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Chapter Text

A gentle, but frosty gale caressed at Fantine’s face as she peeked her head through her window. She stood there in her nightgown, letting her gaze scan the roofs of Montreuil-sur-Mer.

The night was a pretty one. With the moon absent, the endless streak of stars took the sky. Below them, the dark streets lay deathly quiet.

Fantine undid her braid and let her hair blow gently in the wind, while she closed her eyes and imagined how life was going for her Cosette. She was in Paris now, living with a new family called the Jondrettes. She could only imagine how she lived now in that city. Perhaps a grisette, just like her mother was at that age?

“Thirteen years,” Fantine whispered, tasting the bitter words on her lips. She thought of that ever increasing number every day since arriving back in her hometown. She still could hardly believe it was a single moment of luck that saved her early on.

Her mind returned to that shameful moment when she was first called up to see the forewoman, to be told her conduct was unbecoming of a proper worker. Had the Mayor not been there, she would have been cast onto the street, and God knows what would have happened to her then.

But while her job was saved, he could do nothing about the women she worked with. Whispers had already abounded about her letter-writing long before the incident, but they quickly hardened into scorn. Some would steal her finished jewellery pieces, and others would sabotage her work.

Her only defender, Monsieur Madeleine eventually vanished, leaving only scandalized murmurs behind on the lips of the townsfolk. With him gone, she was truly alone. The nights bled into days, and her fingers would be raw not only from her factory work, but also from her second job, sewing shirts for the soldiers stationed in the town.

Everything ate at her: the Thénardiers’ demands, her debts, rent; every centime she earned would vanish before she even got a chance to count it all. Only that shining little angel living deep in her heart kept her alive in those dark nights, when it felt her stomach would eat away at whatever was left of it.

Worst of all, her hands would lag at the factory. Every day, when her eyelids would begin to droop, she turned her gaze over to the old lady that served as forewoman, staring right back. Just as it seemed the forewoman’s glare began to feel like a final warning, the news hit the factory that she would be retiring.

The new forewoman was from England, imported, like in many places across France with new factories but no expertise on how to manage them. Her arrival wasn’t met with much fanfare, and she quickly found herself disliked by the other workers, and derided as ‘the transplant’.

It was a late summer evening, and most of the workers had already left by the time the forewoman spotted Fantine, alone in the corner of the workshop, still working away at her gemstones. Her head would nod and her bloodshot eyes blinked slowly as she worked, but her focus seemed resolute.

“Mademoiselle Fantine?” the forewoman asked.

Fantine’s face froze in alarm, and reached out to clutch at her finished gems, before her mind registered her boss’s voice, “Oh, Miss Fletcher!”

“I’m sorry for frightening you,” Miss Fletcher said, “But what kept you here so late?”

Fantine let her hands go of the gems and folded them on her lap, her gaze lowering, “Some of the others stole my gems, so I’m working to make up for them.”

“Oh, dear,” Miss Fletcher sighed, “Must have been that lovely bunch that can’t stop gossiping during work.”

Fantine’s mind flashed to the band of harpies led by a Madame Nollet who would regularly steal her work, “No one does anything to stop them, so what will I do?”

“Well, for one, tell me!” Miss Fletcher said, “When you run yourself into the dirt, you won't be of any use to me or the factory,” she explained, “I can make sure this all comes out of their pay and not yours, but you need to talk to me first,” she said, before looking away. For a moment, there was a flicker of something other than sternness in her eyes, “Besides, I wouldn’t mind a bit of honest conversation in this place.”

Fantine looked up at her boss with a face that said, ‘Really?’

Miss Fletcher took one of Fantine’s finished gemstones and appraised it in her fingers, “Almost as fine as the real jet back home in England. But you’re missing something.”

Fantine looked on as Miss Fletcher quickly bound a few of the gems together with the small metal clasp links. She exhaled as her boss held up the finished product in far less of the time it took for her to finish, “I’m not quite so good as you are, I was a seamstress in Paris, you see. Jeweling isn’t my craft.”

“I’ll sit and work with you, it just takes some more skill,” Miss Fletcher said, placing the finished product on the table, “But I am curious as to why all the others seem to have it out for you. At least for myself I have an inkling as to why.”

“I have a child,” Fantine admitted, the taste of the words less bitter and shameful now than they were when she was first ratted out, “The whole town knows of her so now, I’m just some harlot to them all. I don’t even go out much since I know that’s what people think.”

Miss Fletcher said nothing so Fantine looked up to see a face stuck in thought.

Fantine flinched as Miss Fletcher took a breath to speak, “I see.” she said in an almost flat voice.

Fantine blinked, waiting for the denunciation to come, but none arrived, “Why not leave for Paris?” her boss asked, “Small towns like this are perfect for gossip.”

“I wish I could,” Fantine said, “But I have debts, and I need money to do anything there. I live hand to mouth as is and most of my money goes to my expenses. I hardly sleep because I sew at night for some extra bit of coin. Oh, but now I’m dozing off during work. What good am I now?”

“Walk with me,” Miss Fletcher said, “I can’t solve your problems, but I can promise to not dock your pay.”

The following day, she sat with Fantine in the corner of the factory and worked alongside the former grisette, coaching her on her assembly of the imitation jet bracelets.

Fantine would sometimes make smalltalk but remained mostly silent as she always was, her mind usually on how Cosette was doing, imagining her face.

“I had a friend that studied in London,” Fantine said one day, “Is it true that a large fair is held when the river freezes over?”

Miss Fletcher laughed, “I’m afraid I’ve never been to London, I’m from farther north, a town called Whitby.”

“You’re like me then, a small town girl,” Fantine said, “I was born here. What do they make in Whitby?”

Miss Fletcher held up one of the bracelets, and her voice softened from homesickness, “These. But we made the real deal, with the real jet. That’s probably why they hired me. My Da’ had his own shop.”

“Was it hard, leaving home?” Fantine asked.

“Oh, no. Not at all,” Miss Fletcher responded, “It was harder when I arrived. Couldn’t have picked a better country to come to as an Englishwoman, aren’t I just the silliest?”

“Sorry for how the others are,” Fantine said, “I know that’s not fun.”

“Bah, it’s no trouble at all, it’s more about putting them all to work properly,” She said, “But it did sting a bit, not having anyone to talk to.”

She looked over at Fantine’s hands at work and stopped her, “No, try doing it like this instead…”

Over the months and years that passed, Fantine’s work improved, and with the forewoman at her side, no one, at least at work bothered her much. At that time, earning money still consumed her life, but now, things were a little easier, and the days began to pass by like a blur.

It was 1826, when Fantine made her final payment to the furniture maker. She remembered that night well. She temporarily put aside her nightly sewing and after a proper meal, lay in her bed and slept her first full night in years as one of the immense burdens that weighed on her was finally lifted. That night, a new strength grew within her, and with it, came the first few francs of a meager savings.

But by the end of the year, Fantine found her world was shattered again, when Miss Fletcher announced she was returning to England. Her homesickness had finally won out over her work. Fantine dreaded their separation, but in their final months together, the forewoman showed Fantine the duties of the job: keeping tallies of finished jewellery, delivering them, appraising the quality of the work, managing the other worker women. Once the time came for her to leave, Miss Fletcher recommended Fantine as her successor.

The pay raise attached to the promotion was finally enough to live off of. But she had to force herself to continue to remain frugal. She may have finally been free of the worst of it, but now she truly understood the value of money, and she would be a true fool to so quickly unlearn such a lesson after so great a toil.

And so, she managed the women’s half of the factory in the years following Miss Fletcher’s departure. Her savings grew, and eventually, the idea sprung into her head that she would some day quit the factory to open her own jewellery store in Paris. And that she would run it with Cosette at her side.

And now, here, years later in 1831, that dream was almost real. Her bedside drawer was heavy with the small fortune she amassed, almost enough to rent a modest little shop in Paris, stock it full of all the things she would need to get it started, and have a bit left over, just in case. She could nearly taste it on the cold spring air that whipped past her prized hair. A smile grew on Fantine’s lips as the thought simmered in her mind.

She closed the shutters, turning back to the warmth of her stove, quietly burning in the corner of her room. Tomorrow, she had work. But soon, she would be done here at last, and would triumphantly return to her city of dreams and make up for the thirteen years apart from Cosette.

Chapter Text

“He’s never going to love you back, ugly,” Cosette spat as she watched her sister, Éponine, indulge her pathetic infatuation with the boy next door by gazing through the crack in the wall.

“Shut up, Lark!” Éponine growled, looking over her shoulder at the ragged girl behind her.

Éponine’s reaction elicited a smirk from Cosette, “Gutter rat.” She responded.

“What did you say?” Éponine stood and stomped over to the wall Cosette was leaning on and yanked at the girl’s frazzled hair, “Say that again!”

“You heard me the first time, witch!” Cosette shrieked, “Get your hands off’a me!”

They pulled at each other's hair and then started trading fists when that went nowhere. In the back, Azelma sat alone in one of the dirty mattresses and watched quietly, “Not again…” she sighed, hugging her knees..

The scuffle ended without a winner once the door swung open, revealing their father, “You three girls! New targets!” He entered, along with Madame Jondrette and flashed a few letters, placing them on the table, “You two!” He pointed to Éponine and Cosette, who now stood side by side, “Go and deliver these, take Azelma with you!”

Éponine scoffed, “So, who's it this time, pa?”

Cosette simply said, “Yes, m’sieur,” and stepped forward to take the letters. Azelma stood to join them.

“Some new money bigwig with a title and everything living in Auteuil, rumor has it he’s obscenely wealthy! The other two are for philanthropists that live around there too, so you three should be busy for the rest of the day.”

Cosette handed Azelma and Éponine their letters, “Auteuil, where's that?”

“It’s beyond the wall, on the other side of the Seine from the Champ de Mars.” Éponine answered, standing near the door.

The three girls ventured out of the old hovel that was Gorbeau and into the dingy underbelly of Paris. An awkward silence loomed over the group as they walked past the dingy streets of the Salpêtrière area. Cosette shot furtive glances at Éponine as she walked, but quickly returned her gaze back at her feet. She was just being a jerk to her, but something about Éponine’s crush supremely pissed her off but she had no clue why.

She glanced at her sister’s face, seeing the same sort of pathetic grimy poverty she would see on herself when she saw her reflection in water, or in a drinking cup. Did Éponine have no self awareness? Girls like them don’t have rich boys looking at them the way they wanted them to.

She sighed. In her defense, Éponine wasn’t like her though. Not always. Unlike her, Éponine actually had memories of better times. Could she blame this girl that used to live like a princess in her own little castle? What does it matter anyway? They were all equals now. She could pour all the vitriol she wanted on Éponine now that they were all just as worthless as she was.

“Hey, ‘Ponine,” Cosette said.

“What?” Éponine responded, side eyeing her.

“Sorry,” Cosette said, “For earlier.”

They kept walking but in that moment Éponine’s lips fell, “Whatever,” she responded.

That was about as good as an ‘apology accepted’ Cosette was going to get.

Éponine walked upright, her face straight ahead. Cosette’s shoulders and back were hunched forward, her head tilted a bit downwards, but still looked up at the world through her unkempt bangs. Azelma closely tailed Éponine as she walked, but the younger girl also had a bit of a hunch as she walked.

“The Champ de Mars is going to be really far,” Azelma said, “Can’t we just take the omnibus?”

“That costs money, Azelma.” Cosette answered.

“Oh,” the younger sibling said, “We’ll be out the whole day then.”

“I have 5 sou,” Éponine said, “We can hurry and get this done. I want to see the place where those rich people go when they want to get away from people like us.”

“It's our first time outside the walls… since… you know,” Azelma said, “I miss the inn.”

“Yeah,” Éponine said, clenching her fists, “I do too.”

Azelma glanced up at Cosette, who remained silent, “Sorry, C'sette.”

“It’s okay, ‘Zelma,” she responded, “You were just a kid.”

“But so were you…” Azelma muttered.

Cosette didn’t respond, her gaze remaining straight ahead.

“Look, Lark, if you want someone to blame, just blame mother,” Éponine butted in, “Both of those two idiots are what landed us here in the first place.”

“You shouldn’t talk about mother and father that way.” Azelma said.

“Shut up, ‘Zelma,” Éponine hissed, “We’ve been reduced to guttersnipes because neither of those cheap greedy bastards knew how to keep an inn.”

Azelma took to Cosette’s side of the street as Éponine responded.

They arrived at the quay along the Seine and waited for the omnibus to arrive. It was a crisp spring morning - still rather cold, but nothing the girls weren’t used to in their patched up and frayed dresses.

Azelma looked to the frozen river and sighed wistfully, “I wish we could skate.”

Éponine smugly brought her hand over her mouth and laughed a haughty laugh, “Perhaps we could use the Lark here as a sleigh and we don’t need to worry about paying for the omnibus!”

“I’m sure I can try and find us all a nice coffin down there under the ice,” Cosette said, “It’ll suit you, ‘Ponine.”

“Tch,” Éponine scraped under one of her nails, “Such a buzzkill, this Lark.”

Cosette shoved her in response, and Éponine returned with her own shove.

“Why are you two always fighting?” Azelma raised her voice, already weary with their bickering.

The older girls replied at the same time, “She doesn’t know her place!”

The two looked at each other and then looked away with scowls on their faces.

Azelma looked back with exhausted, heavy lidded eyes.

The omnibus arrived, Éponine paid their fare and the three took their seats. Little did they know, that miles away, up north, a certain woman had finally saved up enough to make her return to the city of her dreams.

Chapter Text

The Jondrette girls got off near the École Militaire and continued towards the gate as they went. The Champ de Mars was buzzing with activity as cadets from the army college performed their drills.

“Look at those uniforms!” Éponine gawked as they passed a group of soldiers marching in formation.

“Why don’t regular people wear those tall caps?” Azelma asked her sister.

“Because it’s a uniform, ‘Zelma,” Éponine said, “We don’t carry muskets or swords around either.”

This part of Paris was far more quiet. Aside from the officers yelling and the symphony of units marching, most of the sounds and smells of the city were gone. The passerbys were better dressed, more expensive horses rode by, and the air was cleaner - free of the stench of the tanneries and factories that littered their neighborhood.

Modest buildings skirted the edges of the Champ de Mars. Far from tightly packed like the rest of the city, or the rat’s nest that was the hovel the girls crawled out of, but still encased within the city walls. New construction was a common sight they passed.

As they approached the bridge leading outside the walls, Éponine looked over her shoulder again at the Champ de Mars, “It ain’t a bad sight,” she said, shrugging and continuing, “I just feel like it’s missing something.”

“What?” Cosette asked, “A monument dedicated to you, your highness?”

Éponine stopped in the middle of the bridge and looked at Cosette’s ragged form. “No, but maybe a monument to that mother of yours who seems to make francs out of thin air while her precious daughter freezes with the rest of us.”

Cosette smirked. “I’d love to see that, if she even exists” she said, continuing past Éponine, “Maybe even a giant tower made out of those stupid letters father pulls out of his behind.”

The elder sibling raced back to the front. “Well, whatever! We’re almost out of the city, anyhow,” she said, walking along the bridge railing and staring off at the Seine, which was remarkably clean on this end of the city.

Azelma tugged at Cosette’s beaten up chemise sleeve. “You think she still works up in that town?”

“My mother?” Cosette asked, “Pa just made that whole thing up.”

“Really?” Azelma asked.

Cosette scoffed. “Of course. What kind of an idiot leaves a daughter with those two and pays to keep her there? She doesn’t exist. He’s probably stealing that money from somewhere.”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it past him,” Éponine said, “But I never got a chance to read them letters, so who knows.”

“You’ve seen how mother treated Gavroche,” Cosette said, “Wouldn’t put it past her either.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Éponine said, looking off into the distance, “Wonder what that little rascal is up to, anyway.”

They passed the bridge over into the countryside, and then turned south along the river. The immediate rusticity of the suburbs was like a cannonball impact for the three girls. Here they were, three ragged streetwalkers suddenly surrounded by fields, manors, and large estates inhabited by the entrenched old money elite. The street they walked on was a neatly paved one. The river to their left was clean, while to the right, the Bois de Boulogne peaked over the buildings and the plain.

Éponine had a dumb smile on her face as sentimentality took her, “It’s just like Montfermeil, isn’t it, ‘Zelma?”

Azelma smiled, “Yeah, but everything’s richer on this side of the city, ain’t it?”

Cosette, as usual, didn’t say anything, but made sure to veer on the left side of the road, away from the forest. The silence, the air, the lack of anyone else around caused her breath and heart to race. She forced her eyes on the road instead of anywhere else.

She became more calm as a town emerged in the distance. “Auteuil?” She asked.

“I’ve never been this far, I have no idea,” Éponine said, “Wait, let me look for a sign to read!” she said, looking for any opportunity to show off her proudest skill.

Cosette and Azelma made their way to an alleyway to rest while Éponine ran around looking to find where they were.

