Eponine watched as the starving man's cries dulled to silence and his eyes lost focus on the world around him. His wife gave a single shriek and ran off into the streets of Paris. Enjolras and the Les Amis stood behind her, their eyes terrified by the sight. She was taking them through the slums, the behind the scenes of the Paris most people saw. Eponine's limbs were useless. Let them see, she thought, Let them see the real Paris, meet the stage crew, the starving and dying.
"Eponine?" asked a tiny voice. She looked up and saw a girl with dirt coating her cheeks. Her dirty-orange hair was matted down her back. The dirty torn shawl was the last present of sorry their mother had given them. Eponine had had one, but she gave it as a blanket to Gavroche.
"Azelma," Eponine smiled and she stepped closer to her sister and reached out to hug her.
"Don't hug me," Azelma muttered and stepped to the side, but she reached out and grabbed Eponine's hand. "But can I hold your hand instead because, I know if you don't want-"
"Of course," smiled Eponine, "You're my little sister." Her fingers curled around her sister's hand.
"Um, Eponine, can I tell you something?" Azelma saw Joly starting to edge away. "They can stay," she said, nodding towards the schoolboys.
"What's wrong, Azelma?" Eponine's eyes watched her in concern, "You can tell me anything, you know."
Azelma hesitated, and then thought, It doesn't matter. "I'm sick," she said, her words quiet but strong. Loud enough for the Les Amis to hear. Joly fidgeted slightly.
"Sick," Eponine wasn't even sure if it was a question or if it was just a repeat.
"I'm dying, 'Ponine. Mamman and Papa don't know." She bent her head, and Azelma felt the tears welling in her eyes. She reached her free hand up to her eyes and savagely wiped them away.
"How do you know?" Eponine asked, and she had to make sure her voice remained unwavering and strong for her baby sister.
"Eponine, every day I feel my heart breaking a little more. I can feel it cracking, Eponine, every day my bones get a little weaker, my eyes a little more droopy. I'm breaking, Eponine. I cough more and more blood each morning. And I don't plan to tell Mamman ever."
Eponine's voice almost wavered, and she cleared her throat.
"This is Joly, he's a medical student, he can help you." She gestured to the hypochondriac and he stepped forward.
"No," Azelma said, stepping away from them. "Out of all people, you should know that when a Thenardier breaks, no amount of glue can put them back together."
Azelma wiped away more tears. She would not cry, she would be like Eponine. Strong, firm, unwavering and tall.
"There's something else I have to get off my chest. They can stay because I'd rather die in a prison than at home." Azelma looked down at her feet and tapped them impatiently. "I know you'll hate me after this, but you'll find out anyway."
"What's wrong? What happened?" Eponine's eyes dulled with worry.
"Montparnasse made me kill someone today."
"You too?" But Azelma didn't seem to hear her.
"I didn't want to, but you know how Montparnasse is." Azelma's voice rose an octave as she attempted not to let the tears flow. Despite what she said before, she walked forward and wrapped her arms around her sister's neck, breathing in the scent that reminded her of the only safety she had.
And then the tears came, slowly and then all at once, cascading down her cheeks, tearing away a layer of dirt. And then she let the sobs go. "I want to die, 'Ponine, I don't want them to hurt us anymore. I don't want to hear you screaming, and the pain and the nightmares. I don't want to wake up in the middle of the night and see you coming through the door with a bunch of bruises from 'Parnasse. I don't want the Patron-Minette to do this, anymore." She spat on her hands and rubbed away a soft bit of dirt from her sister's wrist. Azelma twisted her arm so that the Les Amis could see the tiny scars and bruises that would last forever. Azelma attempted to regain some composure and dignity. "And I know, Eponine."
Azelma took her hands and wrapped them around her sister's shoulders. She was just tall enough so she didn't have to stand on her tip-toes to look at Eponine levelly.
"Know what?" Eponine could feel her gaze become foggy around the edges from the tears. Her voice raised just a little bit lower than her sister's.
"I know that Papa sold you to Montparnasse as well." As well. And then Eponine broke down in sobs, the shaky noises leaving her throat, making her feel weak, useless because she couldn't stay collected around her sister. She grabbed her sister and pulled her to her chest, but Azelma drew backwards.
She had to reassure herself that this was Eponine, her big sister. The girl who never cried, who Azelma was sure never would cry, after they took all their dolls away. She hadn't cried when Gavroche was kicked out, she hadn't cried when Montparnasse beat her to a bloody pulp. And yet she was crying, despite the crowd of boys standing right behind them, their eyes squarely on Eponine, who was sarcastic and stubborn, who never accepted pity, crying.
