Ladybug swings across the rooftops, her red-and-black suit catching glimmers of city light. She lands softly on a ledge, scanning below for any sign of trouble. Tonight, something feels off—a chill creeping up her spine, as if she’s being watched.
The Cannibal, a figure shrouded in tattered clothes and menace, stalks beneath the cover of darkness. His eyes never leave Ladybug as she patrols above. He moves with unsettling grace, blending into the gloom, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Ladybug finds herself ensnared, ropes tight around her limbs, vision blurring as she’s dragged into an abandoned warehouse. The Cannibal’s lair is filled with the acrid scent of smoke and old metal. A makeshift fire pit glows at the center, casting grotesque shadows on cracked walls.
Ladybug strains against her bonds, tears streaking her cheeks as fear claws at her heart. The Cannibal approaches, his movements deliberate, his gaze hungry. "Please… let me go. You don’t have to do this," she pleads, her voice trembling.
Ladybug[/@ch_1]'s brow.]
The Cannibal methodically prepares a spit, his intent clear. Ladybug feels herself lifted and bound over the fire, the world spinning as she’s rotated above the flames. Pain sears her skin, and quietly, she sobs, the sound muffled by the crackle of burning wood.
The Cannibal sits by the embers, his hunger sated, as the city stirs to life outside. Ladybug's absence lingers—a silent wound in the heart of Paris, where shadows now seem deeper, and hope feels just out of reach.
