Disclaimer: Les Miserables is copyright of Victor Hugo, because I'm just not that much of a genius

Summary: After Marius gives her the letter to deliver to Cosette, Eponine battles with her conscience about questions of morality and unrequited love

Pretending

Morning is approaching. See how the sky grows lighter, shot through with opal tints of colour? Soon, the sun will rise and your dreams of him will retreat with the dark. What will you be left with then? Your bright future? Your father's love?

Him?

Each day, somehow you seek him out. Somehow you find him. Your eyes follow him, no matter how I try to tell you that it is hopeless. What good will it do? Foolish girl. A man such as him could never love us, especially not now he has her.

Look. Look over there, in the smeared glass of that window. It's possible – just - to see our reflection. Look at our sunken eyes; look at the matted snarl of our hair. We're so think, there is noting becoming or womanly about us. How is it that you can even find it in you to hope that someday his feelings might mirror your own? You do these things for him (for him and his lady love) and what do you get for your troubles? Remember, Eponine. Remember.

He holds out his hand – his lovely, strong, slender hand – to you. For a fraction of a second, you mistake the gesture for an invitation. You think he is reaching out for you. He wants me to take his hand, you think, your thoughts fluttering upward in a flurry of anticipation. Will he pull me close? Will he kiss me?

Then you notice the glint of cold silver in his proffered hand. You clutch at possibilities; (perhaps this is a token o his feelings for me? A pendant of fine silver, maybe). But no, you realise.

He is offering you money.

He pities you.

You have done this for him, out of love, because you are loath to disappoint him. And this is how he sees you? He thinks of you as a pathetic, desperate creature in need of his charity.

He thought you were after his money.

Well, we told him otherwise, didn't we? Remember how indignant we were? Remember how he wounded our pride?

And yet we still love him – love him with a much ardent fervour as ever. More so, perhaps, now we've witnessed his devotion to Cosette. And how very devoted his is! And of course, it's not fault of his that he's in love with her. I don't suppose any man can be expected to resist a woman such as this charming, otherworldly Cosette. She must be far more worthy of his devotion than we could ever be.

But at least you can dream. I will always be there at the back of your mind, to bring back to you the reality of how things stand. But you may dream.

There are a few precious minutes left before dawn. A few more minutes in which to pretend. Here is his tender smile. Here are his arms around you. Here are his words of adoration, whispered sincerely and passionately into your ear.

Here is the light.

And he is gone.

I've given Eponine's conscience the voice of an older, more cynical woman to reflect the fact that her experiences have made her old and wise beyond her years.

Anyway, hope you all liked this!