“What’s wrong, C’sette?” Azelma asked.

Cosette was still breathing heavily, and held her hand against the wall for support. “Nothing,” she said with a tone of decided finality, before quickly adding, “As always.”

She shook her head as her breathing normalized, “Forget it. Let's just get this over with and get back to Paris. Where’s ‘Ponine?”

“Still reading signs, I think,” Azelma said, “I don’t think she hates you, C’sette.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Cosette said, her voice low. “It’s just… she still thinks she’s some princess. I’m just some… thing. So when she looks at me she sees the gutter and I guess she thinks if she kicks me hard enough, she won't be in it with me. So I just do what I can to drag her down here with me.”

“We can’t live like this forever though,” Azelma sighed.

Cosette shook her head, “It’s always going to be like this.”

“What if we all get married?” Azelma asked, drawing an amused exhale from Cosette.

The elder sister smirked. “Hmph, pa’ll never pay any sort of dowry.”

“What if we just save our own money and use it to start our own business?”

“If father finds out, we’re getting a visit from Montparnasse and he’ll beat us to death with that cudgel he carries around like it’s some sword.”

A flurry of bare footsteps grew louder until Éponine turned the corner into their alley, desperately huff-puffing, “Lark! Hide me!” She hissed.

The three of them hid behind some boxes that were piled up and huddled together, with Cosette peeking over at the flurry of police officers that ran past.

When the coast seemed clear, Éponine stood and dusted off her skirt, face still flushed from the exertion. “We’re not there yet, we gotta keep going south.”

“What took so long?” Cosette asked.

Éponine tucked a stray hair behind her ear, “Nothing, some old crone nearly fainted when looking at me and the bobbies came running.”

“I feel like fainting when looking at you too.” Cosette deadpanned.

“Well, Lark,” Éponine purred, “I never took you for someone with an eye for beauty.”

“Where are we delivering these letters?”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course.” Éponine took the letters and held one up to her face. “Let's see… Lark, this one’s your’s, for an erm… Urbain Fabre? This guy’s back over in the Latin Quarter, so we’ll have to deliver this on the way back.”

She swapped the letter to the back and then brought up the next one to read, “This one’s weird… erm…” She squinted, “Lorgd Oouilmore? What the hell is this name?”

“Thought you were the literate one, ‘Ponine.” Cosette smirked, eliciting a jab from Éponine.

“Who spells their name with a ‘W’ like this? His name is ‘Lord Wilmore’. But… These two addresses are the same.”

“What’s the other one say?” Azelma asked.

Éponine flipped to the last letter, “It says… Il conte di… something? Pa’s handwriting is terrible, but we can just show up at the same place, I think.”

The three then continued on south, past the lavish suburbs and the brief stretches of countryside they got a taste for on that western portion of the Seine. Above them the sky was a deep blue, and the sun remained high in the sky, nearing the pinnacle of its arc.

When Fantine returned home from her last day at the factory, she shut the door to her flat and leaned back against it. Her hands encased her cheeks as a dumb smile ornamented her face.

In fact, she was so happy she bounced in place and nearly squealed in sheer delight at the occasion.

Finally, it was done! She looked at the spartan room in front of her. In her flimsy bedside drawer lay the entirety of her savings. She didn’t know how much money was in it, just enough to know that she had finally accomplished her goal. She was going back to Paris!

How many years had it been since she arrived? Thirteen? Fourteen?

By God in Heaven, Cosette was already a lady by this point!

She tried to picture the girl in her head. The fuzzy recollection of that child bundled up in laces and ribbons was hard to imagine as a woman. She tried to imagine what she looked like, but her mind flashed to one of her former employees, a younger girl that looked similar to how she imagined her own daughter to look. A beautiful, youthful woman, with brunette hair and a middle part, tied back in a bun, and wearing one of those new fashionable dresses she’d heard about on the lips of her workers.

But then anxiety arose in her. What if she didn’t even recognize her? Or was mad at her for being absent? Or what if she looked at her and just saw some old hag?

What if she already had a sweetheart and was ready to be married?

Oh, dear, oh dear, that… she’d have to get a dowry ready and have a surname, and everything… oh, she had no surname. What could she call herself then?

And what about all this stuff in her room? She’d need to sell it all and then prepare for the journey back.

And then, before getting Cosette, she’d first need to rent a store as soon as possible and get it ready to open!

“Arghhh!!!!” Fantine slapped both of her cheeks to empty the torrent of her mind and fled her room, “Marguerite!” She called for her neighbor. She’d need some help, but this was it! Freedom!

If only Félix and Favourite could see her now. She’d rub it in their faces if she could.

Chapter Text

“This… is it?” Éponine wondered aloud as the three stopped in front of the almost shabby mansion. There was a sturdy iron gate in the front. A bell was attached to the side. Azelma pressed her face between the iron bars and peered inside. Her jaw dropped, despite the surprising lack of luxury of the mansion grounds. There was a clean fountain, a lot of trees, a small hedge maze, but that was the bulk of it. 

“Isn’t that hedge maze romantic?” Azelma asked, still awestruck.

“We’ve seen much better, ‘Zelma,” Cosette said, “Wonder how this guy scammed or cheated his way to wealth, though.” She wondered, looking through the bars at the clean but unembellished walls.

“Doesn’t that remind you of someone?” Éponine smirked. She could see a well-dressed servant off in the distance and suddenly felt a rush of self-consciousness. She looked down at her tattered chemise and skirt and her face immediately fell.

She quickly shook her head, “Ugh!” She turned to the bell and swung it loudly. 

“You already know what to say?” Cosette asked, “We’ve never been to a noble’s home before.”

“What difference does it make?!” Éponine said, watching the servant slowly approach the gate. She looked down at her two younger sisters from the corner of her eye. Cosette and Azelma just looked back at her without a word. 

The servant arrived and Éponine handed him the letter, “Please m’sieur,” she spoke in a weak, shaky voice, “Our father can’t work, and we have nothing to eat!” She caressed her arms while lowering her head, “Would you please tell your kind master to be generous to a poor family in need and give him our letter?”

The servant flicked his eyes over to the other two girls. Azelma was crying with her hands clasped together, while Cosette quietly stared at her feet, not needing to act at all.

He grunted, and with a thick Italian accent, he told them to stay put while he left to give the letter to his master. 

Once the man was far enough away, Éponine huffed and held her hips, “Why didn’t he shoo us away?”

Azelma was drying her face with her arm, “Maybe we convinced him?” she asked, her voice still shaky from crying.

“It’s not that easy, ‘Zelma. Whatever, maybe he’ll bring us food or summ’in,” Éponine said.

“Or just tell us to piss off,” Cosette said, “Then we can all go home empty handed and get beat together.”

Éponine exhaled in frustration, “... we still got that man in town.” 

They stood around in front of the manse for a few minutes, until the servant came back and surprisingly, allowed the three inside, “My master wishes to see you himself.” He said.

The girls looked at each other in bewilderment before they were led into the shabby mansion. 

The luxury inside was completely unlike the outside. The mansion was so fantastically decorated and marbled that Azlema, already impressed by the relatively modest exterior, now stared in nonplussed stupor at the opulence she found herself in. Her wide eyes darted from decor to decor as she followed behind the Italian servant. 

Éponine’s eyes shot around as she walked, her clenched fists shook of jealousy. Cosette remained reserved, her head lowered in unworthiness. 

Both Éponine and Cosette kept their heads down. But while Éponine’s intense glare shot at the finery around her, Cosette kept her gaze fixed to her feet, her hair curtained around her face while she clutched at her elbows. 

They were led through the foyer to a large hallway and then, up a flight of stairs. They passed by another hallway, until stopping in front of a study. The door was open, and inside was a desk standing in the middle of the room, flanked by tightly packed rows of bookshelves and academic clutter. 

A man sat at the desk, but was seated facing away. He sat there, looking through the windows behind the desk and nursing a bottle of wine in one hand. From what they could see, his skin was deathly pale, almost as pale as the three of them. His hair was as dark as the coat he wore, black as night. 

“Your excellency,” the servant said, “The girls in question have arrived.”

The man’s wine-hand stilled, “Let them in, Bertuccio.” His voice was deep, but calm. 

“Yes, your excellency,” Bertuccio bowed, “ Monsieur le Comte will see you.” He said to the Jondrette girls before standing aside.

Éponine was the first to step inside, followed by Cosette, and then Azelma, who was now beset with timidity such that she closely tailed behind the middle sister.

Éponine stood stiffly and swallowed before opening her mouth.

“G-good afternoon, Monsieur le Comte ,” she stammered. 

Monsieur le Comte did not respond, and silence filled the room’s air so much so that everyone could hear Éponine scratch her arm, or Azelma lean her foot on a loose tile. 

“Why have you come?” He asked, resuming the sway of his hand. 

"A-ah, our father," Éponine started, "Our father is quite unwell. My sisters and I have come hearing that you are a man of many means, so… we've come to ask if you would be so gracious as to grant us aid so that we may afford his medical fees?"

Éponine swallowed, as she sweated bullets, while Cosette watched back, wide eyed, her gaze darting between the older sister and Monsieur le Comte. Azelma's jaw trembled and her grip on Cosette's skirt tightened.

Monsieur le Comte let his free hand rest on Monsieur Thénardier's letter but did not open it. He finished his wine and placed the glass on his desk, before slowly standing to face the girls. He had dark eyes, and a heavy gaze that fell upon them like prey. His face was long and sullen, his mouth and brow locked in a permanent frown.

Éponine quickly curtsied and nudged at Azelma to do the same. Cosette followed by lowering her head and bending her knees somewhat. They looked like ragged courtiers of the Court of Miracles.

He turned his gaze upon Éponine, "It was Waterloo, where your father was injured? What was his rank?"

"Y-yes, Monsieur le Comte…" She rasped, “He was a sergeant.”

He turned to Azelma, "You, little one."

"Y-y-yes?" Azelma squeaked.

"Which one of his legs was injured?" He asked.

"I-I… I… the right- the left one." She answered.

He turned his gaze on Cosette, who looked back up at him from behind her bangs, "And you, what has your father done since?"

"I…" Cosette flinched, before instinct took her and she tightened up her posture, "He… h-he don't do much, M'sieur le Comte. Y'know, b'cause of his leg." She kept her eyes on Monsieur le Comte's boots below the desk, "He just... stays in. Tries to find work y'know… for us. We're the ones that go out and do it."

Monsieur le Comte remained quiet once again, yet his eyes never left Cosette's face, until finally, he turned his chair to face them and seated himself again.

With his free hand, he reached for Monsieur Thénardier's letter and began to read:

"Your excellency, my name is Jondrette…" He trailed off as he skimmed Thénardier's terrible handwriting and spelling, "... Long ago, I was a colonel in the Emperor's army and my right leg was terribly injured at Waterloo. I have since not been able to walk without aid and I struggle to find work… My daughters hardly eat. Day and night they work together tirelessly to provide for me but can never make enough for our whole family…" He trailed off again, "... If you would be so gracious, kind, and magnanimous to provide me with an allowance of 500 francs, I would be forever in your debt and will sing your praises all over Paris. Signed… Jondrette."

Monsieur le Comte let the letter fall from his hand and glide back onto his desk.

"Your father is a liar." He said, “I don’t like liars.”

Éponine and Azelma flinched.

"But, at least one of you gave me a crumb of truth," He continued, "So, for only a pittance of truth, I give you a pittance of a sum."

He reached inside his coat and brought out a large forty franc Louis d'Or. He placed it on the desk and slid it forward with his index finger, "For that father of yours," he said, "And…"

He brought out one more Louis d'Or - a smaller, twenty franc version - and placed it on the table next to the larger one, but did not lift his finger.

“... This is yours,” he said, his dark eyes scanning their faces “But I am curious about one thing. Your father speaks highly of you. Such devotion to your father, such a bond you share in your hardship… however, I have found that once money enters the picture, things will change rather quickly when one desires what another has.” 

The girls blinked, looked at each other and then back to Monsieur le Comte. 

“So, tell me,” He continued, “If I were to give this twenty franc coin to only one of you, which of you deserves it the most? And why should the others go without?”

“You, little one,” He turned to Azelma, “Who do you think deserves this the most?” he asked. 

Azelma flinched, and looked at Éponine, and then back at Monsieur le Comte, “I… think ‘Ponine should get it… she’s the oldest,” she said, pointing to Éponine.

“Then tell me, ‘Ponine, who do you think deserves twenty francs?” he asked, appraising her.

“W-well!” she perked, “It’s as my dear sister says, I am the eldest, and so naturally, I’ll handle the money! B’sides!” She shot a glance at Cosette, “I’m the one that actually knows how to read and can talk right.” 

“And you.” He looked at Cosette, who blinked in response. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. 

“Um…” she looked away, “It doesn’t really matter who you give it to, really. S’all going to our pa anyway. Just give it to ‘Ponine.”

A smile spread across Monsieur le Comte's face. "Interesting," he wondered aloud, as if he'd just witnessed something profound. "The most truthful one refuses to play the game entirely." He leaned back in his seat, "Well, mademoiselle 'Ponine, it seems your sisters have handed you the victory. The money is yours."

Éponine bowed graciously before retrieving the coins, “My family will forever be grateful, Monsieur le Comte!” she said for added effect.

Monsieur le Comte retrieved a letter from his desk, “One more thing,” he said, offering the letter to Éponine, “There is a tavern called Bombarda’s on the Champs-Élysées, feel free to eat to your heart’s content tonight,” he said, grabbing a pipe and and a match, “Bertuccio, escort these girls out.”

Bertuccio returned to the room and bowed, before turning to the Jondrette girls, “Very well, will the mademoiselles follow me?” 

The walk off the mansion grounds felt faster than when they first arrived, and once they were outside the gate, Éponine let out a huge sigh of relief. She looked over to Bertuccio’s retreating figure and then at the other two girls. 

“That guy was a demon!” She hissed, “The hell makes you think I’m going along with your mind games just ‘cause you’re rich!” 

“But you did,” Azelma said, “And we got sixty francs and food too.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t that bad,” Éponine said, calming down, “All things considered, we did rather well for ourselves.”

“I was entertained enough by your squirming,” Cosette said, “So no complaints from me either.”

“Oh, hush, Lark,” Éponine rolled her eyes, and jabbed Cosette’s arm, “But…” she stopped, “That was pretty good back there. Dunno if it was you that got us the free food, but good job… I guess.”

Cosette stared at Éponine, eyes wide, “Huh…” she could only manage to say.

“Oh, stop looking like some startled deer C’sette, all I said was you did good back there!” 

A lopsided smile crept up Cosette’s face, “Is that right?”

“Arrgh! Whatever!” Éponine harrumphed as she began the long walk back to Paris. 

“She seems to be in a good mood,” Azelma said as they followed the elder sister. 

“Don’t rock the boat too much,” Cosette said, smiling, “It ain’t often she’s like this.”

Éponine walked with a noticeably lighter step to her gait while humming some tune. 

The sun had begun its arc downwards as the three sisters left Auteuil. Éponine marched on in the front, swinging her arms as she did, while the other two followed a short distance away, watching their older sister swing. 

There was still one last letter to deliver, but they were already imagining the meal they’d have later.

Chapter Text

The setting sun bathed the Latin Quarter in a shade of gold while igniting the once white clouds that hung above. The clattering of hooves and voices, shouts of applewomen, barking strays, and the rolling of many wheels were just parts that made up the cacophony of the city.

A knock rang out in a quiet, residential street, as the Jondrette sisters stood at the stoop of a walled off home. This was the home of their other target for the day, Urbain Fabre, an older philanthropist that caught their father’s attention. 

Éponine nudged Cosette towards the door, taking a seat on the steps herself. Cosette twiddled with the letter in her hands as she listened to the movement inside. Slow, lumbering steps, as well as lighter, and more energetic ones could be faintly made out, but the lighter ones seemed to win out.

Eventually, the steps got louder, and a young man answered the door. His eyes fell on the girls, but sagged slightly as he saw them, “Can I… help you, mam’selles?” 

Cosette held the letter up, but lowered her gaze, “M’sieur, my sisters an’ I, we came to ask m’sieur Fabre to grant our poor family aid… we’ve fallen on hard times, and can barely afford a bite to eat.” 

“So, you’ve business with my da’, eh?” He asked, “Is that letter for him?”

Cosette nodded and handed him the letter, “Yes, m’sieur.”

He checked the front of the letter, “I’ll take it to him,” He said, disappearing inside. 

Cosette turned back to her sisters, sitting one step above the other two.

“Think we’ll get what pa wants from this guy?” Azelma asked. 

“Who knows?” Cosette answered, “We didn’t get kicked off yet, so far so good.”

“Just hope we don’t gotta do mind games again,” Éponine huffed as she rested her chin in her palms, “At least this one’s normal so far.”

“That man looks nice.” Azelma said, looking up to the second floor, where a massive, elderly gentleman stood by the window, staring off into the distance. 

