Chapter 1

Eponine shivered as the sleet of London soaked her. What a pitiful sight she was… Here she was, freezing, hungry and alone. Her stomach writhed in pain whenever she thought of… Marius. Marius Pontmercy. Chestnut hair, hazel eyes and freckles. He had a kind of innocence that she'd never have. That brought her to the subject of Montparnasse. He wasn't bad. But she'd let him put her to bed. Not because she loved him, no, she loved no one. Not only was her father getting more money (now a whore. No one would ever love her if they knew) but she was lonely. She had her purity taken away years ago. Fifteen or sixteen, she didn't even remember. But it made her feel so guilty afterwards, knowing that what had happened was partly wilful.

Eponine's dirt-coated hands rubbed. Eponine's life wasn't worth living. She wouldn't do it of course. But she could dream though. Every night was a dream one. Well half. One half was full of a beautiful land, where people were happy. The other half was full of nightmares. No, the right word was memories. Memories of her nights on the street. The only reason she was alive was because she had a duty. To protect her siblings. In a way they'd saved her life. She couldn't exactly thank them. Eponine imagined drowning in the folds of her leather coat.

You don't care, she thought. You don't care about Marius, or Montparnasse.

Now that she thought about it, it wasn't that surprising. Marius was rich, innocent, kind. Of course, a bourgeois girl with pale gold locks, angelic face had to come along and take him away. Along with that revelation, it helped the feelings reside. Eponine came to the place she wanted to be, no, needed to be. Shivering under the arch of the shop, she glanced up. Dark windows. Maybe she'd find a job. Eponine was luckier than a lot of people economically. She had an apartment that cost thirty pounds per month.

Panhandling wasn't something she necessarily wanted to do, but her luck was starting to run out as the police started putting note to her face. Eventually she would lose all hope. And then it was the whorehouse for her.

You're not that hopeless, 'Ponine, she tried to reason with herself but she knew it wasn't true. She was that pathetic. Eponine would do anything to keep her siblings' hearts beating. Even death, 'Ponine. Yes, even death.

Eponine walked into the shop and out of the chill of winter. She sat there. Eponine took something out of her coat. She smiled. Literature. There was nothing she loved better than sitting herself down and forgetting the Hell she lived in, even for a minute. She loved feeling as though she knew the characters, but they were her friends, not judgmental, ever changing. Eponine knew it was nothing that would be considered by a bourgeois, or anything remotely beautiful. But it was precious. Her entire life hung within those pages. So Eponine started to write about a world that was better, a world where she could be happy.

The door slammed shut and she snapped her head upwards out of curiosity. She came here maybe once a week and she rarely heard anyone come in after 4. It was five and most people had gone.

The man who walked up to the counter was beautiful. Golden ringlets were like a halo around his head. She wouldn't be surprised if women threw themselves at his feet. No doubt he was taken. "Hello."

A woman walked up to him and blushed. Golden curls of her own ran down her back. "Hello Mister. Have the gods deceived me? Or is that blasphemy, since I'm obviously looking at one."

The man didn't even seem to notice, or care about the flirt. Definitely not single. The man said something to the woman.

The man turned and, instead of finding a table, headed towards Eponine. She was suddenly self-conscious about her skinny body. He pulled out the chair and sat before her. "Is something bothering you, sir?"

Eponine decided to scare him off. Of course anything out of the ordinary scared them. Her eyes flicked upwards to his azure ones. And all her resolve melted like candlewax. His eyes were like the ocean. They were surrounded by a dark ring. It would be so easy to drown in them. She wasn't even sure if that wasn't a possibility. Her mouth was left wide open.

No-one spoke, until he finally broke the silence. "Uh- um, no. You looked- lonely." Of course 'lonely' sounded more like 'fascinating.' But he couldn't actually mean that, because there wasn't really anything fascinating about good old Eponine. Well, nothing fascinating that she would tell you.

"Right. Lonely. Is that an insult?"

"Never, Mademoiselle." Eponine smirked.

"Really? Mademoiselle?" Eponine scoffed.

Eponine's dark eyes watched his every move. This man was interesting and he hadn't spoken twenty words. She felt strange. Eponine felt more than strange. Never had an emotion like this raced through her from head to toe. It wasn't love, it was- as though she'd been here before.

"I'm no lady, Monsieur."

"So you're a man? I hadn't noticed." The man's lips curled upwards.

Eponine squared her body, tipped her chin upwards. "No, sir. I am the whole world. And who are you? Are you Apollo?"

The man blushed. "No, I am Enjolras. And you are?"

"Eponine. Eponine Jondrette." The feeling inside her started to race at 35 kilometres per hour. No. You belong to Marius. No. You need to get home. No. You need to get away.

"Look, Enjolras, as much as I've enjoyed your company, I've got to get going with my writing. And I think your girlfriend will be wanting you."

Enjolras smiled and shook his head, a tumble of curls falling over his forehead. "Alas, Eponine, the girlfriend doesn't exist." Eponine spluttered, eyes widening.

"What? You're single? But surely women come from near and far with gifts for your hand in marriage."

Enjolras chuckled. "There used to be, but I put an end to it. I have no time for romance or love."

"Indeed. Love is something that just plain hurts." Eponine scrunched up her facial features. "I've had my fair share these last few days."

"I'm too busy. I run a group of journalist rebels."

Eponine smiled. "Trying to change the world. Watch out, Enjolras." She didn't say it with any meanness or spite. There was only sincerity.

Enjolras' hand seemed to hover over her own. "You said that you are here to write. What are you writing?"

Eponine's eyes blazed with pride. "Ah, Enjolras, I'm writing about the real world. Not exactly something I'm experienced in, but even so."

"May I wait until I can walk you home? I won't feel safe until you are."

Eponine shook her head. "I have a home, but it's nothing to be proud of."

Enjolras smiled. "I won't walk you in. Just to your front door."

Eponine managed to squeeze in a bit of writing, but his gaze made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Enjolras' fingers brushed her shoulder. Eponine stiffened. After a while, she muttered. "Let's go." As she walked out, the cold wind slammed into her cheeks. Enjolras noticed and took her hand.

He walked her to the door like he said. Fingers wrapped around the door knob, twisting it. Someone else finished it for him, shoving it open, and he stepped back. A girl with red hair stared at him, a purplish bruise on her cheek. Tears stung her eyes. "Oh. You have a guest." Her voice was hard like ice. She glared at Eponine. "I looked for you in your apartment." The accusation was thick in the air. Eponine smiled. "I was at a Café, trying to do something."

"Something? Are you freaking blind, Eponine, Maman and Papa won't give up. He's a freaking con man. What are petty fantasies going to do. They say there are talkers and doers. They're wrong. Where we live there are no doers."

Eponine gestured to Enjolras. "Shut up, Azelma. For your information I am writing so that people will know. They may not do something but at least they. Will. Know."

"How would you know, Ep? Yes, we're bad. But there are people who have worse. Yes we get hurt a lot and sometimes we're scared to sleep for the fear that we won't wake up the next morning, but we have food and a place to sleep and there isn't a war."

Eponine sighed and turned to a stunned Enjolras. "Maybe you should go. My father will be here soon." And then she said in a pleading voice, "Don't tell. Never tell, please."

Enjolras nodded, turned and left. Eponine watched him, knowing that she probably wouldn't see him again.