AN: I don't know if this will continue, but I might have some other ideas if I have the time soon to write them. This is only a set of one-shots including Cosette and Valjean, possibly other characters.
Of course, due to the craze following the movie, I'm back on my Les Miserables kick. If I may, I'd like to say here that this is my absolute favorite story ever written. It such an amazing story of redemption, grace, faithfulness, and fighting for the cause of your heart. I've seen it on stage where I live, and in London. Both times were incredbile, and I really enjoyed the movie as well. One of the best film adaptions of a musical ever. Well anyways, on the with the show.
Reviews are lovely.
-O-O-O-
The house was still as quiet as it had been before. The night chill still whispered along the smooth floors. The rafters still creeked and settled, reminding him that there was indeed shelter here, even in the nights when he remembered in sleeping the pulse of a baton against his spine. The place was still as dark as it had been before, only illuminated dimly by a sliver of moonlight through the window panes.
But there was something different. Something unseen and untangible, but at the same time he could feel it engulfing his heart like ocean waves. Something in the dark, quiet, cold house that felt different. It felt warm. Furious and ferocious. Jealous and passionate. There was love here. A feeling that had never so engulfed the spacious interiror of his heart or his home.
The girl had brought it with her. Emptyhanded she had come here, not a stitch to her name. Like a ray of sunshine, like the angels he'd read about in the thick and dusty book at his bedside. She eminated it. It radiated from somewhere within. Somewhere within himself that had years ago gone cold. He longed to know exactly where that light came from. To remember it.
Maybe one day she would invite him in, allow him to share in it. But for now it was hers to keep.
His ponderings were interuprted. Suddenly, like a whisper, there was a scuffle of feet in the hallway. Had the house still been empty, he would've bolted upright to flee. But this wasn't a thud of heavy boots. Only the soft flutter of his angel's feet, so much like the beating of wings.
The doorknob twisted and clicked softly, and he watched patiently as she let herself inside. Two blue eyes pierced the darknesss and there was the light again; the unexplainable light. Her small plump cheeks were lined with wet streams, her tiny lips drawn thin in angst and uncetainty.
Oftentimes, he could see something much older and calloused there in that face. Something had been stiffled in the inn during her stay there. It wasn't always visible, and when it was, it didn't stay too long.
She tarried a moment, clinging to the doorknob, fitting herself against the jamb as if she were ashamed to have come. But all at once, her fear broke and she scurried ahead, at his bedside in a rush.
He sat up now to greet her, his night-shirt glowing in the moonlight like a Bishop's robes, only much more worn and wrinkled. "What is it, my child?" he whispered to her.
She held her new doll to her mouth now, her small lips buried in its synthetic curls, like she was about to whisper it a secret. But her eyes stayed locked on him, scared and shamed.
"I'm sorry. I was frightened," she whispered, and it took several moments to deciefer the sound of her voice from the thin wind outside.
A kind smile tugged at his lips. She was so frail and tiny, so much like a bird in her mannerisms. She could withstand a hurricane but at the slightest whisp of wind she was flitting and fluttering away for shelter.
"What had you frightened?" he asked.
She held her doll closer, burying her tear-stained cheeks against the folds of its dress. "The trees outside my window."
He nearly laughed, but before the sound could leave his chest he was struck with the thought. Her fear, however small, was still a fear. It was no different than fear of shackles or the sharp slam of a jail cell. No more shallow than the scars that circled his wrists as a reminder.
His arms opened wide, and the child wasted no time climbing upon the mattress, burying herself in the folds of his shirt. She was small enough to look at, but even tinier when he held her. He elbows and knees were knobby, pressing, though not uncomfortably, against his ribs as she curled up against him.
"There is nothing to fear, my child. Its only shadows."
She nodded briefly against his shoulder, her blonde curls tickling his chin. Soon enough, she'd relaxed, breathing evenly against him and he knew that she was now sleeping.
He settled her little body against the feather top, pulling the quilt up beneath her chin. She sighed in comfort, tucking her doll in close.
Her hair was soft and clean when he pressed a kiss to her crown. He settled beside her, watching tenderly and closely. This was his only pride, his only fount of redemption. Here. This small, frail child that he'd vowed to raise and nurture. No other creature had brought him such joy or comfort. Who would've known there was still a light inside of him, ignited by such a small spark.
A quick thanks to God above, and he joined the child in the realm of dreams.