite its simple design, Chloé could feel an energy radiating from it. "A Miraculous? Like...what Ladybug and Chat Noir have?"

"Yes, though your powers will be decidedly more interesting than those granted by the mothering killjoy and the shameless cheese muncher."

Chloé paid no attention to who the 'killjoy' or 'cheese muncher' might be. She stood, faced her vanity, and affixed the comb into her ponytail. "It's like this thing was made for me." She flipped a hand beneath her hair and smiled. "Now, tell me how to get my powers."

"Don't boss me around, honey," the kwami intoned indignantly. "You're not getting anything until I explain how it all works."

"Then just give me the abridged version." She continued to turn her head about in the mirror, admiring the comb from every angle.

The spirit glowered in response to the rude comments, then huffed and spoke in a grandiose voice, "In the beginning, there was nothing. Then, the primal forces of the universe began to coalesce..."

"Hey!" Chloé spun on her heels and planted her fists on her hips. "I said 'the abridged version'!"

The angry kwami flew into Chloé's face, eye to eye, its forehead pressed against her own. "And I said you will not boss me around! Without me, you get nothing!" It squinted at her. "I can sense you have a good bit of attitude in you, but I just want you to know, honey: I've existed since the dawn of time. You will never be able to out-sass me."

Chloé withered beneath the ancient spirit's gaze. How could something so small be so intimidating? She pouted, averted her gaze, and crossed her arms before sputtering, "Okay, I'm s-sorry. Just stop it with the 'honey' thing. My name's Chloé."

The bee pulled away and crossed its own tiny arms. "You're 'honey' until I deem you worthy to be part of my hive." It turned its head away. "And you may call me Vii."

Chloé sighed. There really was no other way to do this. Either swallow her pride, or kiss her superpowers goodbye. "Alright, Vii," she grumbled, "what do I need to know about my powers?"

Vii grinned. "That's better. Now, have a seat, honey, and I'll explain."

(#)

A half hour later, Chloé stood before her closet mirror with a wide grin on her face, her skin itching with anticipation. Vii had explained everything as best she could, from her stun rapier to her special Swarm power. However, some things are better experienced than explained, so Vii was allowing Chloé to transform and figure out how to fly.

"Remember," Vii cautioned as she floated about Chloé's head, "flying is about instinct. You have to trust your wings to do what you want. Just know that once you transform, I can't bail you out. You crash and burn, you're on your own."

"Okay, okay!" Chloé hummed. "Just tell me how to transform already!" She flinched when Vii growled, then added, "Please?"

Vii sighed. "I'm probably going to regret this, but just say 'Stripes On' to transform and 'Stripes Off' to change back."

Chloé vibrated with excitement. "Vii, Stripes On!"

The bee kwami became a blur of energy that zipped into the comb. Golden light engulfed Chloé's entire body and she closed her eyes against it. The gentle breath of a breeze whispered in her ears and caressed her skin, warmed it. The loose softness of her normal clothes was rapidly replaced with a comfortable tightness, not restrictive, but similar to a comforting hug. When Chloé felt the wind around her cease, she chanced to open her eyes and gasped at what met her gaze.

She didn't recognize the figure in the mirror as herself. The skintight suit she wore was mostly yellow accented in black, with a honeycomb pattern across the yellow in a light honey color. The high collar was black and three black bands circled her torso: the first and widest around her bust, the second narrower and just below that, and the third at her navel. A black belt hung around her hips and on the right side of the belt sat what looked like the handle and hilt of a rapier. Her arms were coated from the elbow down in black, each finger dipped in yellow. Her legs were likewise clad in black just over her knees with twin bands of black around her upper thighs and modest heels at her feet. The corners of Chloé's mouth tilted up as she took in more and more of her costume, but when she lifted her eyes to her face, her mouth dropped open.