Cosette looked up to where Azelma was looking. The man really did look kind. Like a gentle grandfather from one of those fairy tales that she grew up hearing Madame Thénardier read to Éponine and Azelma. 

Then, for a brief, but almost glacial moment, the two met eyes, and Cosette’s blood felt like it stopped at that moment. The man’s face curled up into a warm, inviting smile, before finally turning around and disappearing from the window. 

“Hey, Lark, you’re all red.” Éponine said.

Cosette’s eyes widened as she snapped her gaze back down to her sister, “Shut up!” she stood abruptly, “I’ll be outside!”

“Yeah, but what happened?!” Éponine yelled, as Cosette stomped out of the front yard. 

‘The hell’s wrong with that stupid old man?!’ she screamed internally as she passed through the gate and let her back hit the brick fence. She could hardly hear herself scream in her head with the hammering from her heart. 

She banged her fist on the wall, ‘Damn him!!’ she cursed, trying to catch her breath, ‘Who the hell does he think he is, looking at me like that?!’ 

Cosette looked up at the gilded clouds above her as she steadied her breathing. The blooming gold nuggets up above were pretty at the very least. But even then, they were swiftly turning into red. The way the dying light shimmered along the edges of the clouds caught her eye, and she remembered the silly “jewellery” she would assemble as a kid with a small string and whatever little baubles and stones she found lying around the inn. Back when she still dreamed of escape - when she still sang. 

She squinted. It was beautiful, but it would be gone in minutes, and night would fall within the hour. That was fine though, it’s just the way things worked.

Her whole life she knew everything good was either not going to last or was some kind of farce. She even watched it happen to Éponine and Azelma right as the Inn fell apart and they had to move into this dingy sty. 

‘It was just a smile, what the hell am I doing?’ She’d seen thousands - all fake! - so why now? Why now did she feel warm now on this cold spring evening? 

He probably just felt sorry for her. Just some rich old fool that saw some poor beggar in rags standing at his doorstep to grovel. 

She unclenched her fists. That man would be right in that case, that’s exactly what she was. The pounding in her chest began to slow and she sighed, leaning against the rough brick behind her. She heard Éponine’s voice from behind as she picked up where Cosette had left off. 

“C’sette!” Azelma’s voice tore the middle sister out of her head. She turned to where the younger girl peeked her head out from behind the wall, “We didn’t get nothin’, but the old man said he’d write to pa.”

She said nothing, though her heart jumped a bit, “That’s good. Make it pa’s problem, not ours for once.” They’d probably have to visit him again.

“You got that look again,” She asked, tilting her head.

“What?” Cosette furrowed her brow, “Oh, it’s nothing.”

“Did Monsieur Fabre do something in the window?” She asked. 

“Just… nothing.” Cosette evaded. 

“But you’re all-”

“‘Zelma.” Cosette raised her voice, eliciting a flinch from Azelma and causing her to hunch forward like Cosette always did, “... Sorry.”  She muttered, her voice returning to normal. 

“... He seemed really nice at least,” Azelma said, “I just wish we weren’t telling him all these lies.”

Cosette folded her arms, “Everything’s a lie, ‘Zelma, ‘bout time you got that through your head.”

“But what if he really wants to help?” she asked.

Cosette didn’t immediately respond, “I said what I said.”

Éponine grunted as she passed through the gate, “Seriously, Lark?” she asked, shooting Cosette an irritated glance. 

“Tch, forget it.” Cosette replied with a bit more bravado, seeing Éponine.

Éponine jabbed her arm, but with little force behind it and she continued walking, “Next time you get all weird, I ain’t coverin’, idiot.” 

As Éponine left, Azelma and Cosette followed. 

The warmth from the man’s smile finally went away, but as she walked, Cosette found herself reaching - yearning - for it again. Just as she feared.

Chapter Text

“This should be it for the bed and the stove,” The furniture maker dropped a small purse of coins into Fantine’s palm, “Is that the last of it, lass?” Behind him, a few of his workers carried off her bed frame into the shop behind him.

“Yes, and thank you,” Fantine said, “It’s been some time since we last spoke, eh?” She said, adjusting her folded pelisse jacket over her forearm.

“Aye,” The man nodded, “Last time, I told you I’d send the gendarmes after you if you tried running with my money, but you managed to pay it all off. Consider me impressed.” 

Fantine blinked, “I was in a bad way, but…” she trailed off before continuing, “I had someone there for me, and someone that depends on me. All I could do is to keep working.”

“I see,” He said, “I heard a lot of humbug about you, but you changed my mind, lass. Good luck, and farewell.” He smiled, and then returned to his shop.

Fantine turned and looked at the quaint town she called her home for most of her life. The salty Channel air swept through the town square as the sun’s dying light began to fade and the streets became cloaked in shadow. Orange light still painted the tops of buildings and while it was getting late, there was still light enough to be out without much trouble. 

She held the small bag in her free hand and felt the scratch of coins inside. The majority of her day was spent getting ready to finally leave, and now, as the evening moon shared the sky with the sun, she felt a strange melancholy fall over her. 

She aimlessly walked around the small, tightly packed town, allowing the sight of the buildings to tower over her one last time, and as she did, she wondered; which of these streets was she in, as a ragged and forgotten child, when she was given the name ‘Fantine’?

She didn’t remember the person’s face at all, but somehow, the random act of acknowledging her existence left her a name. Part of her wanted to find them, but it would be impossible. 

She wondered who her parents were - who had discarded her? Or who had died and left her alone? Not even the town knew. When she was younger, she comforted herself with the fantasy that she was the child of an affair between a nobleman and his mistress, and that there was some secret inheritance coming her way, but now, she had to wonder if her own mother was simply in the same bind she was in herself, with Cosette.

Fantine gasped, and froze in place as the thought crossed the threshold of her mind: Did she not do the exact same with Cosette?

She shook her head. ‘No!’ she reassured herself. This separation was done. Tomorrow, she leaves this place for good, and soon, she won’t be that absent parent any longer. Fantine clenched her fists and continued walking. 

On her way, she passed her former factory. There were some windows along the workshop’s stone wall and she could look inside to see the empty building. Most of the workers were gone, but there was still a faint light open inside where her successor, Madame Galois would have been counting the day’s production.

Fantine smiled, and continued along the road. Her home wasn’t far. It would be bare and she would have to sleep on the floor, but only for a night. 

Darkness began to fall upon the fortified town, so she hurried home. On the way, she came across a horribly bedraggled woman, wearing only a corset, a petticoat, and a thin bonnet atop her head. She was posing alone near an alleyway. 

Fantine’s pulse quickened upon seeing her and she began to hurriedly pass her by, until their eyes accidentally met and she nearly saw herself from years back, sewing in the night. A wave of sympathy warred with the revulsion she felt and her legs slowed to a stand. The woman was the first to break eye contact and she stopped posing, looking away at the street. Her mouth fell into a frown.

“Come here to laugh?” She asked. Her voice was like sandpaper.

“N-no, not at all!” Fantine replied, eliciting a scoff from the woman.

“Then what do you want?” She lowered her bonnet to try and cover her eyes, “Trying to feel better about yourself?”

The woman was still young, yet her eyes were as exhausted as a veteran of many wars. She crossed her arms and her shoulders began to bob. 

Fantine thought she was about to cry, but instead she burst out in raucous laughter. In the lonesome street, the woman’s voice echoed loudly between the buildings. 

The older woman stood frozen in terror as a gust blew past. The girl’s laugh stung her, yet she felt she could do nothing. 

Fantine took a tentative step back as the girl’s laugh was interrupted by a violent series of rattling coughs. She spat red on the ground, rubbed her mouth and then regarded Fantine from the corner of her eye. Her grin was terrifying - teeth missing, bloody mouth, a ghastly paleness, tears streaking from her bloodshot eyes, she was the very picture of a banshee, the type she would have grown up fearing. 

“Mademoiselle… are you…” Fantine mumbled in a sort of stupor.

“Am I well?” The girl wheezed, “Just perfect!” 

She twirled in place and laughed like a girl playing in the snow, “At least someone in this wretched town sees little ol’ me!” she said, before singing a children’s lullaby. 

Fantine could do nothing but watch in shock, her throat tight. 

“Well…” The girl said, as she stopped singing, and stopped dancing, once she realized Fantine didn’t leave in disgust or shock as she would have expected others too, “You look like you’re seein’ a monster, ain’t ya?”

“... Sorry,” Fantine croaked.

“Why’re you apologizin’?” the girl asked, “You ain’t done nothin’. Everyone did. I’m here ‘cause this world’s a sorry miserable place. All you nice people out there get to be that way ‘cause I gotta’ be here and deal with all your vices.”

“Yes… but I want to atone!” Fantine said, “For my part, at least…”

“What’cha mean, ‘atone’?” the girl asked, “You ain’t the Brit that shot my da’. You ain’t the lady that refused me a job. You ain’t the men that buy me every night, are you?”

“I… I’m not…” Fantine said, “But… still!” She extended her hand, offering the coinpurse she held, “There is some money in here, you should take it!”

“Told ya’. You only here ta’ make yourself feel better,” a smirk painted the girl’s face, “I dun’ want ye’r damned charity.”

“But I-” 

“... Fine.” She said, snatching the purse before Fantine could potentially change her mind.

Fantine offered her pelisse jacket as well. 

“Where’d you get the money from anyway?” the girl asked, putting on Fantine’s pelisse, her own mask of bravado slipping.

“I once worked at the factory a few streets down.”

“Ptoo-!” the girl spat, “Damn that factory. They turned me out, you know? Just cuz’ I got back at that witch stealing my work!”

‘I know this girl…’  Fantine thought as her eyes widened in horror. This girl had gotten into a fight in the workshop and scratched up another woman’s face. As forewoman, she couldn’t allow that behavior at all, so she let her go with the fifty francs she was owed as part of her severance.

She had no idea this is where it would’ve landed her. Fantine’s mouth hung slightly open as her breath shuddered and she took a step back, and then another. 

The girl then looked up at Fantine’s face, and not soon after, the same recognition began to paint her own face, twisting it into a scowl.

“YOU!” She screamed, “IT WAS YOU!” She pointed at her retreating ex-boss. She coughed and then began to laugh again, “Hahahaha! Rot in hell you evil witch!” 

Fantine clutched her skirts around her knees and prepared to run as fast as she could, but her conscience kept her feet planted right there in front of the girl. Tears slipped from her eyes.

“I’m sorry!” She sobbed, “I’m sorry! I’m so, so, so sorry!” Her voice cracked as her tears flowed freely down her face.

“I dun’ want ye’r damn apology!” The girl exclaimed, “I wan’ all of you people to hear me an’ see what you’ve done to me! I’m already your slave livin’ down here in the dregs. For once I want you good respectable people to see me an’ feel fear! I want your hate. And then I’ll give it all back in return, you hear me?”

Fantine sniffled, “I- I see you, I promise.” 

“And you fear me too.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Good. Get the hell out of my face,” she hissed.

Fantine didn’t, but took a step closer, despite her fear. 

Past the frightening exterior, she was talking to a girl, not some long gone dull-eyed wretch. She certainly played the part, but… there was pain in her words, and Fantine felt it. She remembered when she nearly lost her fight to merely stay alive. She would have no doubt languished on the street like she did, and this girl didn’t even look much like a night walker at all, despite the exterior. 

“What are yo-”

The girl was silenced when Fantine enveloped her in an embrace, “I’m sorry, lass.”

The girl began to sob as warmth began to seep into her bones. She held Fantine tighter.

“I… I’ll let you stay in my room, okay?” 

The girl nodded as she cried into Fantine’s dress.

Drying her own tears, she led the girl to her barren room, and allowed her to rest under a pile of some clothes. 

The surgeon held a small stick atop the girl’s tongue as he inspected her throat. He blinked and discarded the stick once he was done. Fantine stood by, her hands clasped together in prayer and her reddened eyes shut. The night was still young, and people were still awake, so Fantine took it upon herself to find the girl a surgeon to take a look at her, since she looked deathly ill. 

“Well, mademoiselle Pyrène, good news,” He said, retrieving his things, “It’s not going to kill you if you rest and stay warm.”

Fantine’s shoulders released all the built-up tension they had taken on since she met the girl. Maybe there was still some grace left in this word. She incessantly cursed herself for not considering what would happen if she let the girl go. This was her fault. She would pay for this herself. 

“So I’m fine then?” The girl, Pyrène, asked.

“Not quite, lass, you’re still very sick, but you can recover. The question is, can you get somewhere warm to rest?” The surgeon said, before turning to Fantine, “Madame, my pay?”

“Yes, monsieur.” Fantine handed the man a few francs, “I won’t be in town after tomorrow, but, where can I take her that is safe?”

“Where? Hm…” he stopped to think, “The former mayor was funding a hospital of sorts here in Montreuil-sur-Mer with the sisters over there.” He pointed towards the window. “They might give you what you want. Is that all, madame? Mademoiselle?”

“I’m sorry for troubling you at this time but Pyrène’s life depended on it.” Fantine said, her voice exhausted.

“No, you came to me such a nervous wreck that I had to come,” The surgeon grabbed his bag and started for the door, “Rest well, mademoiselle.”

As the surgeon left, Fantine knelt next to Pyrène, “I’ll walk you to the hospital. The sisters will surely care for you,” she said, offering her hand, “Come.”

They left soon and Fantine did not allow herself to rest until Pyrène was safely in the care of the attending sisters, and laying snug in a warm bed. Fantine’s pelisse was draped over the covers she was wrapped in.

“Madame Fantine.” Pyrène coughed. 

“Mademoiselle,” Fantine corrected, “And yes?”

“You think this absolves you?” she asked, “I haven't forgiven you yet.”

Fantine closed her eyes and sighed, “No. It doesn’t,” she said, leaning back in her chair, “Nothing ever will. I nearly killed you.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Pyrène said.

“I shouldn’t have fired you.” Fantine slipped her hand under the covers and held Pyrène’s cold but warming hand, “I knew better. I should have done better, but I… I didn’t.”

“No, you didn’t,” Pyrène’s hand tightened, “You jus’ threw me away like any other soon as I became an inconvenience.”

“But I…” Fantine began, but she caught herself. No. Nothing was going to give this girl those months she lost, and long later, the memories would remain. 

She sighed, “This is all I can do for you now. I know it’s nothing but, if you want it, it will help you stand alone again.”

As Pyrène remained motionless her eyes studied Fantine’s face. Her eyes were still a bit red around the edges but she stared back at the girl with a steady gaze. Fantine’s lips thinned, and her hand still held her own. 

For a long moment, neither spoke, and both women could hear the sisters’ soft footfalls from the other room. 

Pyrène released her grip on Fantine’s hand and coughed weakly, “Fine. I dun’ hate you, okay?”

“It’s far more than I deserve, Pyrène.” A slight smile graced Fantine’s face and she let go of the younger girl’s hand and stood. 

Outside, snow began to fall. It was one of those late spring bouts of cold weather that were more a herald of summer arriving. Pyrène soon drifted off to sleep, and finally, Fantine caught a glimpse of peace on the girl’s features. 

Passing through the hospital’s door, Fantine decided she would write to the girl once she had arrived in Paris.

Chapter Text

When the first round of food arrived in the small upstairs room of Bombarda’s, the Jondrette girls, as soon as the bewildered waiter left the room, descended like vultures onto the cornucopia of food they were served. 

Éponine’s face was stuffed as she held two pieces of roasted chicken in each hand and chewed. Azelma was digging into a plate of fish, while Cosette engorged herself on a lamb shank. 

When the waiter returned to deliver a bottle of wine and a pitcher of water, he found himself so disgusted by the sight of the three slum girls stuffing their faces in such a grotesque manner, he made every precaution to not be noticed by the feral beasts that hunched over the table. He tiptoed over to the table and put down the water and wine and then with his mouth covered, left without a word. 

 “So, Lark,” Éponine muffled through her full mouth. She swallowed, “Whatever happened to that pet rat you used to keep?”

 Cosette paused her chewing and blinked, “Which one?”

 “The one from the inn.”

 “Yes, which one?”

 “Are you serious?” Éponine’s eyelids fell.

 “Why wouldn’t I be?” Cosette took another bite.

 “That’s just disgusting…” Éponine whispered loud enough to hear, “Can you not ruin my appetite?”

 “You’re the one who asked,” Cosette said, “B’sides, they only live like a year or two before they die, so I had a bunch.”

 Azelma looked up from her plate of fish, “That’s kind of sad.”

 “Yeah, I know.” Cosette replied, taking another lamb shank from the pile, “They’re cute but you learn to not get too attached.”

 “They can be cute?” Azelma asked, “Really?”

 “Ugh! Can’t believe I’m listening to this!” Éponine said.

 “I always wanted a cat, but maybe a mouse would be fine too,” Azelma said.

 “Can you two stop talking about pests already?!” Éponine harrumphed, “Lark, ask ‘em if we can get some beef in here.”