Her gaze focused on the boy with blonde curls. His face was marble. She knew his name. Enjolras. Everyone knew his name. It'd be better if her sister loved him instead of the boy with freckles who she knew as Marius. She hugged her sister tighter. "I've got to go, Eponine. I hope I'll see you again before I-I die." She broke down with tears again, because she wanted to die, and she was selfish because she was leaving her sister on her own with their father. With effort, she detached her arms from her sister's skinny body. Azelma's two hands could fit around her waist, she was so skinny. Eponine could fit her hands around her's as well. Azelma wiped tears away and ran off into the reality of Paris, the backstage.
The last thing Azelma heard was the broken sobs of her sister, filling her with guilt and self-hatred.
Eponine sat around the table, the words of Enjolras filling her with anger and disgust and a brief sense of hope. There was the sound of a door closing. Enjolras' words cut off as he muttered Marius, in disgust.
The steps were light though, Eponine had memorised the sound of Marius' footsteps. The sound of a gamine, rough cough echoed off the walls of the Café Musain. A girl appeared on the steps. Everything was the same other than the now-gone shawl on her back. Her rusty hair looked washed, her skin was clearer. Eponine could barely recognize the cleaner look of her sister. Maybe she was better, maybe she wasn't sick anymore. Eponine's face lit up. "Azelma!" she shouted and burst out of her seat and ran to meet her sister.
Her sister's face was pale, but her cheeks were warm and red, her lips swollen. Eponine embraced her sister. Azelma stepped backwards and coughed. She smiled and there was a tint of blood on her lips, and Eponine felt her hopes crumbling. "Why are you here?"
"I followed you," Azelma's words were rusty, but happier. Had something happened to Montparnasse, or Papa?
"Why?" Azelma's lips curled into a wry smile that seemed to look like music.
"I have to take you somewhere beautiful."
"Why?" Eponine asked again, and she feared the response.
"It's the place where I'm going to die, 'Ponine, and it's the most beautiful place I've ever seen." Azelma could hear the silence of the Café at her declaration of death. Feeling brave, almost as brave as Eponine, even, she turned around and faced the men- no, boys. "Feel free to watch a girl die. I know, I know this is my last hour and if you just want to see the place where you, 'Ponine, will dig my grave, come on."
Azelma grasped her sister's hand and it felt strange in her own after so many weeks of her absence. She pulled her sister after her and ran through the doors of the Musain, with her laughing ringing out behind her, amid the dry coughs.
Enjolras looked at all of them and Joly got up, going after her, followed by Bossuet, then Bahorel, then Combeferre, and because Combeferre was the second-in-command, they all followed him.
Azelma led her sister through the dirty streets of Paris, avoiding the alleys and staying on the streets. She ran for ages until she stopped abruptly. Eponine collided and she tripped. A green field stood before them, with a stream cutting across, trickling into the Seine. Eponine looked around and saw the crumbling remains of a wall. "It was easy to push," Azelma shrugged. Eponine and Azelma stepped through. There were dots of tiny yellow flowers decorating the field like snowflakes. Azelma turned and hugged her sister. "And here," she said, "Is where the last fragment shatters."
Eponine could already feel the tears. Azelma's eyes flicked to the hole in the wall. "I'm glad you have friends who care," she said, making sure they could hear, "Any normal bourgeois wouldn't go to a gamine's funeral, would they?"
Enjolras cleared his throat. "Mademoiselle, it is that kind of prejudice we're trying to stop."
Azelma giggled at the use of Mademoiselle. Eponine, seeing this girl on the street, would've thought she was perfectly healthy. But she knew the truth. Azelma took a hot cross bun from her pocket. It was tiny. "Well, there's an awful lot of you," she muttered, frowning at the bun. "Good thing my begging skills aren't so horrid." She pulled one for each boy and Eponine. "I got 'em from a Monsieur Fauchelevent. He had a daughter called Cosette. Remember Cosette? I wish we hadn't been so horrid to her." She sighed.
She didn't notice Marius blush at the mention of his love's father.
Azelma and the Les Amis ate the buns slowly, to savour the taste. "Eponine," she said, finally, cocking her head upwards to her sister. "I've only got a few minutes left. I feel it in my bones." She smiled, but it was forced.
Eponine took the girl into her arms and held her like she did when they were children. "Eponine?" she asked, her words becoming lazier.
"Yes?" Eponine asked, looking down at the beautiful girl.
"I'm- I'm a little scared of dying, aren't you? I suppose it'd be a lot better than where we live, huh. But what if it's worse?" And then she asked, in an even tinier voice, "What if I go to Hell?"
