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Blaise Vichy stood outside the Cafe Musain with a petite golden haired girl. Perhaps the reader may recognize her as Angeline, former member of the Daughters of the Republic. Blaise eyed her figure as he went through the plans in his head. Not long now, not long at all until he had Annette de Courfeyrac again, ready to marry him. Then at last he could be rid of this damnable state of affairs. Being deprived of one's fortune as a birthright was an insult, and he intended to get revenge. But first, he needed the money to do so. And it was a fact that Annette de Courfeyrac came from a very wealthy family...
"So what do you think?" Angeline asked, her angular green eyes calculating. She wanted this handsome and charming man, and above all she wanted revenge on Annette. No one could disgrace her the way Annette had.
Blaise smiled carelessly. "Why should I care about you or your little revenge scheme?"
Angeline narrowed her eyes. "I can give you everything you want. You don't need that fool. We can ruin her together."
Blaise wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in dangerously close. Angeline kissed him eagerly. "We could make a great team," she said. Blaise kissed her back, hungry for more, but Angeline suddenly broke away.
"Will you help me?"
Blaise stared at her for a moment, all of his great plans and schemes seemingly unraveling at his feet. Maybe he didn't need Annette to take his revenge. Maybe he could take his revenge now...starting with her.
Enjolras sat in his apartment and asked aloud to Combeferre the same question that had been whirling in his head repeatedly since the excursion with Annette.
"Do you think I'm closed off? From the world, and such. Do you think I'm missing out on things?"
Combeferre moaned from his bed on the other side of the room.
"It is three in the morning, mon ami. Do you think it wise to speak to me right now?"
"Please, Auguste."
Combeferre sighed and closed his eyes. Enjolras waited a moment and realized his friend had fallen asleep again.
"Combeferre!"
"Hmm... I was just thinking. Do you spend every waking hour plotting and scheming the greatest uprising of France? Affirmed. Do we admire and respect you for your dedication?" He yawned. "Yes. Have we noticed that you are not so cold and impenetrable since Annette joined our group?"
Enjolras opened his mouth to protest angrily, but Combeferre calmly continued.
"Also yes. What more would you like me to say?"
Enjolras sighed tiredly. "That is all, mon ami. Go back to sleep."
A moment later the room was once more filled with the sound of snoring. Enjolras slept several hours more, tossing and turning in his bed. Something was wrong, something was missing. Why now? Why, after years of work and sacrifice, were his thoughts not solely dedicated to the future of France? Wasn't it his duty to sacrifice everything for his country? Wasn't that the greatest sacrifice man could make? He'd scorned love and any thought of it so many times, even from his own family. But there was something in a smile that brightened a room, leaving an unusual lightness and freedom in his heart. Was it right for him to want it? Or was it just the weakness that he had to overcome to get to where he wanted to be?
Enjolras dressed and left his apartment. He needed something to do, to clear his mind. His fingers itched with the urge to be productive, to be creative.
Despite the early hour many people were walking the streets, many the most desolate and poor Enjolras had ever seen. It appeared they all crowded around the shops that were just opening to try to get stale food from shops that threw them away. A tall girl, thin to the point of emaciation, around fourteen or fifteen eyed him curiously. Her eyes unsettled Enjolras; it seemed as though they pierced his soul. Large and dark and miserable, on a gaunt face that, despite its troubles, was proud and defiant. Enjolras approached her and dug a five franc piece for her out of his pocket. He handed it to her without a word, knowing that she was most likely one of those poor whose pride and dignity were more important to them than living.
The girl's eyes widened in shock as she snatched the coin from his hand.
"Mon Dieu, five francs!" She exclaimed, staring at the coin in her hand, too precious to let out of her sight. "What d'you think I am, royalty?" She laughed unbelievably. "My family can eat tonight, for sure they can. Tomorrow too. Maybe Gavroche and I can even go to the theater together again," she muttered.
She looked up at Enjolras and smiled. Enjolras winced at the sickly face, so starved and sunken on a face that held so much potential to be beautiful. The action made him feel terrible, and he tried to smile back at her.
"Do you know, m'sieur, you've guaranteed me a decent welcome to my family?" She said cheerfully. She eyed him approvingly. "Truly my knight in shining armor." She held out a small, calloused hand to him haughtily, with a new glow in her eyes. Dutifully Enjolras bowed and kissed it. The girl nodded approvingly.
"Thanks, m'sieur Prince. You have saved me from the wrath of my parents, and you are very handsome. If you are ever in need, ask around for 'Ponine. You'll be sure to find me," she said, and with another haunting smile she ran off.