 “You do it,” Cosette retorted, kicking Éponine’s foot under the table.

Éponine brought her own foot to Cosette’s chair between her legs and kicked hard. Cosette’s chair slid back with a large screech as the chair legs slid upright across the floor.

 “Tch, fine…” Cosette grumbled, getting up from her chair. 

By the time they got their beef, their table was already a huge mess of dirty plates, wet splotches of broth or oil over the table cover, and plenty of stray uneaten bits of food laying around. 

Each girl looked down at the plate of beef placed in front of them with mouthwatering awe, as the sight of the most expensive meat they could find graced their eyes before them. The meat was cooked outside to a tasty brown, while the inside was pink and red. The cuts of beef seemed to ooze the juices it was seasoned and marinated in, and the steam carried the delectable aroma up to their noses. 

Suffice it to say, the girls were immediately hungry again, and found themselves devouring their second meal with just as much rapaciousness as before. 

Cosette eyed the bottle of wine as she ate, but Éponine had caught her gaze, and quickly snatched the bottle away. 

 “Mine!” Éponine gloated, “Nice try, Lark.”

 “What’s your problem?” Cosette groaned.

 “Can I have some too?” Azelma asked.

 “No,” Éponine said, “Both of you maidens are too young for this, so big sis will be taking all of this, today!”

 “I’m barely a year younger than you, what do you mean?” Cosette replied. 

 “Doesn’t matter, you’re still too young.” Éponine snickered, grabbing the corkscrew and trying to jam it into the top, imitating how she observed adults do the same. 

 Cosette leaned back and poured herself and Azelma some water. She leaned over when she handed Azelma her glass, “Let’s just wait for the princess to get all drunk,” Cosette whispered, eliciting a mischievous giggle from Azelma. 

Éponine finally got the cork off and brought the bottle up to her lips and drank. She took one sip before her eyes went wide for a moment. She shot a glance at a curious Cosette, and then at Azelma, before turning her focus back on the bottle.

 “Glug, glug, glug…” Éponine drank, before popping the bottle out of her mouth with a loud, “Pwah!” A flush creeped up her cheeks as she blinked. The already warm room started to warm up further too. 

 “Well, it’s nothing special!” Éponine exclaimed, “The taste is okay, but that’s all. Not much else going for it.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. 

 “Who made you a wine connoisseur?” Cosette deadpanned. 

 “Oh, Lark, you know nothing of me.” Éponine smirked. 

Cosette rose and snatched the bottle, taking a sip for herself. 

 “Hey!” Éponine rose herself, grabbing the base of the bottle. 

 “I want some too!” Azelma stood as well.

 “No, give it ‘ere!” Cosette said, tugging the bottle back. 

Downstairs, the staff were bewildered by the tree slum girls occupying the room. One waiter nearly fainted at the unscrupulousness of the girls’ etiquette, but ultimately, nothing was done and they continued occupying the room. It was not until night had well and truly fallen and the bright gas lamps of the Champs-Élysées lit the streets in yellow did the girls finally leave.

It was a dark night out as the Jondrette girls walked home. The Champs-Élysées was brightly lit by gas lamps that lined the famous avenue. Above them, the night was a void. The moon was gone, yet few stars were visible from the bright revelries of the ground. The night was truly a void, here. The night was still young though, and people - students, couples, the wealthy - still wandered the place. 

The girls stood out as the only ragged vagabonds among a crowd of well dressed people that did their utmost to avoid the slum girls as much as possible. 

Azelma looked up past the roof of a building as they passed by, where a large frame of steel and wood seemed to tower over the buildings on the street. 

 “What’s that?” she asked. 

 Éponine languidly swung around, her face still blushed, “Huh?” She asked, “‘Zat’s Beaujon Heights. Biiiig Ollll’ playground, just for all the rich people.” Éponine stumbled as she walked, “Got a roller coaster, swings, everything, you name it, they got it.”

Azelma walked over next to Éponine and let her older sister use her shoulder for support.

 “Did you really need to get three more bottles, ‘Ponine?” Cosette asked, slightly behind the other two. 

 “You sayin’ I got a problem, Lark?” She slurred.

 “No, you've got many, but I'm just sayin’ you’re an idiot.”

 “An idiot!” Éponine exclaimed, “And in love~!”

 “Here we go again, ‘Zelma…” Cosette sighed.

 “‘Zelma! Take me there!” Éponine cried, “To my love! Monsieur Marius!” She swooned on saying his name.

 “Wouldn’t he just be asleep by now?” Azelma asked. 

 “Never stopped her before.” Cosette smirked. 

 “Oi, whatcha implyin’?” Éponine hiccupped, “You sayin’ I’m some kinda- woah!” 

Azelma nearly tripped on a rock, nearly knocking the both of them to the ground.

 “S-sorry, I’m tired…” Azelma yawned, “I’ve never eaten that much in so long.”

 “First time I’ve ever eaten so much.” Cosette said, patting her full belly and rubbing it. The feeling felt strange to her, to be so satiated, you wanted nothing else other than to curl up into your bed and just sleep a long, dreamy sleep. She’d remember this, the next time she starved.

 “That was the best food I’ve ever had,” Azelma continued “Better than mothers. Better than your’s even.”

 “I haven’t cooked in a long time though. Haven’t done many other chores at all, either. Guess I’m outta practice.”

 “Yeah. You know, we really need our own money.”

 “Whatcha mean?!” Éponine blurted, “I got us twenty Francs, we gots it! It’s ours!”

They crossed the Seine at the Pont au Change bridge and passed by the Palais de Justice and Saint-Chappelle. By then, Éponine had mostly sobered up and walked without aid. Eventually, they neared the Panthéon and then found themselves in the sty they became familiar with as their home, the Salpêtrière. They walked along the side of the roads, dodging whoever they came across. The streets were dark and dangerous, so they stuck close and kept their eyes shooting about at corners and alleyways, until they arrived home safely. 

As soon as they entered their room in Gorbeau, Éponine and Azelma were captured in a sudden embrace by their mother. 

 There’s my beautiful girls!” the woman exclaimed, letting them go to look at them, “I was so worried, you were out so late!” 

 “It was just a really long walk, and the omnibus stopped running by the time we were done.” Éponine explained, stepping away from the embrace. 

 “Dear!” Madame Jondrette turned to face her husband, “I don’t want them goin’ out so late!” 

 Jondrette looked up from the letter he was writing, “As long as they get back, what’s the problem, wife?”

 “I needed to get the money from La Magnon, they can’t be out doing your work all day, can they?”

 “Send C’sette.” He said with a wave of his hand, returning to his writing. Cosette’s head turned. Oh, no, now what?

 The Jondrette woman nodded, and then approached Cosette, looming over her like she did frequently when she wanted something done or else things weren’t going to look good for her. She yanked Cosette by the ear, “You heard me, little rascal!”

 “Ow!” Cosette yelped, “W-what is it, madame?” She averted the woman’s menacing gaze. ‘Here we go,’ she thought, her heart sinking as she realized what she had to do. The thought of going outside at this time paralyzed her, and her knees shook. It would just be her. Her, alone in the dark of this dangerous, horrible city. 

She nodded, and Madame Jondrette let go of her ear, but not before yanking painfully one last time, just to get one last gasp out of Cosette. 

 “Go to old Magnon’s home. I want the money she owes me for those two useless brats, tonight!”

 “And get me two more candles!” Monsieur Jondrette raised a few coins, which Madame took and tossed towards Cosette. 

 “I’ll go too, C’sette!” Azelma picked up the coins and handed them to the middle sister. 

 “No, you will not, my dear!” Madame Jondrette butted in, “It’s much too dangerous.”

 “But she-” 

 “No. Let that girl do her work. You need to rest after all that hard work.”

 “I… it’s…” Cosette stuttered, freezing in front of the open door, “Sh-she’ll just be asleep by now, you know how old people are. I can just get it first thing tomorrow morning.”

 Madame Jondrette grabbed a fistful of Cosette’s brown hair, “You should have come back earlier then, idler!” She shoved Cosette out of the room and shut the door with a loud THUD. 

Cosette could hear a slight shift in the room next door but ignored it and stood, gathering what little courage she had left for the night. She kept her head down as she descended the stairs and approached the void of night. 

It was dark as Cosette walked alone. Her eyes had adjusted to the light but she still walked cautiously, eyeing everything that seemed to stand out to her. She had quite the walk ahead of her - La Magnon lived on Rue Clocheperce, on the other side of the Seine, so she would have to backtrack half the way she came with Éponine and Azelma, but this time, alone. And in the dark. 

She wondered, as she walked, if this would be her last. Her eyes darted from corner to corner and the hairs on the back of her neck stood at alert. 

She massaged her ear as she walked. That wasn’t the worst beating she’d received. She was just happy she only had mother on her case instead of having to deal with ‘pa. That was rare anyway. She just had to do what he asked and she was in the green with him. Still, she did try to not get on his bad side. Mother was far more demanding, but she was used to it at this point. 

It was, in fact, all she had known, the rigid discipline of her parents. The price for non-conformity, she was accustomed to since girlhood. And, to tell the truth, she feared a little, the world without the binds that that discipline had given her.

It was either her back there, running errands and joining her father’s schemes, or this. She looked around at the dark street she found herself in. It was this, the world outside; dark and dangerous, filled with all manner of things out there ready to kill her and tear her limb from limb. 

 ‘If I died here, what a waste of a death would it be?’ Cosette thought as she carefully walked the streets. As the gas lights along the Seine came into view, Cosette caught a glimpse of a small, furry creature scampering about in the dark, and then sitting to lick its paws. 

Cosette knelt with a smile and invited the kitten near, “Pspspsps…” Cosette beckoned the Calico kitten, which approached her after a bit of hesitation. It sniffed her hand and then, received many pats and rubs from Cosette, whose expression melted for a bit at the cuteness she was witnessing.

A figure looming behind approached, causing the kitten to bolt out of the alley way. Cosette gasped slightly as it did, and then froze as she heard a man’s footfalls.

 “Petting cats at this hour?” a young sounding man’s voice made itself known to her ears. 

She gulped. It was Montparnasse. 

 “W-what’re you doing, sneaking up on me like that?” She spun around and shrunk back, away from the dandyish thief who stood a distance away and dressed in his signature thin frock coat. 

 “Your father told me to, Jondrette.” he offered his hand for her to stand. 

She stood without it. 

 “I see.” she said, “I’m going to La Magnon’s.”

 “I was told,” he said, “Tough luck, looks like you’re the errand girl, today.”

 “I’ve always been her.”

 “What a pain. I’d’ve run ages ago.”

 “I’d get killed if I did that.” Cosette turned and walked, ‘By someone like you,’ she thought, though she didn’t dare say that. Who knew what Montparnasse would do to her out here alone.

 “That’s why you have me, Jondrette.” 

 Cosette kept her eyes ahead, choosing not to face him, “Yeah.” 

 “How’s ‘Ponine?”

 “As humble as ever.” 

 “Wouldn’t want her any other way, heh heh heh.” Montparnasse chuckled.

 “That right?” She smirked, as they rounded the corner over to the quay next to the River Seine. The streets were lit now, so she felt a modicum safer. Montparnasse didn’t help. 

 “Why don’t you visit me at all?” 

 “Because I’m busy,” she said, ‘Please leave me be…’ she pleaded inside her head.

 “Being busy sucks,” Montparnasse said, “If you ever get tired of those useless louts, come to me, we’d make a way better team and make far more money together, the two of us.”

 ‘Somehow, I doubt it,’ Cosette thought, before saying, “I’ll see about it, okay?”

He carried that stick around with him everywhere, she reminded herself, as she crossed the bridge over to Île de la Cité. Just a bit further now…

 “Forty Francs?” Jondrette repeated, as Éponine dropped the forty Franc coin into her bewildered father’s palms, “Forty Francs… that’s all?” 

 Éponine nodded, “We got lucky, ‘Pa” She said, her hand tightening around the single twenty Franc coin remaining in her cloth coinpurse. 

 “My girl! Azelma, you too!” He said, bringing both girls into a hug, “with this, we’re one step - no… forty steps closer to getting rich. 

Madame Jondrette sat with a proud smile, nodding along as Jondrette showered his praises on his daughters.

 “Now. You,” he said, turning just to Éponine, “You and that woman’s daughter. You have a big day tomorrow. And a big task.” 

 “What’s it gonna be, ‘Pa?” Éponine smiled.

 “The Patron-Minette,” Her father continued, “They’ve got a task for us.” 

 Éponine’s face fell at the mention of the gang, feeling a sudden pang of fear at the thought of actually working with them, “Oh…” she trailed off, “s-so, what’s it then, anyway?”

 “No, I’ll tell you tomorrow. BUT!” He said, “It’ll be something big!”

 “Big…” Éponine gulped. 

 “That’s right, my girl!” he beamed, “And I’m going to be counting on you and C’sette,” he patted her shoulder before turning away, “Wife!” he called, “Let us leave for the night!” He flicked the coin and caught it in his hand, “I believe you and I have earned a little treat?” 

Monsieur and Madame Jondrette stood near the door before their father turned and said, “You girls rest well, and tell C’sette to get ready!” 

He shut the door, heaving the two sisters inside, alone, with just a flickering candle on the table, in the otherwise dark room. 

 “Well ain’t that something?” Éponine huffed, going over to the thin mattress and taking a seat in the corner next to the wall.

She felt dread about tomorrow. She hated those circus freaks, the Patron-Minette. She had no idea why her father was so adamant on earning their favor. They were always a sort of wild element to their lives that she took great pains to avoid working with as much as possible, but inevitably she found herself doing tasks and favors for them as her father became more and more intertwined with the group. She hated going into that sewer, she hated the way those four looked at her. In fact, she would kill them if she had the chance, but what could some weak wretch living in the Salpêtrière do against them?

The whole proposition was a horrible idea, yet she was powerless to do anything, and she knew it.

Éponine sighed and leaned her ear against the wall, where the soft scratch of a pen on paper could almost be heard. She sighed again, deeper this time. 

 ‘Oh, Monsieur Marius…’ she thought. She needed to get out of here somehow. Just like how Gavroche escaped. 

It would suck. Badly. Especially as a lone girl, but she could manage. Somehow. 

Maybe she should walk in on Marius. He was still awake. 

Her eyelids lazily fell. 

 “You didn’t tell ‘pa about the extra coin?” Azelma asked, sitting next to her. 

 Éponine woke up a bit, “Hmph, ‘course not. See what they’re out doing with what gave ‘em?”

 “Oh, you’re bad ‘Ponine.” Azelma giggled.

 “Ugh, ‘Zelma, shut up.”

 “Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell.”

 “Good,” Éponine said, “I’d actually kill you if you did.”

 “What do you think you’re doing tomorrow?”

 “That task, whatever the hell it is.”

 “What is it?”

 “Nothing good, that’s for sure. But who knows? Robbing a mark? Smuggling? Could be anything, knowing those circus freaks.”

 “But it’s just you and C’sette, though? Why not me?”

 “You’re too young, I think.”

 “What?! But I’m old enough!” Azelma insisted, “You were doing more when you were my age!”

 “I was an idiot back then and C’sette was out doing way worse as a kid.”

 “That’s unfair,” Azelma pouted, “And you know it.”

 “Ugh, quit gettin’ on my ass, you damn brat.”

 “Who’re you callin’ a brat?!”

 “Oi! ‘Zelma!” Éponine scowled in that big sister way to shut down any conversation.

 “Sorry…” the younger girl squeaked. 

 A bit of remorse painted Éponine’s face and she expelled some air through her nose, relenting a bit, “Fine, I’ll let you come around maybe, but you ain’t doing nothin’ dangerous, and I ain’t lettin’ you outta my sight, got it?”

 “Yes! See?” Azelma hugged Éponine, “I told you I’m old enough!”

 “Hey, we gotta get outta here some day.” Éponine said, grabbing her shoulders and pushing her away gently, “We learn now, survive, and then save some money up and disappear from this hell hole. Got it?”

 “Where would we go?” 

 “I think… Marseilles.” Éponine smiled, “So we can go, enjoy the ocean, the sun, finally be out of this cold, and… well, everything here!”

 “Oh, that would be a dream come true!” Azelma beamed, “And we can bring C’sette and Gav’ too?”

 Éponine’s smile faltered, “I dunno… maybe C’sette. Gav’ll be tricky.”

 “I want C’sette to come.” Azelma said, “It won’t be the same without her.”

 “Yeah, it won’t be,” Éponine smirked, “ …But maybe. She does seem like she needs a change of scenery. We all do, though.”

 “I just wish Mother was nicer to her.”

 “Yeah, she didn’t deserve it. Maybe for being a rat loving dust queen, but it’s not like she was always like that. Gav’ didn’t deserve it either.”

 “What about your Monsieur Marius?” Azelma asked.

 Éponine’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of her love’s name, “Shhhhh!” Éponine covered Azelma’s mouth, “He’s right there…” she pointed to the wall. 

