Comfort When It's Cold
CHAPTER ONE
"Was that the beginning, that evening? It's hard to know. Beginnings are sudden, but also insidious. They creep up on you sideways, they keep to the shadows, they lurk unrecognized. Then, later, they spring." ― Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin
Éponine sighed heavily as the familiar sight of the crumbling Café Musain came into sight. She tried futilely to pull the rags of her shawl tighter around her shoulders, in an attempt to protect her soft skin from the bitter cold that surrounded her. A gusty chill blew through the street, consuming her in a freezing embrace, causing her to shiver violently.
I should be used to this by now. Éponine chided herself in her mind. This painful cold isn't ever going to go away.
It had been years since her family had lost all of their fortunes they used to hold and any of the prospects they had once had. Éponine had never imagined missing the audacious, rowdy inn that had once belonged to her family but her heart now ached for that feeling of familiarity, warmth and safety. She wanted a place which she could call home again.
But now the streets are my home, Éponine reminded herself bitterly, despite that the only things they hold are horrors, cold and danger.
The only source of comfort and warmth for her now came in the form of a handsome university student, Marius Pontmercy. Éponine felt herself smile slightly as her thoughts wandered to the attractive man who she was going to meet in the cafe. He one of the only people who had shown her any kindness and he was the only source of light in the perpetual darkness of her life.
She was broken from her thoughts as a large drop of rain fell on her. Éponine glanced down as more drops of rain fell down from the murky sky, creating ripples in the already existing puddles of water on the street.
The rain makes the pavement shine like silver, Éponine mused quietly to herself.
Sometimes on nights like these Éponine would go walking through the streets of Paris by herself. It was her escape from the smothering darkness that constantly loomed over her when she was in the company of her mother and father. Éponine despised having to assist her father in his cons and schemes, she understood why they had to do things they'd rather not do for survival; however Éponine hated begging for money. She hated appearing as weak and defenceless because if there was anyone who never about the harshness of life, it was her. Éponine wasn't innocent. Of course she had stolen from people. Often she would pick the pockets of the rich bourgeois men as they passed her on the street, they never saw her…they never would. For who would voluntarily look at the face of a deprived, desperate, street-girl instead of looking at the luxurious goods in the window-displays of the shops.
Éponine shivered as the rain plastered strands of her dark hair to her face and soaked the rags that she was wearing, chilling her to the bone. She ran quickly across the street until she came to the entrance of the café. Éponine delicately placed her slightly shaking hand on the aging wooden door and gently pushed it open.
Enjolras let out an exasperated sigh as he fell back into one of the wooden chairs. He closed his eyes as he listened to the rain pound outside as he attempted to relax. Opening his …. eyes, he glanced around the empty café. All of his friends had left a couple of hours previously and had reluctantly left him alone to pour over his work.
They're worried about me, Enjolras thought to himself.
It was true. The other members of Les Amis were beginning to become concerned with Enjolras' devout work effort towards the revolution. All of them were there because they too cared about the revolution and fighting for freedom, well perhaps not Grantaire who seemed to be there solely for the promise of numerous bottles of wine, but for Enjolras the revolution was his everything. For him, there was no appeal in the recreational fun that his friends enjoyed so much nor did the idea of having a mistress, a woman, entice him. Enjolras believed that his seldom duty and purpose was the revolution, prevailing in the war for freedom and liberty for his country.
So here he was, late in the evening sitting in a wooden chair alone in a rundown café with papers littering the table in front of him. Alone.
He was broken from his wandering thoughts as he heard the door creak open and a draught of freezing cold sweep the café. He looked up and was surprised to see a petite figure creep their way inside, shutting the door carefully behind them. The figure was shivering and as Enjolras observed them he noticed that they were dressed in what appeared to be rags of cloth which had been soaked by the rain which was pouring relentlessly outside.
"Excusez-moi?" Enjolras questioned the figure as he slowly stood up, rising from his seat.
The figure lifted their head and Enjolras was taken aback by the delicate face he recognised.
I thought that I'd attempt a story for Les Miserables and Eponine and Enjolras. I know how badly this is written but oh well it was worth a try. Let me know if anyone likes this or would want another chapter. xx