PROLOGUE
She stared at her reflection, trying to prepare herself for the day ahead. The full lipped, chestnut haired young woman inspected the dark circles under her eyes. It had been five years to the day since the terrible night that still haunted her nightmares. The gunshots, the blood, so much blood, losing her friends, and, perhaps most tragically, having to lose herself.
Eponine Thenardier had died five years ago. She had had to, but her memories still remained in the back of the mind of Elizabeth Jane Smith, or Ella, as she preferred to be called. Lately, the memories had been coming more and more frequently, invading her sleep, and it was showing. Ella worked as a shopgirl in the bakery in her town just outside of London. It was a far cry from her life in Paris as a street urchin, keeping a lookout for her father, Monsieur Thenardier, as he robbed the wealthy.
She lived in a modest one bedroom apartment above the bakery at which she worked, which the owner, Mr. John Winters allowed her to rent, as he and his wife had recently acquired a second bakery across town, and was spending a majority of his time at the second bakery.
It was a quarter to five. Ella put on a modest white blouse, and a black skirt. She couldn't afford anything extravagant like many of the more wealthy women that came into the shop, but she was content. She may have left behind the only life she had known when she left Paris in 1832, but she had found a better life in London.
The young man stepped off the train, his dark blonde hair ruffled from the steam being let off behind him. He had spent a considerable amount of time running, trying to escape; from Paris to Versailles, and now to London. Yet he could not escape the memories that had come to haunt him every night for the last five years. Memories of friends dying, of battles lost, and of taking the coward's way out.
Sebastien Enjolras was only 21 when he thought he could lead a revolution. Instead, he found himself feigning death, and running to escape shame and persecution. Versailles was not far enough from the screams from the Barricade, perhaps London would be.
Now, 26-year-old Enjolras had nowhere to go, and no one who knew him in London. Perhaps it would be the perfect hiding place. There were too many familiar faces when he had tried to hide before. A new country, a new beginning, a new life.