 “Mmmmmph?” 

 “And I…” Éponine sighed, “I don’t know if I can make it work.” She blushed furiously, “Maybe I just need to… talk to him for once and someday he’ll… well…” 

 “C’sette says she sees you follow him around sometimes,” Azelma whispered once her mouth was uncovered.

 “What does that loveless Lark know about anything?” Éponine snapped.

 “Well, she saw you sulking around a Café near the Panthéon one time.” 

 “Tch, I’m gonna strangle that damn Lark, I will… oh, I swear it!” 

 “Calm down, she didn’t do nothing anyway.”

 “Yeah, yeah, I got it. Just let me get some shut-eye, 'kay?” Éponine yawned, resting her head on the wall again, and allowing her eyelids to fall, “Really… shouldn’t’ve drank all that stuff… gimme the blanket.”

 “I’ll stay up and wait for C’sette.” Azelma said, draping the thin blanket around Éponine.

 “Do whatever…” she mumbled. 

The sounds of Éponine’s rhythmic breathing and the gentle flicker of the candle were the only ones audible in the cramped flat. Azelma sat next to her sister and looked over to the hole in the wall. Growing up sounded so lively. She both couldn’t wait, and felt a great deal of anxiety at what the future would bring her. She smiled gently, resting her chin on her knees, at the thought of what Marseilles could be for them. At least that would be nice. 

“Hurry and knock. I’m gonna keep watch over here.” Montparnasse said, taking cover in an alley, while Cosette stood by La Magnon’s door. 

“Yeah.” Cosette grunted. She rapped on the door a few times and waited. No one came. Cosette gulped. The beating she’d get if she didn’t get the money would not be fun.

So she knocked again, louder this time. And still, nothing. 

She looked to Montparnasse, who nodded at the implicit ask. 

 “Move.” He commanded. 

Cosette obeyed quickly, moving to the side as he headed over and took her spot in front of the door. 

Montparnasse slammed the door with the side of his fist three times and waited. When still, no response came, he tried again, this time two quick knocks, and two slow ones - an old Patron-Minette signature. 

Still, no one came. So he did the last thing he could think of. 

Montparnasse pulled his bludgeon out from inside his frock coat - startling Cosette, who instinctively took a few steps back - and began bashing the door handle, until it broke. He kicked the door a few times until it swung open. 

 “And, we’re in.” He shot a predatory grin at the terrified girl.

 “Th-the bobbies didn’t hear that, d-did they?” She looked over her shoulders.

 “I dunno. Hurry up and get what you need and let’s go.”

Cosette gulped, and looked over at Montparnasse who was impatiently tapping his foot. She went inside, keeping an eye on him as she did, until she was well inside the dark little home. Her eyes took a bit to adjust to the total darkness, but she went upstairs and looked around for where the old woman kept her money. 

As she snuck around in the dark, she heard the soft sound of two children snoring, and eventually saw a small, but comfortable looking bed, with two small boys tucked under a heavy blanket and fast asleep. They were young. Twins even.

She knew these boys, her youngest brothers. Her mother gave these two away to this woman, being paid to do so every month or so. Cosette knelt by the bed.

Asleep, they both looked so peaceful. Cosette had no clue how well they lived with La Magnon, but she wished them all the best. Unlike Gavroche, they had a roof and a home, from the looks of it. 

The faint light of a candle softly illuminated the boy’s faces, and Cosette’s entire body went rigid, as a surge of ice pumped through her veins. 

 ‘Shit!’ she internally cursed. 

 “You are that Jondrette girl, aren’t you?” The old, retired maid asked. 

Cosette said nothing, but stood and turned, facing the old crone, who stood tall and looked down at her with an iron glare.

 “Yeah, that’s me.” Cosette said, steadying her nerves, and staring back with an equally defiant glare. 

 “I heard you bashing my door in. Can’t let an old woman have any peace in his damn city, can you?”

 “You know why I’m here,” Cosette said, “I want the money.”

 “I don’t have it yet,” she said, “Old man Gillenormand hasn’t sent it yet, so you aren’t getting a centime from me. Tell your mother, that damn gorgon, to wait.”

Cosette cursed on her tongue. This wasn’t going to be easy, was it? 

 “No, I still gotta get that money,” Cosette said, “You know what that means, right?”

 “Oh, I know. And I’ll be getting back at you in particular, you hear me?”

Cosette looked around and started rummaging through cabinets and drawers for whatever she could take and sell.

 “Look at you, a natural born thief, in her own element,” Magnon said, “Seems that’s all your brood is capable of.”

 Cosette held up a handful of silverware, “Hope you don’t need these.”

The sound of Magnon’s teeth grinding could be heard from where Cosette stood, and only got louder as Cosette took a nice looking glass drinking cup.

 “Guess that’s all,” Cosette grinned, “Well, old lady, I’ll be seeing you next month, then.”

Her feet pitter pattered down the stairs as she made a run for it. Montparnasse was outside, waiting in his alleyway when Cosette ran by. 

 “Didn’t get no money, but got this stuff,” Cosette showed him the silverware and the cup, “Know somewhere I can sell at this hour?”

 “Lemme see.” Montparnasse took the drinking glass and appraised it against a gas lamp nearby, “Heh, not bad, pipsqueak. Guess you’re born to be a crook, like us.”

 “I think I’ll pass on wearing one of those masks.”

 “Who said anything about you wearing a mask? I don’t wear a mask. All the time, at least.” He handed Cosette back the glass. 

Montparnasse left the alley and began walking towards someone they could fence to. Cosette followed close behind.

She felt empty as she walked. She knew this was one of her parent’s contacts, but wouldn’t just taking stuff mess things up for them? Plus, Magnon didn’t just work with them, she was sort of a Paris-wide crook. Whatever happened, it would come back to bite her in the ass specifically.

She looked up at Montparnasse’s back. Well, if he was so quick to bash her door open, maybe it would just be water under the bridge for her.

 “This won’t come back and… y’know?” Cosette asked.

 “Magnon isn’t gonna do anything. Yet anyway,” Montparnasse said, “She needs them kids, because she’s got some idiot noble convinced they’re his. And he pays.”

 “ …How?” Cosette raised a brow.

 “Well, she used to have two boys of her own, and they might’ve been his, but they died, so, you can guess the rest.”

 “Oh… well, at least they’re away from us.”

 “We actually have something big coming up tomorrow.” Montparnasse looked over his shoulder at the mousy looking girl behind her, “There’s a good amount of money in it.”

 “Chances are, I don’t have a choice,” Cosette said, “What is it?”

 “C’mere…” He stopped and took hold of her shoulders. He leaned in and whispered something in her ear. 

 Cosette’s eyes widened and she quickly backed off once he let her go, “Are all of you stupid?!” She gasped, “ …Sorry. I meant…”

 Montparnasse chuckled, “You can call it stupid, but it’ll be worth it, as long as we work together.” 

 “No way!” Cosette said. 

 “Well,” he smirked, “We’ll see tomorrow. I know you and your sister will be there.”

When Cosette returned, Azelma awoke from her nearly-dozed-off half-asleep state and stood up on her knees next to Éponine’s sleeping form. 

 “C’sette, you’re back,” She whispered, “You took so long I was getting really worried.”

 “Of course,” Cosette placed a few coins and a bundle of candles on the table, “You still awake?” She looked at the dying candle sitting near the thin mattress the two girls sat on. 

 “I was waiting for you,” she replied, “What took so long?”

 “I had to go sell some stuff, because Magnon didn’t give any money.” Cosette crawled onto the mattress and sat next to Azelma, pulling up Éponine’s threadbare blanket around both her and Azelma as well. 

 “Nothing happened?”

 “No. Montparnasse ended up coming with.” 

 “Whaaat?! He did?!” Azelma gasped, “He didn’t do nothing?”

 “No,” Cosette chuckled, “He just broke the old lady’s door.”

 “Ahhh!” I’d run the hell away!” Azelma said, “I should’ve went with you!”

 “Pipe down, ‘Zelma,” Cosette whispered, noticing Éponine stirring in her sleep, “Don’t want to wake the Princess, do you?”

Azelma shushed herself, but kept talking, “‘Pa said he got a task for you and ‘Ponine tomorrow.”

 “Yeah… I know.” Cosette rested her head on Azelma’s shoulder as fatigue quickly set into her bones, “Montparnasse told me.”

 “I’m coming too.” Azelma said.

 “‘Zelma, just go to sleep,” Cosette mumbled, sleep taking her. 

Azelma looked up to the window behind them. The candle had finally died, casting the room in full darkness, but through the window, the stars were visible. It was a new moon, so it was extra dark tonight, but the stars were still visible in this part of the city. A strange consolation for their destitution, but the sight brought a smile onto the young girl’s face. She slept peacefully, thinking of Marseilles to the south, and the stars up above. 

Chapter Text

“Madame, you’re still here?” The attending nun asked, looking up from Pyrène at rest, and over to Fantine, standing by the door. The morning light filtered softly through the windows, and painted the whites of her dress in gold. 

“Yes, but I’m not long,” Fantine bowed her head slightly and approached the bed, “More importantly, I wanted to pay one final visit.”

Fantine pulled up a chair and took a seat next to where Pyrène lay, “Mademoiselle?”

Pyrène looked up at the older woman without moving her head, regarding her with a narrowing of her eyes, “G’mornin’.” She said, her voice rough and scratchy.

“How are you feeling, Pyrène?” she leaned over. 

“ … Could be worse.” the younger woman coughed. In fact, she looked much worse than the previous night. The skin of her face was flushed red and her hair was stuck to her face from her sweat. 

Fantine placed her hand on Pyrène’s searing forehead. The girl winced at Fantine’s freezing hand, but welcomed the relief from her body’s head.

“Mademoiselle Pyrène has just taken some morphine, so she will be tired soon. But, other than the cough, she seems in good spirits.” The nun said.

“Ah, that makes me glad.” Fantine sighed, “To be honest, Pyrène, I was so afraid you wouldn’t take well to being treated, that I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“A lady like you couldn’t sleep in some cold empty room like that anyway.” Pyrène said.

“No, I was allowed to sleep in one of the beds here for the night,” Fantine said, “To watch over you.”

Pyrène scoffed, “Aren’t you leaving?”

“I will be soon,” Fantine retracted her hand, “Do you feel any better?”

“Dunno. Medicine’s kinda making me feel weird. But I’m nice an’ warm, so that goes for somethin’.” Pyrène looked away, a powerful burst of shivers taking her.

“I will write to you. As soon as I arrive in Paris.” Fantine said, “ … Can you read?” She looked up at the nun, who nodded.

“‘Course I can read!” Pyrène said, “I can write too. Wanna ask me if I can file papers and organize documents?”

Fantine smiled weakly, “Well, that’s good. Pyrène, if you need or want anything at all, please, write to me. I will give you my address.”

“We’ll see,” Pyrène said, “I hope you find whatever you want there.”

“My daughter lives there,” Fantine said, “She’s nearly a grown woman now, yet I’ve never seen her.” 

“Why the hell’re you fussin’ over me when you ab-” Pyrène erupted into a fit of coughs. Fantine leaned away instinctively, “Quit sittin’ around here and go already!” 

“I will,” Fantine stood, “I will pray for you, Pyrène.” She turned to leave and headed for the door.

The nun spoke up, “We will make sure she returns to full health, madame.”

Fantine stopped at the entrance and turned to face the nun, “Thank you, sister.” she said before leaving the small hospital and returning to the streets of Montreuil-sur-Mer. 

The morning sky was cloudless as Fantine left for the town square. Montreuil-sur-Mer had already mostly come alive by this time of day. Wagons carrying people and goods were passing through the streets, while people went about their day, or went to work. The sound of hooves clopping on cobblestone rang all throughout the town as Fantine arrived in the bustling town square.

Somehow, Cosette wasn’t utterly repulsed by the smell of the sewers. The sound of her feet sloshing through the shallow layer of water settled at the bottom of the tunnel. Mice roamed around, and the curved tunnel walls were slicked with humidity. The light from Éponine’s candle caused the dew on the walls to glint as they passed by. It was terribly dark, so she stuck close to Éponine, her eyes darting around the tunnel for anything that could come at her. Sometimes, they would pass by an air vent that filtered light from the street into the dark and damn sewer below, and provide some light, but it was never enough to be able to see without the candle. 

“D’you even know where we’re going?” Cosette asked, as Éponine seemingly led her around without much direction, and a degree of unease began to settle in her gut.

“Don’t rush me, Lark,” Éponine grunted, her voice reverberating through the tunnels as she walked with a stiff posture, “‘Course I know, just be quiet and follow me.”

“We ain’t gonna run into the King of Beggars, are we?” 

“Of course you believe that story.”

“I was joking.” 

“I don’t need your damn jokes, just shut up and follow.” 

‘What’s her problem?’ Cosette thought, before saying, “Wonder what your Marius would think of you talking like that, Princess?”

“SHUT! UP!” Éponine stopped and spun on her heels, closing the distance with the younger sister and glaring daggers into Cosette’s soul. 

“Why’re you so on edge?” Cosette stared back.

“Stop being such a wretched chatterbox!” Éponine shoved Cosette into the curved wall, with her free hand, “Neither of us wants to be here, but if you want to keep yapping like a child, I’m throwing you down into the catacombs.”

“You should go with me then,” Cosette smirked defiantly, “For once, the dead won’t be the ugliest things down there.”

Cosette enjoyed a brief moment of self satisfaction as she took in the incensed curl in Éponine’s brow and her stunned back step. 

In a moment, though, a loud *SLAP* rang through the tunnel, as Éponine’s hand slapped Cosette straight across the face, leaving a bright red mark on her cheek. 

Once Cosette got over the pain, she immediately lunged for Éponine’s face, but the older sister tossed away the candle and caught Cosette’s arms as the light went out and cast the two in darkness. 

Cosette’s back hit the wall with a *thud* while Éponine forced her arms above her head, holding them there in a vice grip. 

“Apologize,” Éponine growled, “Now!” 

“Mnnng…!” Cosette kicked, “Fuck you!” 

Éponine stared down at Cosette, who stared back at her while squirming in her hands. She stayed like that for a long while, before finally, after being satisfied by the younger girl’s defeated downward gaze, let her go roughly, shoving her away from the wall.

Éponine wordlessly continued, picking up the unlit candle and the dish, and stuffing them into her belt-string, “Hurry or I’m leaving you.”

Cosette indignantly stared at Éponine’s retreating back, and in the dark, decided to just follow the older sister. The impact of Éponine’s hand still searing a bit on her cheek.

“Ah, there she is!” Montparnasse said as he watched Éponine emerge from the shadows with Cosette in tow, “And your famous workhorse, isn’t that right, Jondrette?”

Their father snickered among the other men, “Well, yes, they both work very very hard.” He clasped his hands together like some form of kowtow, “‘Ponine, C’sette, come, come!” 

Cosette looked up from her bangs at Éponine’s rigid stance before the gang. The older girl stiffly walked over to where the group of 5 dangerous men stood and pursed her lips. 

“This the bunch you were talking about, ‘pa?” Éponine lifted her chin at Claquesous and Babet, responding with the same bravado she showed everywhere, “So, what’s all the noise about this ‘big’ news? You fellas got us all excited. Better not disappoint me, you hear?”

The pain in Cosette’s face subsided, but she still found herself quietly nursing her cheek as she watched Éponine’s change in demeanor. She wondered how she was so able to just sit around like her usual self and then come here, after all that agitation and just effortlessly become one with the miscreants of Paris. 

As opposed to herself, of course. From Cosette, it wasn’t an act at all. She really was a Paris miscreant, and still just a total wreck. 

Yet here was this Princess of the Gutter, acting conceited and stuck-up every day and hating everything around. And still, she stood here brazenly acting in front of a gang of thugs that could kill the both of them at any moment. 

A flare of resentment rose within her as she listened to the Princess yap on with the gangsters. Cosette’s fists tightened, and her jaw clenched. 

Montparnasse glanced over at Cosette from the corner of his eye and grinned in recognition, seeing her raw leering eyes bare into Éponine’s back as the older girl boasted. 

“That’s my girl, chums! Now, hear ye, hear ye! Gather ‘round as the magnificent Jondrette announces… the plan!” Their father said. 

All the spectators gathered closer into a huddle. Montparnasse and Cosette already knew what it would be, and stood a bit apart from the rest. 

“ L'Académie Royale !” Jondrette announced with glee, his voice, booming in the sewer tunnels. 

Cosette sighed through her nose. This idea was suicide and just plainly on it’s face, stupid and dangerous. 

“There’s a big opera in town tonight, and many of the wealthiest, all over France and beyond are coming to see it. We’re popping in to take some pickings and disappearing into the crowd once we make out with our take!”

Éponine blinked, “We’re pickpocketing rich people at the opera?”

“Not just any opera. THE Opera!” 

