In another life, perhaps things would've been different. Perhaps he might have noticed her. Perhaps he would've even fallen for her.
In another life, perhaps, she would have been wealthy, well fed, and well dressed. She would have meat on her bones, and even a few pleasant curves. She would have a plethora of dresses with proper corsets and stockings and petticoats and all the other things that she had.
Cosette.
She was repulsed by the sound of her name, yet entranced by it in the same moment. She hated Cosette, and she had no reason and every reason to. The girl had never wronged Éponine personally, and she had actually been rather friendly to the girl who had no friends.
Perhaps in another life Éponine and Cosette could have been close. They could've gone to cafés and shops, and done all the silly things normal girls do.
But in this life, Éponine was poor and lanky and dirty, and Cosette was rich and pretty and pleasantly plump. Éponine was cold and hard, and Cosette was warm and soft, like those rich caramel delicacies Éponine could only dream of ever tasting. And Cosette had the only thing Éponine truly wanted: Marius Pontmercy.
She couldn't blame him for loving her. Who could? She was sweet, gentle, and kind. She was beautiful, with her soft blonde curls that framed her slightly round porcelain face. Her bright blue eyes were her most striking feature. She could see how one could get lost in those eyes.
And Éponine…Éponine was a thief. Everything she had, from what few clothes she did own to the little bits of food she consumed, had been stolen. She had been born a thief, and now, she would die a thief.
The worst part of it all was that Éponine couldn't blame Cosette for a single thing. Cosette had never been anything but kind to her, even after all the horrid things Éponine had done to her when they were children.
But, she found herself thinking bitterly, Cosette had stolen one thing, one thing that had been Éponine's only treasure: Marius's heart. The moment he had seen her, with her pastel gowns and her long, fluttering eyelashes, he had fallen. Hard.
In another life, perhaps Éponine wouldn't have even cared. Perhaps she would've had hordes of suitors lining up at her house to catch a mere glimpse of her.
In another life, Éponine would've had the courage to tell him how she felt before Cosette entered his life. She would've been brave enough to run her fingers through his silky fingers, to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss his full, slightly pink lips. He would've held her in his strong arms and whisked her far away from her treacherous parents.
But there was no use dreaming about it now, she thought as she felt hot, sticky blood gush out of the wound in her chest, like one of those chocolate molten cakes she'd once seen Marius eat one day in the Café Musain, when he was waiting for the next meeting with his friends to start.
Éponine had liked his friends, even though she hardly spoke with any of them. The one with the curly blonde hair that framed his admittedly handsome face like a halo, she respected his ambition. Enjolras, was his name. She thought the drunk one, Grantaire, could sometimes be funny. Courfeyrac, she knew, was one of Marius's closest friends, and even though he'd tried to get into her skirts on multiple occasions, she liked him. She admired Combeferre's bravery, and she could relate to Feuilly. His generosity made her want to be better.
Yes, Marius had chosen his friends well, indeed, and she knew he was more than willing to die at their sides. She closed her eyes and felt him shake her.
"Éponine!" he cried out. Her eyes fluttered open, and she found it increasingly difficult to keep them that way. The concern and fear in his green orbs astonished her, though she always knew he cared about her in a platonic way. "Stay awake, 'Ponine. Stay with me." Some deep, bitter part of her found his words to be exceedingly cruel in the most ironic way.
Stay with him.
That's all she'd ever wanted.