This idea just popped into my head when I was in the shower today. It's my first Les Mis. one short story. I OWN NOTHING, but the idea behind it. I'm so so, so sorry it's so short, but really the idea behind it just a one line idea. I hope you enjoy.

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Soft, gentle, light, and warm those were the qualities that all noble and proper women held. From her smile and her warm, enthusiastic gaze, she seemed as graceful as a lady in the French court.

Looking down, she stared at her hands; the flickering light beside her bed casting them between light and shadow. Rough, calloused, strong hands held the story of her childhood, buried deep within her mind. In the distance, she heard her guardian bid her a good evening.

"Good night, Papa," she said, a faint smile curling onto her lips.

Jean Valjean was her savior and she loved him with all her heart. When the door closed, she stared back down at her palms. Pressing her fingers against her palms, her nails cut into skin until lines of blood dripped down; she remembered.

The old, splintered wood beneath her hands as she scrubbed on her hands and knees without rest for two hours. Small splinters digging into her skin as tiny specks of blood ran over the wood until the floor, making her spend more time.

Cold water from the wall burning her open blisters along her palms, she remembered. Shaking her head, she listened to the darkness around her; the cries of a child echoing in her mind as tears rolled down her face.

Lashes from the belt seemed fresh as she lowered herself onto the soft bed. The soft, unfamiliar place; her back used to the thin mattress without a pillow beneath a table. Shivers crawled down her spine as she recalled the harsh morning call.

"Cosette, get up you worthless slut," Madame would scream into her ear; the child startled hit her head against the bottom of the table.

A list of chores were thrown at her, the numerous things falling upon deaf ears. A firm hand dug her nails into her scalp and tossed her across the room, crashing into another table. Fully awake, the child began her work, the sun not even peeking over the horizon.

Working for eight years for almost twenty two hours, except on holidays where it was turned into twenty hours a day, for the "holiday spirit". Her palms rubbed raw red, never allowing them time to heal.

Cosette closed her eyes and blew out her candle, welcoming the darkness of another night. The dark like her face held in the secrets, but her palms told another story entirely; a story she ached to forget. Her rough, calloused, and strong hands held her to her past even as she grew towards her future.

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I hope you enjoyed it and I know it was short, but please review, I would love to hear from all of you Thanks.