“Well, pickpocketing a bunch of snooty rich assholes sounds like my kind of fun,” Éponine said, “Easy enough, but how’s this gonna work? How’re we all getting in?”

Jondrette and Montparnasse both erupted into laughter, “What do you mean, we?” Montparnasse asked, “The men are going to be outside for a distraction. You two girls are going to be breaking in alone!”

Éponine’s brave front cracked a bit as he delivered his words, “Alone…?” She glanced over at Cosette. This was not going to be smooth at all, was it?

The Théâtre de l'Académie Royale de Musique was located farther north of where they usually found their pecking grounds. Night fell quickly as the two older sisters fetched Azelma from their home and continued north to Rue Le Peletier, where the new Paris Opera was located. The relatively small street was crammed with fiacres, carts, coaches, and all sorts of finely dressed individuals - both men and women crowded around the entrance for tickets. 

Éponine read off the title of the opera playing tonight - “Robert le Diable” she read, as the three of them stopped in front of the building, side skirting the crowd, “Guess I’ll just steal the paper tomorrow to see if it’s any good or not.”

“We could sneak a peek during though,” Azelma said, grumbling a bit as they watched the Patron-Minette from the other side of the street trying to hawk some junk they stole the day before. 

The distraction gave the girls the opportunity to sneak around the back of the building. This part was quiet and lacking the noise and bustle of the main street, as well as protected them from prying eyes from all the rich opera goers. Here, they could observe and plan their entrance. 

“So… are we doing this?” Azelma asked. 

“We don’t really have a choice, but…” Cosette said, “Still, you don’t need to be here, ‘Zelma.” 

“She begged me to let her come last night, so I figured we could use the extra hand,” Éponine said, studying the windows and walls, “Actually, I just couldn’t convince her to let it go, so here she is.”

Their bare feet and Éponine’s flats crunched on the grasses along the back of the building. They made a few rounds around the building, observing the perimeter walls for an entrance, until Cosette spotted a balcony on the second storey. 

Éponine looked up for a moment, “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” she began to undo the string around her waist and manually held her threadbare skirt in place, “Take those belts off, we’re putting ‘em together.”

She folded her skirt to tighten it without the string. Then, when Cosette and Azelma had begun to take their belt-strings off, Éponine looked around for a rock to use, and eventually found one big enough to the gaps between the balcony railing.

Once the makeshift grappling hook was made, Éponine chucked the stone up and watched as it caught in between the railing. She tested the strength of the combined string and once she was satisfied, she let herself display a self-satisfied smirk.

“Éponine Jondrette, Ladies and Gentlemen. Infiltration extraordinaire!” she turned, “Lark, you’re going first.”

They climbed up onto the balcony and entered the building through the window. They ended up in a dark office - containing just a desk, some bookshelves, and some decorations here and there. 

Cosette peered through the door to watch for any movement while Éponine and Azelma searched the room. 

They found only scattered paper and some books. 

“We’re actually inside the opera!” Azelma said, bouncing on her toes from giddiness, “So, when are we going in?”

“Hush! We’re here to pick pockets and steal stuff,” Éponine said, “Don’t draw any attention to us, you hear?”

Cosette turned, “Coast is clear.”

Éponine nodded, “Fine. ‘Zelma, let’s go.”

The three of them advanced down the empty hall and found an open booth overlooking the theater. They snuck inside and took to the shadows, covering themselves behind the curtain and laying in wait for anyone to enter. 

Azelma found her attention being turned to the opera beginning below the alcove they hid in, and peeked slightly from the curtain to watch, while Cosette and Éponine stood tense, as a man and a woman entered the booth, both smiling and laughing.

The guests took their seats and resumed talking about whatever they were talking about. The man removed his overcoat and draped it over the back of his seat. 

“Lark…” Éponine whispered, nudging Cosette. 

She nodded, and snuck quietly behind the couple and snaked her hand into the man’s coat pocket. The man leaned forward as the lights dimmed. From the shadows, so did Azelma. 

Éponine kept her eyes on the couple, but also kept watch over the entrance. 

Cosette pulled out a wallet from the man’s coat and nodded at Éponine.

“Psst, ‘Zelma.” Éponine nudged the distracted girl. 

They quietly snuck out of the booth with one wallet in tow. 

“How much is in there?” Éponine asked, while Azelma stood as close to the wall as she could, to hear the songs being played. 

Cosette looked inside, “A bunch, I dunno.”

Éponine nodded in approval, and they continued to another booth they could rob from.

They had a decent run of things, picking various pockets through the west side of the theater, but one woman spotted Azelma trying to watch the opera and then noticed the slum girls trying to steal her purse, and so screamed loudly enough for the entire opera to be alerted to the presence of the three thieves crawling around in the dark. 

They made a run for it as an officer chased them down the halls, “Get back here, scum!” the officer yelled, his bludgeon drawn, as he chased after the three slum girls. 

The Jondrette sisters bolted from hall to hall as they tried to backtrack the way they entered in their rush. Thinking they found the right room, and with the officer not yet on their trail, they found a room thinking it was where they entered from and then shut themselves inside the dark office, hiding behind the curtains. 

“Fuck!” Éponine cursed, kicking the desk chair as she paced, “This ain’t even the right room! ‘Zelma! This is why I didn’t want you coming!”

“You didn’t want me coming because I’m too young!” Azelma retorted.

“You useless brat, we’re going to be arrested and thrown in jail if they catch us!” Éponine grasped the girl’s shoulders and shook her, “I told you we’re not watching that opera, we’re here to take stuff and go!”

“But I…” Azelma sniffed, the prison sentence looming over her face, “I dun’ wanna go to jail!!!” She whined as tears flowed down her cheeks.

Cosette stood next to the shut door and listened for any footsteps, but it was proving difficult by Azelma’s crying. She heard something faintly coming their way but it wasn’t the same as the officer that chased them to this corner. 

“Stop crying! We’re all still kids. They ain’t gonna keep us long.” Éponine said.

“R-really?” Azelma sniffled.

“I dunno. Maybe if that one demonic inspector isn’t the one to catch us. Then we ain’t ever seein’ the light of day.”

“Noooooooo!!!!” Azelma sobbed again. 

Cosette heard the footfalls getting louder, “Guys, shut up! Someone’s coming!” She hissed. 

The three hid behind a curtain and held their breaths so that it was quiet enough for the three of them to hear each other’s racing heartbeats. 

Azelma flinched at the sound of the door opening and squeezed Cosette’s hand. Cosette peeked slightly from the curtain to see who it was, but as she suspected, it wasn’t the officer that followed them. In fact, his silhouette didn’t match that of an officer either. This was someone else.

The man retrieved one of the wall candles and revealed himself, “I’m not with Vidocq’s lads,” he said, “But I saw you three trying to steal from a few people, and I wanted to talk.”

Cosette looked at Éponine, who looked back in confusion. 

Cosette herself found the man’s voice somewhat familiar, but where had she heard it before? From the look on Éponine’s face, she was thinking the same thing. 

The man spoke with a sort of southern accent, but she couldn’t clock exactly where. 

“I promise, I’m not going to turn you three in, so come out from the curtain.”

Azelma peeked out first, but both Éponine and Cosette pulled her back. 

The man approached and swung open the curtains, capturing the three girls in candlelight and causing them to freeze like hunted deer. 

“I remember you three from yesterday, no?” The man said.

“Y-you,” Éponine said in realization, “Fabre’s son?  From Rue Plumet?” 

“Well, I’m glad I wasn’t forgotten so quickly, but why are you three here?”

“Tch, what do you think?” Éponine crossed her arms.

“I’m not stupid. I’ve lived that life before, I know what you were up to. I’m asking why you picked this location?” he turned to shut the door, “But forget that question. Now that I know why the bobbies are storming the place, and I have you three with me, I will ask now: What did you want from my father yesterday?”

“Money, what else?”

“Seems like you three have the means to make plenty judging by the amount of purses in her hand,” He gestured to Cosette, who held onto a linen knapsack of stolen purses and wallets, “Yet you came to us to take advantage of my father’s generosity, no?” 

“We ain’t done no such thing, m’sieur!” Éponine remained firm.

“I don’t care. But hear me this, you three wretches, I don’t ever want to see you around again, are we clear?” His face remained adamant at Éponine’s defiance, looking down at her like an adult looks down at an unruly child. His eyes scanned the girls, before he turned to make his leave, “I will distract the bobbies for you. Go, and make your exit now.”

He left the room without any further word, returning the small office back into darkness. 

“The hell was his problem?” Éponine huffed, leaving the curtain, “Whatever, let’s just go.” 

The three began carefully making their exit via the correct office balcony. When they noticed the coast was clear, they climbed down their makeshift grappling hook and immediately fled the area using the network of side streets and alleyways that made up the many streets of Paris, returning with their spoils to their hive of the Salpêtrière.

“Father,” The younger Fabre said, approaching the old man seated within an opera booth. 

“What is it, my son?” Monsieur Fabre responded, looking over his shoulder to his son. His voice was deep, but gentle. 

“Vidocq’s men were only looking for some thieves.” He sat next to the man, “I didn’t see anyone dangerous among the bobbies. And neither that hound-like man.”

“Thank you, Gervais.”

“I ran into the thieves myself.” 

“You did?”

Gervais nodded, “I was those three beggar girls that visited our home yesterday.”

“I see,” Monsieur Fabre remained quiet, “And what did you do?” He finally asked. 

“I let them go with their pickings.” He said, “But that letter they gave you? I’m going to burn it. You are far too soft with these people, father.”

“Gervais, neither of us have any right to go after thieves, given our past.” 

“Fine, but you are far too good for your own sake.” Gervais said, “So much so, you forget the depravity that condition drives man into.”

“Desperation, my son. Not depravity.” Monsieur Fabre said, “I do not think myself above their disposition, and neither should you.”

“Fair point, father, but I will keep watch, like a hawk.” Gervais said, “Paris is no different than Lyon. Both hells filled by and run by money and the lovers of money.”

Monsieur Fabre placed a calming hand on his son’s shoulder, “You remind me of a nephew of mine, from a past life. My sister’s oldest,” He said, “Gervais, you should focus on your music. You told me you wanted to see this opera for inspiration. Focusing would do you well here.”

Gervais turned back to the opera, “Perhaps you are right, father.”

Chapter Text

Fantine found Paris to be much larger and a bit more sprawling than it was when she left it back in 1818. But overall, she felt quite nostalgic as her coach slowed near the streets of The Marais . She got off there in the decidedly mixed district, and with her carpetbag in tow, began to walk the length of the street. She wandered aimlessly, while staring up at the buildings surrounding her with a hard squint to see better.

She felt much the same as the country girl that arrived here for the first time in 1814. At awe by the size of the city buildings and the sheer amount of people on the streets at any given time. But as she wandered the streets, she found herself realizing she had no plan other than to somehow buy a store somewhere and get it working. 

She mentally berated herself as she walked. She looked around for any stores that may or may not be for sale - empty storefronts in particular of which there were a few - but whenever she inquired about the price, the building would be far out of her reach. 

So, she eventually left the Marais and arrived at the massive market at Les Halles towards the northern half of the city. Her feet began to hurt as she walked. Thankfully, she wasn’t cold yet, and mercifully, the sun was out and there was actually a summer this year. It was late morning, but Paris being Paris, the crowds were massive and time went on as she slowly weaved her way through traffic of both man and carriage.

She wanted to know where Cosette was and let her know she was here for her at last, but she would need something for the girl to come back to. 

Where would she even go? Her finances were not unlimited. She needed to buy something, and quickly get everything up and running. Or else… 

Her squinting gaze rose to the sky as she headed westward. She found herself wandering through the rich districts near the Louvre and Tuileries . These areas were more or less familiar to her. She didn’t live here, but she would frequently wander these areas with her coworkers, and later, with Tholomyès and his friends. 

A pang of bitterness rose like bile as she went along the Champs-Élysées, and her mind wandered back to that day of her complete and utter humiliation by not only the man she called her lover, but also the women she considered her friends. 

She kept her eyes trained on the neatly metaled road at her feet as her mind raced with every step, ‘Those damned harpies. That bastard and his terrible brood… where are they all now?’ She found herself wondering. 

She would give them all a piece of her mind if she ever saw them. She swore, oh she swore on all the saints and everything that was holy!

In Fantine’s mental stupor, she hardly registered the woman in front of her until their heads collided and her vision flashed for a brief second. They both ended up on the ground. 

“Oh dear!” Fantine quickly rose, rubbing her head and then offering the woman her hand, “I am so sorry! My vision isn’t what it used to be.” 

The woman, who looked to be about Fantine’s age, took her offered hand, “It’s alright, love. I’ll be okay, but watch where you’re going!”

“I am terribly sorry, I hope I didn’t ruin that dress, madame,” Fantine helped her stand, “Can I buy you a meal at least?”

“Oh, no no no, it’s quite alright,” The woman said, “Though, I suppose I shouldn’t turn down a free meal with how things are going lately…”

Fantine noticed a strong accent on the woman as they began walking eastward, “Are you from up north?” Fantine asked, squinting around for a café. 

“Aye, I’m from up north,” She said, with a bit of surprise, “But not from France.”

“Really? Where?”

“Liège. Up in the Netherlands,” she said, “Ah, sorry. It’s Belgium now, but we’ll see how long that lasts.” 

“I heard of the rebellion!” Fantine said, “I’m from up near the border, not far from Calais, though I’ve only been there once when I was young.” 

The woman smiled brightly, “Ah, a Picard and a Walloon bump into each other on the streets of Paris. Why, we’re almost cousins!”

“Cousins?” Fantine laughed, “That’s one way to put it.”

“What is your name, then?”

“It’s Fantine.”

“Coralie Reynders.”

Fantine spotted a nice little café for the two to sit at and they made their way over, ordering their food and then just talking. 

“What’s the city like these days?” Fantine asked, “I returned home for more than ten years for work, so I am a bit lost again, just like the first time.”

“Well, that’s going to depend on what part of the city you mean. Whole city’s been growing so fast the walls can’t contain it anymore.” She said, “Now then, madame…?”

“Picard.” Fantine answered, informally assigning herself a surname - after her own ethnic group, the Picards of Picardie, but also around the area where Montreuil-sur-Mer was located. 

“Madame Picard,” Madame Reynders completed, “I can tell you a bit about Faubourg St-Antoine, where I live. More and more people are moving in every day, more shops are opening up, and everything. But many things just remain the same. It’s still a bit of Paris, and we still see all the traffic coming through every day. Though, it is a shame that good for nothing downstairs declared bankruptcy without telling me a lick and disappeared on me before I could get my last payment. That damned ingrate.” 

Fantine cut her off, “What happened, madame?”

“Ah, where are my manners?” She took a deep breath, “My husband - bless him - owned our building on the Faubourg and it went to my son when he passed away. I’ve been managing the place while my son grows up, but we’ve barely been making ends meet with just the payments from our tenants alone. Our main paying tenant, the ingrate I mentioned before just disappeared on us. He ran a clothing shop for men but as I said, he went bankrupt and left. Most of our money came from his payment, so now, we just have an empty shop sitting around downstairs and no money to do anything with!”

“That does sound like a headache aplenty…” Fantine sighed, “I have had a few bad brushes myself-” Fantine abruptly caught her tongue as Coralie’s words registered in her mind, ‘Did she just say an empty shop?’ She thought.

“Madame, you’re looking for a new shop tenant?” Fantine asked, standing abruptly.

“That’s right, do you know anyone?” 

“Madame, please, it’s been a dream of mine to own a jewellery shop, and I’ve saved up enough to at least get started.”

Madame Reynders nodded intently, listening with great interest. 

“Would you show me the place? I am looking for a store to purchase.” Fantine asked intensely.

The surprised ‘o’ on Coralie’s face slowly curled into a smile as the taste of her finances reversing for the better landed on her tongue.

Coralie Reynders’ building was a fine looking building with a verdant facade covered in creeping vines. There was a shop on the ground floor with a glass display and a heavy door in front. There was a sign above the window that said something she couldn’t read, and a hanging sign above the door with the image of a sun with a face on it. 

Aside from that, the ornamentation mostly ended there. It was a rather functional building, with tiled stones making up the facade. There were a few sets of windows above, indicating some living space, but also explaining Coralie’s lack of finances - there must not have been too many rooms to begin with. 

This was Faubourg St-Antoine, a rather busy street. She passed through here on foot with Cosette in tow when she first left the city. It was not so different as back then. Carts, fiacres, horses, and many pedestrians - mostly pedestrians - flowed through the major road in the constant motion of the grand city. 

She had a good feeling about this place. 

“So…” Madame Reynders felt the weight of the coinpurse Fantine gave her, “A jeweler? You have made jewellery before, have you?” She asked, her Walloon accent coming out stronger.

“I was a factory forewoman for a good many years back home.” Fantine said, “We made necklaces, and bracelets, and all sorts of pieces and trinkets with jet gems. Well, to be entirely truthful, it wasn’t real jet, or black glass for that matter. Just an imitation of both, and dyed black, but we made them so well they looked just like the real thing. I know the new forewoman, so I was looking to import some of the pieces and gems here and make and sell some myself in my own shop. And this location is perfect.”

