*I DO NOT OWN LES MISÉRABLES, HOWEVER MUCH I WISH THAT I DID! I AM NOT THE AUTHOR NOT THE DIRECTOR OF THE MOVIE*
PROLOGUE
They came fast and strong with the force of a hurricane and the silence of the calm before the storm. Clad in bright red uniforms that glimmered with proof of their prowess, the soldiers made their way into the dimly lit hallway of the sleeping family. All was still, and for just a sweet second, life continued on as normal. That sweet second turned sour very, very quickly. Bursting into the bedroom, the hoard of government assassins didn't hesitate. They didn't think that the two parents sleeping in bed, the wife's dainty hand laid lightly on her husband's chest, rising up and down steadily, might have a daughter. They didn't think. Why didn't they think? They were mindless, and in the split second it took for the red coated strangers to pull the triggers on their cold metal rifles, the two lovers were dead. Cold, still, sleeping. This was not the sleep they had been in a sheer moment before. Red, red everywhere. Red hair, shining in the light of the pale Paris moon. The commander turned and gave the short soulless nod to his brigade of murderers. It was done. It was done. Red hair in the corner. Her silver eyes turning as cold as the steel that had killed her parents. The soldiers made their hasty exit, brown leather boots scuffing the wooden planks of the floor making soft shuffling noises and then the silence. Red hair moving forward, her fingers chubby enough to still be a toddler; she was one though not at heart. Not anymore. The bed was red, sheets stained with the dark crimson life force, dripping down onto the floor. The boards squeaked in protest as the girl moved forward, her hands grasping the blankets, not caring as the sticky substance stained her childish hands. Soon enough blood was not the only thing tainting the bed sheets, and fat angry tears rolled down the little girl's cheeks. She was sad, empty yes. But the girl was dominated by her anger. It penetrated every fiber of her being, from the top of her red head to the soles of her bare tiny feet. She glowed with the ferocity of her fury, and with one last glance at the two parents, still sleeping softly, too silent of course, but sleeping nonetheless. She said nothing. Silver eyes alert, the girl raised her head. It was she who had all the force of a hurricane, no, she had all the force of a fire, a fire that would consume the whole city of Paris and all those who stood by and watched. All those who were mindless. The little girl creased her brows, knowing what was to happen. Elleth walked out of the room, reborn.