The old cathedral had large, stain-glass windows, which looked out onto the French countryside from the church's perfect perch, high up in the mountains. The nuns who lived in the convent near by always kept it in pristine condition – not many visitors usually came to the chapel besides the small gathering of the congregation each Sunday, but even so, every so often there were times when the cathedral had to be used publically: times like this one. The sisters had known Cosette since she was very young – her father would often take her here, and such an attentive, good-hearted girl was hard to miss. Over the years, little Cosette grew up, and soon it was her wedding day. No one would have guessed that a visit to the cathedral which was filled with such delight would be followed by one filled with such despair. No one would have guessed that Cosette would be here for her daughter's funeral.
Ponine was a beautiful little girl of barley ten years, with her father's green eyes and her mother's butterfly blonde hair. She was sick for over a year until the point when tuberculosis had finally dominated the little girl's lungs. Cosette used to hold her tightly and sing to her until she would fall asleep, and Marius used to sit by her bedside and tell her stories of all of people who would be there for her if she were ever not to wake the next morning. Ponine, though painfully ill, never cried nor despaired, for she was, like her mother, a good-hearted child whose eyes were still so full of wonder, whose soul was still so full of song, whose heart was still so full of love.
Cosette was in an unmovable state of inconsolable grief. One would expect her to scream or cry over the loss of her child, but the lark's anguish started differently: she could not speak, let alone scream or cry. Ponine died in her bed one night, and when Cosette realized that tragic morning that her daughter would never wake, she positioned herself there on the bed next to the girl, holding her in her arms, and stayed there, in the same very spot for days and days, long after Marius had taken their daughter's body away. It was the soldier, who had borne witness to war and lost every friend he had ever known to its violence, who broke down and cried, night after night. For nights Marius would lie there in bed, and simply cry uncontrollably until morning. Cosette's strange form of dealing with their daughter's passing did not alarm Marius very much – as he was grieving himself – until one evening when the soldier's wife set a place at the table for Ponine. It broke Marius's heart to tell her that their daughter would not be coming down for dinner.
"Oh, of course she is, Marius," Cosette told him as if the fact were true. "Ponine will be down any minute."
"No, Cosette," he told her through tears. "She won't be. She's not here. You know she isn't. Love, I know you know."
"Marius, I…" and then she trailed off, her blue eyes starring into nothingness. Suddenly, she shook her head and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "No – no, she'll be here soon – she'll…"
And Cosette cried so much and so hysterically that it brought her to her knees, with Marius powerless to do anything but hold her, and whisper comforting thoughts to her as the wave of loss finally washed over her.
"…And she'll be all alone!" Cosette yelled out amidst her numerous screams of sorrow. "I need to be with her! I need to care for her! It should've been me, Marius, why couldn't it have been me!?"
"She won't be all alone, love," Marius told her. "Ponine will be the farthest thing form all alone. She'll be with your father and mother, and Enjolras, Grantaire, Courfeyrac, Gavroche…don't worry, love," he whispered. "Eponine will take care of her."
The very girl in question had been laying in bed that cold, dreadful night, when she blinked open her big green eyes to see a woman standing there before her. She was not someone who Ponine knew, but she recognized her all the same. The woman wore a white chemise, covered with a brown trench coat, and a long, green skirt all held together with an old, brown belt – she dawned all the pastel colors of the earth, a place Ponine would be leaving behind. A brown newsboy cap sat on her head, only allowing her cascade of long, brunette hair to flow down her shoulders once the girl removed it from it's previous place. Ponine sat up in bed as the woman took off her hat and curtsied before her – a smile formed across the ten-year-old's little pink lips.
"Mademoiselle," the woman addressed as she curtsied.
Ponine swung her legs over the side of her bed, and stood up next to the lovely lady in front of her. As her parents taught her, the little mademoiselle also curtsied, remembering to mind her manners.
"My God!" The mysterious girl exclaimed. "You have his eyes! Oh, I knew you'd look like him – both of them, of course – but seeing his very eyes on you…" She shook her head, cleared her throat, and continued: "Well, then. I'm sorry, I've yet to introduce myself. I'm Eponine."
"That's my name, too!" Ponine exclaimed.
"I know it is, Ponine," Eponine smiled at her. "I know everything about you. I've looked after you since you were born. And now I'm here to take you home with me."
"But Madame, how do you know me?" Little Ponine asked. "I've only just met you."
"Ah, that may be," Eponine nodded. "But I told you: I've known you since you were born – I've looked after you. I've waited until this moment when it's time for me to take you with me."
"But what about Mama and Papa?" The girl asked. "Can they come, too? If not I shall miss them terribly!"
"Don't worry about that, you won't have the time to miss them," she explained. "You shall see them every day, and every passing hour you shall look down on them – just as I always have with you. Now," Eponine clutched the child's hands in hers. "Come with me – I'll lead you to salvation. Take my love, for love is everlasting…"
Ponine's sweet, green eyes had never seen such a light, and before she knew it, any feelings of apprehension or fear that she may have had simply melted away – there was only bliss. Perfect, child-like bliss. And there, still holding her hands, was the girl who had brought her here; Eponine smiled and her, and the younger girl with the same name clung to her side.
"Eponine?" She asked. "Where are we?"
She bent down on her knees, so she and her little namesake were eye-to-eye, and wrapped her arms around the girl. Eponine let out a long breath and hugged the girl tightly, as if she could not be more relieved to have her there in her arms. She didn't answer Ponine – for she would soon enough find it out for herself – and in this moment, all she could do was hold the girl close to her, like a mother holding her newborn baby.
"Ponine," she whispered. "I love you very much."
And there, in front of them, was a castle on a cloud.