“Will you run it yourself?” Coralie asked.

“No, I have a daughter in the city. She and I will be working together.” Fantine looked away for a bit, embarrassment rising within her, “Erm… my… husband and I were never close and…” 

“No, no, you made a good choice! You leave when things get bad, you hear!” Coralie said.

“Yes, well, she doesn’t live with me yet. But I have to ask, do you have a room for me upstairs as well?”

“I have one,” Coralie nodded.

“I will take that too, then.” Fantine said, opening her coinpurse again.

The very next day, Fantine sent out a flurry of letters via a local scribe. Five headed for various wholesalers around the city, one for the forewoman in Montreuil-sur-Mer placing a bulk order of blackened gems, and finally, two letters to the Montreuil-sur-Mer hospital - one for the nuns, thanking them for their help, and then one meant for Pyrène. 

“For this one, could you please write, ‘Dear Pyrène, I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits.” She waited for the scribe to catch up to her words, “I have arrived in Paris… and I am doing rather well for myself so far. My day has been quite busy, and I imagine, in future, that things will be even more busy with my store. But, I knew and remembered to write to you when I arrived, and so I hope this makes it to you in good fashion. Pyrène, please rest well and write back when you can. My address will be… erm… Fantine - with an F, monsieur - Picard, at Rue du Faubourg St-Antoine, near Place de la Bastille, opposite the Hôpital St. Antoine. Second floor of the building with green vines growing on the front. With many well wishes, Fantine Picard.” 

She handed the scribe a few sou , “That should be the last of it, monsieur.”

The scribe pushed up his eyeglasses - Fantine made a mental note to buy her own - and regarded her with a lazy gaze, “No, you gave me some good business on this very slow day, Madame Picard. Any further burning inquiries you must make?” 

Ah, Cosette. She should write to Monsieur Jondrette. 

No, should she? She had nothing yet in this city. Just an empty room and an empty shop. 

She couldn’t just bring Cosette back to nothing when she had a family looking after her. No, she needed to make a proper home first.

“No, nothing yet.” Fantine smiled, taking all her finished and sealed letters, and leaving the scribe’s small shop. 

Now, back on the Rue du Faubourg St-Antoine, she needed to find the post office somewhere near the Seine islands. 

“Why must I go all the way, myself?” Fantine complained to no one in particular as she held the letters and her small, lighter coinpurse close to her heart. 

As she looked around at the people she passed, especially at the young women, she felt a strange unease settle over her as she realized just how far the fashions of the day had changed in the years she was gone. She still fussed over herself every morning, taking great pains to wash her golden hair in her washbasin every morning, sometimes adding oil, or egg whites, soap, or whatever else she fancied at that particular moment. Her magnificent hair still shone bright as it always had, yet now, she felt that wasn’t enough.

She felt like an old lady among a crowd of younger women who were changing everything she was used to when she was growing up. 

She would most definitely look like an old lady to Cosette, had they met today. How embarrassing. Perhaps she should buy something else to wear.

No, no, no! Look where her improvidence ended her up all those years ago? 

But, just one set of clothes wouldn’t hurt, would it? Maybe eyeglasses would be good too.

Oh, but that would look bloody ridiculou-

THUD!

Fantine found herself knocked to the ground again, letting the letters in her hands fly to the floor along with her coinpurse. 

“Ow! I’m so sorry!” Fantine said, sitting up, “I am such a klutz, this is the second time this has happened to me! I really need some eye specta…”

Fantine looked down at the very unamused slum girl’s face and dress to know she was speaking too much. 

The girl in front of her was nearly her height. She had long, unkempt, light brown hair that stopped near the small of her back. Her face was a bit gaunt, and her skin was almost a sickly pale, while her shoulders hunched forward, causing the neckline of her threadbare chemise to droop forward. She wore an equally tattered skirt that was folded and tucked up around her waist for support, but also rode up the hem to her knees. She wore footwraps made of linen, and they were also coming apart. This was not to mention at all her skinny frame and nearly bony arms.

She looked up at Fantine with a pair of dull brown eyes. At once, she seemed both forty and sixteen as her empty and horrifying eyes gazed deep into the older woman’s soul. But she was still just a girl. 

‘I should leave.’ Fantine thought as she stood, offering the girl her hand. It was swatted away.

“My bad, M’dame.” the girl said, standing and picking up all of Fantine’s letters, “Here.” She thrust the bundle into Fantine’s arms, before running past her and disappearing into the Paris crowd.

What a terrifying thing that girl was. 

Fantine looked down at the letters in her arms. Everything seemed to be there… but it was only once she had already mailed out all of her letters, that she realized her coinpurse was missing.

Chapter Text

November, 1831

The freezing air of November tore through the Salpêtrière, where it mixed with the deep and putrid stench of many tanneries that littered the district around the famous asylum. The sky was cloaked in grey, choking the sun in drab and casting the world of Adam’s children below in pale blue darkness even in the midst of the day. 

A lone streetlamp near the Gorbeau tenement flickered in the wind as it stood, like a beacon among the bleak road below. 

Éponine sat alone, leaning against a corner of the Jondrette room and separate from her sisters and parents. Her face was buried inside the day’s edition of Le Constitutionnel that she stole earlier in the day. Her eyes scanned the pages voraciously but her attention had long since glazed past the headlines of the Lyon riots, rumors of war in Belgium, or Algeria. Rather, her attention was focused squarely on the section for serialized novels; the feuilleton section of the newspaper. 

Éponine was not there, in that wretched sty, she was in medieval England! Riding along with Robin Hood and saving Sir Ivanhoe from captivity. 

While she was off in the clouds of her own mind, her father’s voice snapped her out of her imagination.

“‘Ponine!” He called from the table, waving around a letter, “Go and deliver this, my girl.”

Éponine peeked over the newspaper, “Where, ‘pa?”

“The Marius boy from next door,” He said, causing Éponine’s heart to drop for a brief moment, “Got one more ask for him.”

“... Y-yeah, sure thing, ‘pa,” Éponine stood, folding up the newspaper and tossing it aside, “Where’s C’sette?”

“Gettin’ my money from La Magnon, again.” Madame Jondrette said, “Seems the old lady don’t like to pay, so we got the little Lark to just take the money from her instead.”

She took the letter from her father and looked at the still-wet wax seal. The day before was actually her first time meeting and speaking with Marius face-to-face. She had kept her eye on him for quite a long time but never before had she actually approached him to talk. 

She dearly hoped she didn’t make a monumental fool of herself that time, but now that her father had another delivery for him so soon, she supposed she had another chance. 

‘You know, Monsieur Marius, you’re a good-looking fellow?’ she remembered herself saying to him the other day. Her gaze fell to her feet as she stood near Marius’ door. Maybe she said too much last time?

Arghh, but she couldn’t help it!

She knocked on his door, a bit louder than she would have liked but she stood by and twiddled with the letter while she waited. 

She heard some footsteps from behind the door, which soon swung open, revealing the dark-haired young man. 

“Yes?” Marius’ expression fell into a sympathetic frown as he saw Éponine at the door, “Oh, it’s you.”

“Um, hello, Monsieur Marius,” she said, “I have another letter for you.”

Marius looked down at the letter in Éponine’s hand, “Yes, mam’selle, I’ll take that,” he said in his usual cool voice, but between now and the other day, it sounded a bit softer to Éponine’s ears, “I wasn’t able to be properly acquainted with you last we spoke, mam’selle.” He stepped away from the door and pulled back his desk chair to take a seat. He leaned back against the coat-covered backrest. 

Éponine entered the room and handed Marius the letter, but began looking around again as soon as she did 

Every little thing caught her eye - he lived so well, this poor, lone man, estranged from his family and living in this slum. A full bookshelf, a well built desk, relatively clean and mostly free of clutter - it was a boy’s room after all. But to Éponine, it was heaven. 

She remembered her room in The Sergeant of Waterloo. She shared it with Azelma but they mutually agreed that half the room was hers and the other half was the younger girl’s. Her side was not much unlike Marius’ room. To her memory at least.

As she rummaged through his bookshelf full of old law textbooks and treatises, Marius’ voice tore back her attention, “What is your name, mam'selle? You know so much about me that you know Père Mabeuf by name, and that we are acquainted, yet I don’t even have your name.”

“Jondrette. Éponine Jondrette. I just get called ‘Ponine by everyone. No one has the decency to grace me with the ‘É’ before my name.”

Marius dug into one of his drawers and retrieved a coinpurse, “How have you been? No problems with rent?”

“Not since the summer when you covered for us M’sieur. That was very kind of you.” 

“No, you don’t owe me anything, I don’t want to hold you and your family to account for something that was done without any expectations of anything in return.”

“My sisters and I had a lucky break the month after, so we were able to manage somehow. It was better than living on the streets though. Even when we still starve.”

“I… I’m sorry, Mam’selle Jondrette. Your life can’t be easy.”

He retrieved a few francs - not more than 5 - and placed it into Éponine’s hand, “Here, take this as a personal gift from me. I… I feel silly for saying this out loud but a girl your age should really have something nicer to wear.”

Marius’ hand brushing hers as he handed her the coins caused her heart to race at full-sail, “O-oh, thanks.”

Marius sat on his chair reverse, resting his arms over the top of the backrest. 

“D-d’you read much, M’sieur?” Éponine asked, pocketing the coins and taking a seat on Marius’ bed, “Outside of work, I mean.”

“I used to when I was still in school,” Marius answered, “Not as much anymore. I mostly just work. And you’ve seen me at Père Mabeuf’s shop, so you know I’ve not completely stopped.”

“Most of your books are boring, M’sieur.”

“The exciting ones fetch a better price.”

“You a lawyer, M’sieur?”

“My grandfather thinks so,” Marius’ lips fell into a frown, “I think I’ll just keep up what I do now… or maybe something else…”

“What’s that?”

“Oh… it’s nothing, just some silly boy’s dream, is all.” Marius looked around the floor under Éponine’s feet. 

Éponine smiled, “Well, what is it?”

Marius sighed, “Well, I… this is so stupid but…” He smiled, “I was at the Jardin du Luxembourg the other day and I saw a man play the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard in my life, and yet, I could never find the courage to approach him. I want to work for him, you see? Erm… as the man that makes him popular. I think I have the skill for it and I’ve done the work before, but… hah, by God, how silly I must sound, telling all this to a teenager. The man himself never graced the Jardin with his music since then, so now I feel like a fool and a loser.”

“No, no, I wanted to hear more,” Éponine beamed, “You know, if you wanted, I could find him for you?”

Marius’ brow raised, “Really, you would do that for me? I asked Courfeyrac if he knew any hurdy-gurdy players, but he knew none. I was almost ready to give up myself, but if you’re willing to search on my behalf, I would pay you again, handsomely, this time!”

“Handsomely, M'sieur Marius?” Éponine blushed.

The light of the sun filtered into the room, and the world outside was graced for a short time, a brief respite from the dark. Marius looked out through the window at the way the sun bathed the building across the street in bright yellow light.

“Let us talk outside,” Marius stood, “I don’t want to miss the sun this time of year.”

He handed Éponine an old coat he was preparing to sell and put his own green coat on, before the two shuffled down the stairs and onto the street near Boulevard de l’Hopital.

Right as they did, they happened to pass by Cosette, returning from La Magnon’s. She regarded the two with contempt, before disappearing into the Jondrette den.

“Despite living here for a few years now, only yesterday did I truly see how we all truly live here in this place.” Marius uttered as the two stood vigil near Gorbeau’s front door, watching traffic go by in the rare sunlit afternoon, “Like dirty rats in a cage…”

A particularly emaciated beggar passed them by. Marius averted his gaze.

“To tell you the truth, M’sieur,” Éponine started, wistfully, “We didn’t always live like this.”

“No, I’m sure no one is.”

“No, no! We came from the countryside. Not far from Paris actually. We had an inn and everything, but my parents are fools and they ran our inn like fools and now look at us, just as you described.”

Marius glanced at Éponine, imagining her as a normal girl from the countryside. Somehow the thought of dressing up this ragged slum girl as a country lady amused him greatly.

“You have two sisters?” He asked.

“Three brothers too. But they’ve been gone a while.”

“Who’s the oldest? Something tells me I’d be fearing for my life if you had an older brother.”

“No, I’m the oldest.”

“Really? Can’t be easy having all the responsibility on you.”

“It ain’t much,” She said, her put-on airs slipping a bit as Azelma and Cosette flashed in her mind, “Well, I suppose… It can be a bit strange. Sometimes you just have to be mean, I guess, but… I have my moments too. I dunno. My middle sister and I fight a lot, though, but I never really know what to say to her. She… she used to…”

Éponine trailed off as she realized how it would sound, had she completed the thought. Cosette used to be the Inn’s little maid and, despite how conflicted she felt about it, was beneath her. As they grew older and the family moved to Paris and changed their names, she realized how much of a buffoon she was to think that. But once she began seeing Cosette as a sister instead, the younger girl changed. Despite her downtrodden nature, the abuse, and the grime, there was always a glint in the Lark’s eyes, that, once they moved to Paris, seemed to slowly fade until her eyes held nothing but darkness. 

She wondered if she was to blame for it all. Then, Cosette began her own verbal torment of her, and their relationship only fell from there.

“No, don’t blame your parents,” Marius said, “Blame the King. He came in promising the world to France and now look at the economy.”

“Really?” 

“I don’t actually know anything anymore…” Marius said, “That’s just what Courfeyrac says.”

“My family are actually Bonapartists.” Éponine said.

“Really? Wouldn’t’ve guessed.”

“My pa’ has this hideous painting of a lady and the Emperor, but he fought at Waterloo, so he keeps it for a reason.”

“Ah, I think I remember you telling me the other day,” Marius said, before his eyes twitched and he remembered his utter embarrassment back when he was still visiting the Café Musain with Courfeyrac, when his Imperial posturing was shut down by Enjolras uttering two words that tore apart his entire argument, ‘To be free’ he remembered him saying, before leaving the backroom of the café.

“I… Well, my father was at Waterloo as well.” Marius ended up saying, “He passed away quite some time ago, but, his, well… his life was saved by someone there and I’m still looking for that man to thank him for what he did for him.”

Éponine blinked, his story sounding familiar, “You know, I think my pa’ also told me something simi-”

“Pardon my intrusion,” A woman’s voice cut her off.

Both Marius and Éponine’s attention turned to the bespectacled newcomer. Before them stood a blonde woman with her hair braided and pinned to the back of her head. Her face was framed on each side with short corkscrew curls. She wore a modest green and black plaid dress with very puffy gigot sleeves. Above the dress she wore a heavy wool mantle for warmth and above her nose, rested a pair of brass rimmed eye-glasses.

“Yes, madame?” Marius asked, containing his surprise at seeing a woman dressed as well as her traversing the Salpêtrière alone. 

“Does a family named Jondrette live in this building?” She asked. 

Marius turned to Éponine, who did not recognize her at all. One of her father’s marks?

She had no clue, yet for some reason, something about her was strangely familiar. A vague memory perhaps?

She said nothing, so Marius answered, “They live upstairs on the right, and they’re home.”

The woman sighed with relief and a light smile graced her face, “Ah, thank you, monsieur, mademoiselle.” 

Her eyes glanced over Éponine as she turned for the door but she was obviously disconcerted by the girl’s appearance. 

Éponine only wondered what could have possessed this decent lady to come to this dump.

She narrowed her eyes as she watched the woman enter into the old hovel. She would see. 

Chapter Text

Fantine unlocked the front door of her shop and flipped the wooden sign that hung in the door to ‘OPEN’. The winter air outside was freezing and the snowstorm that blew over the place the night before coated the street in a layer of white opposite to the gray that hung above. Across the street, the Hôpital de St. Antoine

Faubourg du St-Antoine was already busy, the constant foot and vehicle traffic trampling over the pure snow and tainting it with the scum of life. 

Fantine et Fille had been open for business in early July and since then, Fantine’s life had been tied to that building. Most of her days were spent behind the counter; speaking with whoever managed to find themselves in the little shop, putting together more pieces to sell, repairing jewellery she was given, or daydreaming when there was little work to be done. 

Soon enough, the bell from the Hôpital des Enfants-Trouvés Orphanage rang at 3 in the afternoon.

With a tired sigh, she approached her front door and flipped the sign to ‘CLOSED’, before turning back to her relatively spartan shop. She touched up a few of her displays and swept a bit before she retired upstairs to her room for a quick rest. 

She had, again, too few customers today, far too many pieces left to sell and not enough interest in her store to keep people coming in. A few regulars came and went, or if there was a big funeral nearby, she’d see an uptick in customers, but on most days, she was left on her own to watch over an empty shop and stare at the crowds passing by from her counter. 

“How goes it, Madame Picard?” Madame Reynders asked as they passed each other on the stairs.