Eponine smiled. "Don't be scared. What you did was because of our parents, not you."
The Les Amis watched, and couldn't believe that Eponine's voice could hold so much love, and steadiness and smoothness.
Eponine's fingers ran through Azelma's hair gently, like their Mother used to do before her fingers became caked in mud and her heart hardened. The only thing she'd ever feared was Monsieur Thenardier.
Eponine's lips curled upwards and she pressed her lips to her sister's forehead. "Yes," Azelma said, "I'm ready to die." But then she whispered so quietly that Eponine barely heard her, "Don't break." Eponine's eyes looked downwards and saw the girl's eyes staring into space, dead and dark. She took two fingers and dragged her sister's eyelids downwards. Eponine looked around and saw a hole that Azelma might have dug before.
"She doesn't have a coffin," whispered Eponine, her voice hoarse. The strength in her voice wavered. Eponine didn't speak again for a few minutes. "She always used to copy what I did. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I used to ridicule your Cosette, Marius, I'm sorry for everything I've done. Everyone who's ever loved me is dead."
Then Eponine felt the tears trickling down her cheeks, coming faster and faster down her dirt-coated cheeks. Her body shook, and her stomach churned with physical pain of trying not to make a sound. She didn't breathe for the fear of weakness. But then the sounds escaped her lips and her throat burned.
She gathered the girl in her arms and placed her in the hole. It fit her sister too well. Eponine, through her tears, grabbed some beautiful yellow flowers and placed them in Azelma's paling hands. They gathered around her, and Eponine saw something. A smile curled Azelma's red lips upwards. She had a look of perpetual peace. The Les Amis, afterwards, started to go home.
Then Eponine allowed the tears to flow, and the sobs to escape her rough lips. Eponine sounded not like music or bells, she sounded so heartbroken, that it squeezed the guts of all who heard her wails. Eponine fell to her knees and took her face in her hands. "Don't break. Don't break. Don't break," she repeated over and over again.
Then Eponine felt a hand on her shoulder. It was hesitant, but she knew it could only be Enjolras. She sucked in the sobs. After a few minutes, she gathered the dirt and smoothed it over her sister's body. She stopped as it reached her neck, bent over and pressed her lips to Azelma's forehead. "I love you, sister," she whispered and smoothed the dirt over her completely.
Enjolras took her hand in his. "Don't go home tonight," he said, and his voice was deadly firm.
"That's not an order is it?" her voice wasn't the firm, strong voice that debated at meetings and Enjolras almost wavered himself.
"No. Come to the Café. Don't go home to your parents and the Patron-Minette."
Eponine almost asked him how he knew, and then remembered when her sister had told her of her illness. She let him pull her to her feet and walk with her towards the Musain. When they walked through the doors she stopped and looked behind her. That night, as Enjolras slept in the single bed, he was soon woken up by Eponine's broken sobs. He turned his head and saw her pressing her face into a pillow to mute the signs of her distress. "Don't break, don't break," she repeated and she got to her feet, walking to the kitchen. The tears streamed down her face. "Don't cry, don't cry."
Her hand reached around for something, anything, to touch, to remind her that it was real. At that moment Eponine just felt so useless, like she never had before. It was so hard for her not to just run back to Azelma and hold her one more time. A draft blew through the cracks in the kitchen wall, chilling her face. Eponine stood there in the draft, wondering if maybe, just maybe, it was Azelma.
It all felt so unreal. She had to reconsider if maybe her sister was alive and the last 24 hours was a dream. But if it was a dream why was she at the Café? Then Eponine felt arms around her, holding her tightly as if not to let her go. "I don't need your sympathy, Monsieur." She struggled so much to keep her voice even.
"Yes you do." The cold was too much and she turned around, pressing her face into Enjolras' shirt, stealing his heat. She breathed slowly into his skin, and her breath was cool.
"What if I could've kept her alive, Enjolras? Is this real? Is my sister really dead?" Her voice was so much quieter, but so much more painful. Enjolras stroked his fingers through her hair. Artist's fingers that should never be tarnished by blood and war.
Enjolras didn't know how to answer the gamine's question. Instead he said, "I'm sorry," because that was all he could say, for what do you say to a girl who's sister died three hours ago?
Eponine sobbed into him as if he was a lifeline. He knew that he wasn't going to let her go anytime soon, probably, and he actually felt slightly comfortable if not mournful, with Eponine's body pressed to his. Her arms wrapped around his waist. "Don't let me break," she said.
"Never."