The comb now glittered gold. Five black stripes adorned the citrine and gossamer wings that protruded from the sides of it. A pair of black ribbons that resembled Vii's antennae sprouted from the comb and curled over the top of her head stopping just over her brow. A domino mask rested on her face, mostly black with swathes of yellow under her eyes and a triangle of yellow between them, but it was her eyes, just like Vii's, that drew the bulk of her attention. The azure of Chloé's own eyes flooded her sclera. Her irises were circled with pure white and her pupils were likewise white, leaving an almost otherworldly quality to her gaze.

Chloé stretched a hand out to the mirror, mildly shocked when her reflection copied the action. She giggled and directed her attention to the weapon hanging from her belt. She withdrew the handle and with a flick of her wrist, extended the blade to its full length. The guard looked like a pair of black and gold bee wings folded over one another, and the pommel was set with a citrine same as the comb. The blade wasn't really a blade, but more a thin shaft of polished silver with a blunt tip. Vii did mention how the Miraculous heroes' weapons were always nonlethal, or at the very least not blatantly lethal. She whirled it in the air before striking several poses and twirling around before her reflection. Something about the suit made every action, every motion feel effortless, as though the suit were moving her body for her. It was so different from her Ladybug costume. The red spandex suit still felt like a suit; this felt like an extension of her skin.

She stopped, half-turned to the mirror, and gawked at the translucent insectoid wings folded flush against her upper back. She returned her sword to her belt and flexed the muscles in her shoulders, eliciting a squeak of surprise when the wings popped outwards, granting her slightly less than a two meter wingspan. Just as Vii said, Chloé focused on what she wanted the wings to do, and when they hummed and buzzed to life, she felt her boots lift off of the floor.

Her heart hammered in her ears. She was flying. She was actually flying. She expected to feel the bulk of her weight suspended from her shoulders, but somehow, her body felt lighter, as though the act of flapping rendered her weightless. She let out a giddy giggle and swayed to the side, her concentration broken. She attempted to right herself but overcompensated and slammed into the wall beside her doors, rattling the painting hanging near her. She pushed off and shook her head, but the motion translated into her wings and they jerked her back and forth before pulling her backwards towards her balcony, her heels dragging the floor.

'Stop!' she screamed in her mind. The wings froze and she fell hard on her backside, skidding to a stop. The wings pulled in against her back and she flopped backwards to stare at the ceiling. 'This is harder than I thought.' She closed her eyes and drew a breath in through her nose. She slowly let it slip between her lips, then repeated. In through the nose, out through the mouth. 'I can do this. I. Can. Do. This.'

She stood, spread her wings once more, and willed them to raise her off the floor. This time, instead of focusing on flying itself, she simply chose a destination in her room and trusted her wings to take her there. 'My bed.' Her body turned and she hummed across her room, from the balcony doors to her bed. She picked another point in her room and turned to the massive television at the other side of her corner suite, this time willing a little more speed into her wings. A giddy smile spread across her face. She hovered, flew backwards, and spun about in the air as fast as she could, astonished at the lack of nausea. It all felt so natural, effortless, just the way Chloé liked it.

She landed and cast her eyes to the doors leading her balcony. Did she dare leave? Should she go flying around Paris? She banished the thought from her mind. No, she could wait for the cover of night, then leave to meet Ladybug on her nightly patrol. But she needed to be cautious. She couldn't let anyone see her. Not for fear of being viewed as another Volpina, but because her debut needed to be big. And with a debut she needed a name. Wasp sounded too harsh and inelegant. Yellow Jacket...not too bad, but would be better if she wore an actual jacket. Hornet? No, it just...didn't resonate. Chloé lifted a hand to the comb in her hair. Vii called it the Bee Comb. So...Bumblebee? No, 'bumble' made her sound clumsy. Honey Bee? Sweet and deadly. She liked it, but it still didn't seem to fit her. She was Paris royalty after all...wait. Royalty.

"Queen Bee," she tested. She nodded and smiled. "I am Queen Bee."