Enjolras stood in the street several seconds, unsure of what had just happened. That girl truly had been cast a terrible lot in life. She reminded him of what he was fighting for each time he sat down to schedule and plan for the revolution that would happen. The only problem was, was there room for anything else?
With a weariness that was too old for his twenty-two years, he wandered the town in hope for a purpose. He hated this drifting feeling, as though there really were no reason for him to be alive. Something cold and unwelcome gripped his heart as he realized how truly insignificant he really was. If he blinked out of existence right here in the street, who would miss him? Certainly not the baker, he mused. Just last week he'd berated the successful man for refusing some beggars some of his old bread. A lengthy speech had been performed, and there he was no longer welcome.
Enjolras felt unsure. This was not what a leader felt. Leaders must be strong and unwavering in every decision. They had to be fierce and right, no matter the cost. There could be no room for doubt in his mind regarding girls whose eyes danced with fire, and men who tricked and deceived and took pleasure in chaos.
He found himself thinking of the dark haired stranger again, and those mysterious four words in Annette's writing. They were burned in his memory like a physical brand. It had been months since the encounter, and Enjolras had begun wondering whether it had all been a dream. Why hadn't that man shown up since then? He wanted answers, to Annette and to that man. Was he a relative? Friend? Enemy? Lover? Enjolras recoiled at the former idea and unknowingly his face formed a fierce scowl. People passing by saw this glare and immediately steered clear. Enjolras took no notice.
Annette woke up with a start, bolting upright in her bed. Her face was wet with tears and she found her pillows were similarly damp. Her skin was cold, yet a sheen of sweat coated her brow and her hands. She shuddered. She'd been crying again. It was always the same dream, the dream that haunted her night and day.
In the dream she was slipping under the covers of her bed to sleep. It was always so vivid, which enhanced the reality of it. As Annette closed her eyes in the dream, hands would grab at her throat and choke her, pressing her down to the bed. The acuteness of the pain in the dream seemed to be a reminder of what was to come so very soon. And just when she was about to draw her very last breath Annette would wake up, crying, sweating, shaking. It was those moments she thought she could never be so afraid to leave the world and all its wonders and beauties. How could she die and leave the people she loved? She couldn't bear the day that she'd have to confront Courfeyrac and tell him she had only a short time to live.
She told herself that Enjolras' reaction did not matter so much to her.
The worst part about it all was the one doctor she'd been able to afford to see had been so positive and upbeat of her demise.
"Think of it as a test of will," the old man had said smilingly. "We are all but pawns in God's greater scheme of life. Some things were meant to happen." Then he'd proceeded to prescribe fresh air, exercise, a new diet, and leeches.
The fear that haunted her now was, would she die alone? Would death take her by the throat while she was asleep, attacking her like it had in her dreams? Would she fight for each breath painfully, for days and days, becoming nothing but a sick skeleton?
Annette sat on the edge of her bed pondering her death. She stood and slowly went to the mirror. Her death couldn't be real unless she could see it for herself. And really, she couldn't tell yet. Her face was still round and full, her eyes still bright despite days of disturbed sleep. But she was paler now, and dark rings always circled her eyes. Annette turned away. What was the point? She'd face death when it came. She wasn't going down without a fight.
Annette tiredly dressed and tried to remember whether she had work or Amis meetings. Nothing came. But she needed to see someone to get her mind off of these dark thoughts. Maybe Courfeyrac could cheer her up. God only knew he'd done it many times before, though under lesser circumstances. But where did he live? She couldn't remember the last time she'd been to visit him. It must have been before he'd moved and she'd left their father's house.
Annette looked outside. Still dark, the traces of the sun's light only just visible on the horizon. She looked around her tiny apartment before leaving. Nothing that reminded her of home or warmth or happiness. Just as it should be.
Annette made her way through the streets angrily, wishing she could kick down all the obstacles in her path. First consumption, then the world.
Annette came across a band of beggars at the baker's, begging for bread. She avoided them, remembering that of course she'd left her purse at home. She pushed through a group of young women giggling in the middle of the street. For the love of God, what were these people doing up so early in the morning?
Consumed by her thoughts, Annette did not notice a similarly conflicted young man walking in the opposite direction. Instead she wondered why these people couldn't just stay on their side of the street, did they know—
In the next moment Annette crashed to the ground with a yell of surprise and anger. She jumped up, ready to fly at whoever had had the nerve to—
"Watch where you're going, mademoiselle," a surly but familiar voice said. Annette looked up in shock. Enjolras stared back in surprise. Annette decided that no one was escaping her anger today, whether it was a stranger or a friend.
