Chapter 1.

Enjolras looked out into the pulsing crowd before him. They all looked to him. The young hero, only seventeen, and destined for great things, the peoples' man, raised on the streets of Paris. Charming too, his dirty blonde hair and sky blue eyes, and his speaking! When Enjolras spoke, even the snottiest, most powder white aristocrat stopped to listen.

Enjolras had been called to make a speech to the League du Garcons, to rile them in hope of a revolution to come. The men before him had seen better days, some missing limbs and others weak and shaking with sickness. But, they were all united with one aim, to bring down the aristocracy.

Enjolras cleared his throat and started his speech, "Comrades!" He cried, "Now IS the time!" A roar went up from the crowd.

Enjolras had finished his speech with a, "REVOLUTION!" The crowd screamed, stomped and roared. Suddenly, Enjolras' ears pricked, there was a cry a pitch higher than the rest a feminine cry for blood. He looked around as he stepped down off the podium and was strangely focused on a young boy at the back of the crowd. The boy's eyes locked with his and suddenly Enjolras knew that she wasn't a boy.

He made his way to the back of the crowd to listen to Le Marc's speech, all of the while studying the female impostor. She was of an average height and size, though she seemed dwarfed by the men surrounding her. She was wearing dirty trousers and a jacket, and though these were obviously mens' clothes they seemed only to accentuate her curves. Her skin was pale to the point of translucency and she had a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. Her nose was large and rather crooked, her chin jutted out and the apples of her cheeks were blushed a delicate pink. She was wearing a dirty cap which covered most of her head. Her hair was a bright auburn, shorn short in waves clustered around her head, a large section of it longer and hanging down over one of her eyes. Her eyes. Enjolras had never seen anything like them. A deep, warm brown, made darker in contrast to her milky skin. A wave of black lashes surrounded them and showed up the shot of pure green in her left eye.

Enjolras couldn't take his eyes off of her. And then he knew. He knew because he had completely forgotten about the revolution, Le Marc's speech and the hypocrisy of the aristocracy. He knew because for an immeasurable amount of time he was completely absorbed in this one being.

"I love her," he whispered.