“How… the store?” Fantine stopped a step above, “It’s going, I suppose.” she exhaled sharply, averting her eyes. 

“You run the thing all on your lonesome,” Reynders said, “You told me your daughter lives in the city, why don’t you just have her work with you?”

Fantine’s brow shot up and her lips parted slightly as the thought registered in her mind. To tell the truth, she had thought of that frequently, but actually retrieving her sent a jolt of anxiety coursing through her veins. 

‘What would she think of me?’ Fantine would think, putting off the job for another day, ‘What would she think of me taking so long?’

“Yes, but I often wonder… forget it,” Fantine said, “I should have retrieved her as soon as I returned, but I wanted her to have somewhere she could live, and not just an empty room. I’m afraid that with every day that passed, my own heartache was only causing me to fear my own daughter.”

“What a silly thing, madame,” Reynders laughed to herself, “She’s your girl. Go and get her. It’s seeming to me that you need her more than she needs you.”

Reynders left Fantine alone in the stairs, vanishing into a corner while Fantine stood, breathlessly.

Fantine changed into her new outdoor dress and then sat at her dressing table to braid her hair.

As she pinned her braid to the back of her head, she looked up at herself in the mirror. She thought the woman that stared back looked a bit foolish wearing this dress with these massive sleeves, but it was the latest fashion so she supposed she had no choice. 

She lowered the mirror flat against the table and put on her glasses so that the world wasn't so fuzzy anymore. Enough of this. She needed to get her daughter and then the two would need to make this store work. 

Perhaps this store and this room wasn’t ready, but Reynders was right. She needed Cosette. 

And by Jove she would get her now. 

“Euphrasie…” Fantine uttered under her breath, before turning to her window.

Outside, the clouds seemed to choke the blue from the sky. 

So, the weather was poor. What difference did that make? Enough excuses.

The Salpêtrière was not what Fantine had expected. Once she had finally crossed into the neighborhood that stood around the hated asylum, the difference was apparent just by the stench of tanneries and leather that seemed to be tied to the place. The street seemed just to be mud and sloshed up, dirty snow. The buildings were clumped together tightly and the streets seemed to weave into each other, making the whole ordeal of finding the Gorbeau Tenement seem like finding a needle in a haystack. 

She got the address to Gorbeau from Madame Reynders, who had to read it out for her from Jondrette’s last letter. The woman looked at Fantine with a worried brow, but ultimately said nothing before the Blonde left through the door. 

Fantine thought back to the letters she exchanged with both Jondrette and Thénardier. There must have been a room full of packets from their full correspondence. She never quite minded Thénardier much when her pay remained steady, but Jondrette’s desperate begging for more money bugged her more than it should have. 

But seeing the condition of the half of Paris they lived in both explained his behavior and began to strike fear into Fantine’s heart. This was no easy place to raise… What was it again? The three girls they had? 

She swung her head from left to right. Gorbeau would be around here, near an abbey. It wasn’t near a corner, but not on a bigger road. So she would need to take a side street to get there. But where?

In the corner of her eye she spotted a young man and a girl standing near the door of a building. Was this it? 

The abbey was nearby, but she had passed by numerous times, unable to spot it. Perhaps this was the place? It was supposed to be an old building, is what Jondrette would say in his previous correspondence.

She approached the two, “Pardon my intrusion,” she said.

“Yes, madame?” the boy asked, turning to her.

“Does a family named Jondrette live here?”

Cosette shut the door behind her and dropped the contents of her coinpurse into the hands of Madame Jondrette, “Here’s the money, madame.” 

Madame Jondrette grunted, “Looks like that woman made the right choice again.”

Cosette averted her eyes but snuck a quick glance at Madame Jondrette’s unconcerned face. She didn’t know a thing.

Magnon had long stopped paying. It was all her breaking in and robbing the woman for things to tell that she was getting any money at all. She dared not speak a word, knowing how Madame Jondrette would react. The truth wasn’t worth the beating. It wasn’t worth it in the summer, and it wasn’t worth it now.

Cosette rolled up her empty coinpurse and shoved it into her skirt before passing Monsieur Jondrette.

“You do well with Magnon, C’sette,” Monsieur Jondrette said, breaking with his habit of speaking what he was writing, as he scribbled away on his desk, “Keep your wits sharp. Might need ya’ for somethin’ later, my girl.”

‘Gee, whatever could it be?’ Cosette wondered, “Yes, M’sieur.”

Jondrette waved his hand before returning to writing, “... Monsieur Fabre, your reply was very gracious, could you please…”

Cosette took a seat next to Azelma, who was reading the newspaper Éponine discarded. 

“What’s going on in there?” Cosette asked, not understanding any of the words on the pages.

“There was a big riot in Lyon and a lot of people died but Marshal Soult went in with an army and stopped it all,” Azelma said, “General Lamarque was saying he doesn’t like that it happened, and they should have paid them better.”

Part of her wondered what having a real job was like but she knew better than to live in the world of illusions with Éponine and that idiot she was obsessed with. At least Azelma, at her age, could still learn the truth of things and not end up in love with this illusory existence like their eldest sister. 

“Lamarque’s that general guy everyone likes, right?” Cosette asked.

“Yeah, he actually cares about people like us.”

“Neither of us got jobs, ‘Zelma.”

“But maybe we could.”

“Nah, it’s better this way,” Cosette took her coinpurse and unfurled it, staring at the initials sewn into the velvet: F. P. “There’s no difference between us and the people that got jobs anyway. At least down here you see the world for what it really is and not the flowers and roses the bourgeois see.”

“Where’d you get that from anyway?”

“Huh? This?” Cosette lifted her coinpurse, “Stole it during the summer. Didn’t sell for much so I just held onto it.”

“Wonder who this F. P. is.” 

“Some random lady I bumped into.”

“Can I see?” Azelma asked.

“Yeah, here,” Cosette handed it over to the younger sister.

“So this is just yours now?” Azelma rubbed her hands over the velvet fabric. 

“I guess,” Cosette said.

Someone knocking at the door tore the attention of everyone in the room.

The middle sister looked over to her parents, who remained deathly quiet, not even moving a muscle. Madame Jondrette turned to the two girls and shushed them both. 

Ah, just the landlady again, no doubt.

But the knocking came again, and this time, accompanied by a woman’s voice:

“Excuse me, Monsieur Jondrette? Madame Jondrette?”

Cosette raised a brow. This wasn’t their landlady, it was someone else.

It seemed Madame Jondrette had the same idea, and she looked to her husband, who merely nodded.

Azelma whispered into Cosette’s ear, “Who could it be?”

“One of pa’s marks?” Cosette shrugged, “It ain’t ‘Ponine, that’s for sure.”

Madame Jondrette leaned against the door and held the doorknob still, “Whozzit?” She asked sternly.

“Ah, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid we may not be acquainted,” the woman behind the door said, “Your husband and I have been in correspondence since a few years back when my daughter, Euphrasie came into your care. My name is Fantine, I am here to take her back.”

The name meant nothing to Cosette, but its utterance seemed to drain the color from the faces of the Jondrette couple. Madame looked over her shoulder again at Jondrette, who nodded. 

She opened the door slightly to peek through and met eyes with, for the first time in 13 years, someone she did not ever expect to meet again. 

Chapter Text

Fantine automatically pushed up her glasses as she looked up at Madame Jondrette. She couldn't shake off the strange sense of deja vu she felt as she looked upon her frightening face. Yet she could not recall where she had seen her. 

“There ain’t no Euphrasie here,” Madame Jondrette said, “Git lost.”

Fantine’s heart stilled and her eyes widened as Madame Jondrette’s words dawned on her. 

Not here? How?!

“Madame, you must be mistaken,” Fantine said, “I’ve been sending you letters since ‘26, and to your good friends the Thénardiers since ‘18. You must have her!”

Madame Jondrette’s grip on the door tightened and she squinted her eyes at the bespectacled woman on mention of the name Thénardier. 

“I ain’t gonna repeat myself! We ain’t-” Madame Jondrette stopped herself when a man’s murmur from behind the door tore her attention away from their guest. She left the door and disappeared inside the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Fantine could hardly believe what she was hearing. What in God’s name was the bloody gorgon of a woman saying?

Was Cosette not here? Was she never here? Was she just being lied to for money? 

Before her mind spiraled out of control, Fantine clenched her fists and swallowed before swinging open the door and stepping inside the little room the Jondrettes called their home. 

“Euphrasie?!” Fantine desperately called before looking around.

There was an empty fireplace and a collection of very tacky and poorly made paintings adorning the walls. There was a table where a man - Monsieur Jondrette - sat at, hunched over a paper and whispering something to his wife. Both had paused whatever they were doing to stare at the newcomer.

There were two ragged mattresses laid on opposite ends of the room, and on one, sat two girls, equally as ragged as the bed on which they sat. Both stared at her; one with curiosity, and the other glaring daggers at her. 

Both girls looked gaunt and pale. The sight of such young girls in such a condition horrified Fantine. She knew people lived like this, but the fact that her own daughter would have lived among such people drove the knife ever deeper into her skin. 

Neither of these two could be Cosette, no, that was impossible.

No, and if she was…

Fantine clenched her fists even harder, digging her nails into her palms, almost drawing blood and turned to Monsieur Jondrette. She looked down at him in her fury, “Where is my daughter, monsieur?” she managed to say, her voice wavering in the boiling heat of her rage.

Her heart feared greatly, his answer. What if Cosette had died? 

She had managed to keep the thought away from the front of her mind as long as she could. Truthfully, she had feared this as soon as she stepped into the area south of the Salpêtrière asylum. She could not bear to breach the thought, but now that she was here in the nest of the hyenas, speaking to the man that lied to her for all those years, how did she even know that Jondrette was even his name?

How could she know that Cosette was even alive?

For if she was truly gone…

‘What was it all for?!’ her raving heart screamed as the man she looked down at began to languidly grin. 

Monsieur Thénardier leaned back in his chair and put down his pen. The look of surprise on his face was replaced with the same facade he always wore when he spoke with someone from the outside. 

“So, we finally meet, M’dame Fantine.” Thénardier said with a snicker, “But is this how a lady speaks to her girl’s caretakers, who, up until now, so selflessly cared for her?”

“I asked…” Fantine approached the table, “Where. Is. Euphrasie?!” Her voice turned into a shriek as she slammed the palms of her hands onto the table, spilling Thénardier’s ink all over the page, “I came to get her knowing that the people that said they cared for her actually did! And she’s still alive and kept healthy by the people that I paid to keep her safe and healthy! So, where is she? Where is my Euphrasie?!”

“I ain’t bein’ called a liar by some two-penny like you! You still owe us greatly for all the trouble that little rascal caused for us in the inn! I still want 500 francs from you!”

Cosette remained seated and watched the scene unfold, and the yelling just blurred into an annoying cacophony to her ears as she kept an eye on the newcomer. 

Azelma looked from the woman to Cosette, and back, “Pssst… C’sette…” she whispered under their father and the visitor’s verbal spar, “D’you think she could be…?”

Cosette abruptly shoved Azelma and shot her an aggressive scowl, “No, she ain’t. Shut your trap.”

“Ow… hey!” She whined.

The thought of this woman being anything to her elicited such rage within Cosette, the girl looked over at the door to wait for her chance to leave so she could just sulk alone and away from this den of idiots. 

She wondered who this fool’s daughter even was. Probably some kid they took in long ago and gave away as they usually did, for money or something else. Maybe back in the inn, before she was there, or maybe even earlier - since she knew of the name Thénardier. 

“Oh, you will see your money when I see the result of what I had been paying for all these years. I left her with you for 13 years, my little Euphrasie! So, where is she?!” Fantine demanded, her face red and livid with rage, “Tell me, you horrible bastard! Where is my little Cosette?!”

When Cosette heard her name, she thought she had misheard. Her eyes shot to Fantine, locking onto her as her mind registered what she just said.

“Cosette?” Azelma shook Cosette’s shoulder, but the older girl didn’t even register the contact, and despondently shook as she continued to stare at Fantine’s back. Her irises trembled and her mouth hung slightly open, and her teeth were held clenched. It was as if the miasma of her thoughts was reflected on her face.

“Did’ja hear what she said?” Azelma beamed, “She’s your-”

Cosette balled her fists and stood up abruptly, “YOU!” she pointed at Fantine, “Lady!”

Cosette’s voice tore the attention of Fantine, suddenly straightened up and turned to look over her shoulder, as the fury in her own eyes began to dull. 

“You want somethin’ from me?” Cosette’s face curled into a scowl, “You asked for C’sette, and here she is!” She hit her own chest with her palm.

Fantine’s eyes rose slowly. Her breath lapsed in her throat as she gazed into the thin waif that now stood before her. This was that little angel she dreamt of for so long? ‘What had these bastards done to her?'

Fantine’s lower lip trembled and she pursed them. Yet she could not control the tears that flowed down her face. 

“Euphrasie…?” She swallowed, her breath shaky. 

“I don’t know that name, lady,” Cosette hissed, “What’re you even here for? To claim me? Take me as your own?!” 

Cosette’s breaths came in rapidly as Fantine tentatively stepped closer.

What was wrong with this whole situation? Why was this foolish, deluded woman even here? 

Was this some sort of joke from God? Just to mock her entire existence? Was he just laughing at her? What did all her struggles even mean then? What had she even lived for? 

Just so this woman she’s never seen could barge in and say she was her mother? 

Fantine grasped Cosette’s shoulders, “Euphrasie!” Fantine gasped, “My little Cosette! I never once stopped dreaming of you, my love! What did they do to you?!”

“GET OFF’A ME!” Cosette shoved Fantine to the ground and looked down at her hurt and bewildered face as the pace of her breaths quickened, “I don’t got a mother! I don’t got anyone! I don’t need anyone, and I don’t want anyone! I got myself, and that’s all I need, and that’s all I’ll ever need! You mean nothin’ to me! NOTHING! Y’hear?!”

“W-what?” Fantine uttered in her stupor. She adjusted her glasses, barrel concealing the agony in her eyes, “Why…?” her voice cracked. 

In that moment, Cosette considered what she could say to hurt her more in that moment -to speak her mind openly so this fool of a woman that called herself her mother and used some name she’s never even heard of, could finally scamper off back into whatever comfortable street she crawled out of. So she could leave her here in the dregs where she belonged. 

This was a joke. Some kind of a mockery of her entire existence; that some normal looking woman would appear all of a sudden to drag her out of her poverty by claiming her as her own. 

Nonsense! She was no one’s. She belonged to nothing, she was nothing, and just like all the other idiots in this city, would return to nothing! 

No words came to Cosette’s throat, so she bolted out of the room past Madame Thénardier, and out of Gorbeau entirely. 

She needed to disappear. She needed to get away as quickly as possible. She needed to leave this whole illusion behind, and return everything to white. White, just as the snow that collected onto the street. 

A pure white snow, one without the world’s taint, and without the scum of all the collective souls of this city. 

As soon as Cosette left the room, Fantine ran towards the door, “Euphrasie! Cosette!”

Thénardier stood from his chair, “You still owe me a thousand francs! Where do you think you’re going?!” 

Fantine stopped at the door and looked down at Thénardier. With a sniff, and wiping a tear from her eye, she said, “Go to hell, demon.”

She slipped out of the room and only the flurry of her footsteps could be heard. 

Cosette’s desperate escape had her dash past a confused and worried Marius and Éponine.

“Was that your sister just now?” Marius asked.

“Lar- C’sette, yes…” Éponine answered, “What, something happened?” she wondered aloud to herself, “I… I should go and see-” 

“Euphrasie!” Fantine called, grasping at her skirts as she ran after the younger girl, “Which way did she run?” she stopped.

Éponine looked at her, wondering what her story was, and ‘Why Cosette?’. Why was she calling her that?

“Who even are you?” Éponine ended up asking. 

“That way, madame.” Marius pointed, “What happened?”

Fantine was already off on the trail after Cosette. 

“‘Ponine!” Azelma hopped down the stairs and approached her older sister, “You wouldn’t believe what just happened!” 

“‘Zelma, tell me! What happened to the Lark?!” Éponine grabbed her sister’s shoulders, the concern audible in her voice, “I’ve never seen her run like this, ever!” 

“C’sette’s mother finally came!” Azelma said, “You just saw her! But C’sette just… I dunno, she got really mad at her and just ran.”

“She wha-...” Éponine trailed off as her brain processed whatever Azelma just told her. So the Lark really did have a mother somewhere out there the whole time? 

And she was that beautiful woman that just came by to visit?

“I’m gonna go see where she’s going!” Azelma said, before running after Fantine.

Éponine remained silent as she watched her sister disappear from view into the street.

“Are you alright, mam’selle?” Marius asked.

“Y-yeah…” Éponine said, tearing her eyes from the road, “I think I need to sit down.” 

She returned inside of Gorbeau, back into its dark shadows as the sun outside began to again be covered by grey.