"Watch where you're going, Monsieur," she said roughly. She began moving away when Enjolras made her stop.
"Wait." His voice seemed tired, as though he had given up. What? Annette wondered. Where was his usual energy? It couldn't be because of the early hour: Combeferre said he often rose before the sun even rose. Annette turned and by the look on his face something held her there. "Will you come with me?"
Annette asked seriously, "Do you intend to recruit me for your revolutionary group, Monsieur? Because I am already taken."
Enjolras took her arm and they began walking the way they had several months prior.
"I couldn't sleep last night. One question stirs in my mind night and day. Do you think you could answer it?" Enjolras turned his fierce gaze toward Annette and she suddenly felt the world grow quiet and still. Yes, she thought.
Annette nodded in anticipation. Her heart skipped a beat as Enjolras nervously cleared his throat. Why was he acting so strangely?
"Do you think the revolution is the highest goal?" He asked.
Annette's heart plummeted to the ground. What was this supposed to mean?
"Elaborate."
"Should we even consider committing one's self to other things in this life, if we believe our ultimate end is the sacrifice of our lives?"
Annette scoffed, her anger rising. "Do you realize how ridiculous you sound? You are asking me, 'since I am going to die at some undecided point in the future, is my life even worth living at the moment?'" As she said these words Annette had to fight to keep back tears. Was her life living? Before Enjolras could speak, she continued, her voice rising.
"We have a purpose, yes, and it is a great one. But why are you fighting so hard for a world you do not even live in?" Her eyes burned with indescribable emotion. It was as though the earth had crumbled beneath her own feet. "Is my life worth living? I will die, too, you know." When the last comment escaped Annette gasped, realizing what she'd just said. What if he knew?
Enjolras didn't notice. His face appeared conflicted with every emotion at once: anger, confusion, joy, sadness. Annette relaxed slightly and knew she was being unjust. Why should she take her troubles out on him?
"Come on," she said, pulling him back the other way. "I'll give you something worth living for."
It took a bit of convincing of Monsieur Lafite, the cafe owner, to let them in so early, but Annette was prepared. She whispered something inaudible in his ear, and Lafite immediately nodded hastily. Annette smiled and led Enjolras around the building.
In the corner of the cafe's back room was an irregular structure obscured by several draping sheets. Annette strode to that corner and yanked off the sheets. Enjolras helped her, and the odd shape became a piano. A beaten, worn, untuned piano, certainly, but a piano nonetheless. Enjolras raised his eyebrows.
"Do you really want to know the last time this was used?"
Annette shook her head. "Etienne told me about it. Everyone gave a couple of francs to get it tuned." Annette smiled slightly. "Etienne also told me other things."
Enjolras regarded her suspiciously. "Like what?"
"That your skills in piano are unparalleled. Well, my good sir, I would like to propose to you a challenge." She sat down, and moved over for him to follow. The feeling of his body so close to hers took her breath away, and she almost struggled to speak again.
"Then he might also have told you that you are going to be very sorry," Enjolras replied. "What do you know?"
"I think we may call on Schubert to help us here," Annette said breezily. She lightly pressed her hands to the keys, playing the first few notes of Fantasia in F minor. Enjolras nodded appreciatively, closing his eyes, and joined in. Their hands played the haunting song gracefully, dancing across the keys. Annette felt the fears of her dreams and reality rise and swell as the chords sounded in the empty room. Then they were quelled as easily when she remembered Enjolras sitting next to her. She'd never felt so safe, so wanted, so much a part of something. Here she belonged, by his side, creating something beautiful. Annette shed tears now, not out of sadness or fear, but at the utter satisfaction she felt. Though the song was long, it was too short. As Annette played the last few notes, she saw Enjolras look at her out of the corner of her eye.
With her hands still resting on the keys, Annette turned to look at him. Say something, she thought to herself. She'd never felt so giddy. She could hardly hold her excitement, and when her hands brushed his...
"That was beautiful," she breathed, loving the purity of his smile.
Enjolras gently brushed her tears from her face. His hand remained, and Annette's heart raced.
"You are beautiful," Enjolras said suddenly. Their faces were so close, she could feel the warmth of his breath. Annette's face broke out into a smile so wide her cheeks hurt. Yet she couldn't stop. For the first time in her life she did feel wanted, and safe, and beautiful. There was no pretending here, no deception, no lies. Just friends who found themselves loving each other a little bit more with every second.
Nothing could ruin this moment.
Nothing could stop it from ending.
Nothing except for the handsome, dark haired man and the devil with a golden halo watching from the shadows.