Disclaimer: Don't own.
Christmas was always special.
She lies there, thinking of Christmases past. When they lived in the inn, they got pretty dresses and new dolls, one each. Once they even gave the Lark a doll, a little lead sword wrapped in a blanket. How she had laughed!
Azelma isn't laughing now. She and Ponine would fight over who would open presents first, and who would hold Vroche, for both were tasks they adored.
And even after they left the inn, Ponine made Christmas special, different from all the other cold winter days. She somehow kept track, knew when it was, and she managed to steal a Christmas cake from a bakery or get a couple coats or just a sweater and give it to her. She and Ponine would hide in an alley from all her father's friends and their 'jobs' and letters and they would laugh and laugh and laugh.
Christmas was always special.
But now it's not. Ponine is gone, her mother is in prison, or maybe dead, she doesn't know. And she lays next to Parnasse, who called her Ponine all night and then hit her when she was Zelma, not her sister. She is bruised and bloody and her lips are swollen from dirty kisses stolen from her, for on Christmas, the night of The Birth, anyone can be a virgin.
She prays, says some stupid Lord's Prayer or Hail Mary from when she was small, as the clock strikes midnight and the bells ring, churchgoers welcoming Christmas with all their hearts.
Christmas was always special.