A/N: Thank you so much to those who read/reviewed the last chapter! You're all wonderful.

This chapter references (a lot) the poem "Mariana" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. It's a fairly short poem, so while you don't need to read it for this chapter to make sense, it's beautiful and you should read it anyway.
And, as always, thank you, Mel, for being a wonderful beta.

Disclaimer: Les Mis and Mariana both aren't mine

"Sparrow?"

She kept her eyes down, glancing quickly over the words of the paper before her. She had heard Simone muttering them as she poured over a long volume shortly after the New Year and, moved by the melody of them, asked to know what they meant. She had sat there beside Simone, wide-eyed, as she read aloud the full poem. The next morning, she had found it transcribed in French (some parts in Simone's hand, others in Sebastien's) and slipped under her door. Since then, she read the poem each night, often more than once, and was thus determined to finish it in peace.

"Sparrow?" Sebastien asked again.

She continued to stare down at the page, though she could no longer focus on the words. How could she possibly be expected to concentrate when he so rudely kept interrupting her?

"Sparrow!"

Without looking up, she waved her hand dismissively, wiping some moisture from her cheek as she brought it back to her lap.

Simone laughed from her seat on the couch and recited, making extra effort to maintain the melody of the translated words:

In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn,
Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn
About the lonely moated grange.
She only said, "The day is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"

Pouting, Sparrow pushed the poem from her lap, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at Simone. "You needn't recite it, I'm reading it!" she snapped.

Simone smiled warmly. "But don't you see, Mariana mine? If you drown yourself in your feelings, you'll miss what's going on around you."

"What? Has Sebastien finished yet another writer's works? Or has he started another silly little war in the last twenty minutes?"

From the corner of her eye, she could see Sebastien flinch at her harsh words, and, in the back of her mind, she knew she should apologize, but for nearly five minutes he had been calling her name, knowing full well she was reading. Though this was not an uncommon occurrence, for one of the household's young people to call for another, Sparrow felt herself unable to tolerate him and, thus, was unapologetic of her actions.

Simone looked back and forth between her cousin and Sparrow and, her eyes finally settling on the other girl, said, "That was uncalled for. He's just trying to get your attention."

Sparrow kept her arms crossed, but turned her gaze to Sebastien. "Why?"

"You were crying. I suppose I wanted to make nothing was wrong."

"I wasn't crying."

Sebastien let out a small laugh, though immediately looked as though he knew it went unappreciated. "You mustn't keep doing that."

"What? Pointing out your errors?"

"Denying your emotions."

"Hah!"

"What?"

And to Sparrow's pleasure, it was Simone who responded. "Why! 'The raven chides blackness!' Of course, he is right, Sparrow. He's just the last man on Earth with the right to say so."

"I don't see why that matters. So what if I was crying?" For what was not the first time that day, she refused to acknowledge the quick glance exchanged between the cousins. As quickly as they caught one another's eyes, however, Sebastien turned back to Sparrow.

"I only wanted to ask what was wrong and make sure you were well."

"Must something be so horribly wrong for me to cry?"

Sebastien shrugged. "Wrong, I suppose, comes in many sizes."

"I hate this stupid poem," she hissed, using her toes to push it away. She was too busy scowling at the papers on the floor to notice either Sebastien's concerned stare or Simone's knowing grin.

"Why?" Simone asked.

"Because it's stupid."

"Tell me."

"What's so romantic about a girl who yearns for death?" And, though she tried to speak as angrily as she could, she could hear the desperation in her voice, the way it made her final word crack in a need for validation. "Why must I be told to see beauty in the story of a girl who has no good in her life?"

"On the contrary, bird girl, she has a great deal of good. She just cannot see it."

"Then that is what's stupid."

"Why?" Sebastien asked and Sparrow fell silent, dropping her head and letting her hair cover the way her tears dripped to her lap.

She could hear Simone rise from the couch and come over to kneel before her. "Men," she said, placing a hand on Sparrow's knee. "That is to say, all mankind, young and old, male and female, are slaves to passion. Whether it is passion for blood, for knowledge, for love. Power. Lust. Any or all of it. All people get lost in the abyss of passion, though some for longer than others. And, often, in that abyss, we lose sight of all else. Why, just look at 'Bastien. His passion is France. It has always been and will always be. But these last few years, his passion clouded him to all else. And there is no shame in that. Nor is there shame in Mariana being consumed by her loneliness. If this 'he' is some specific lover and it is his absence that brings her solitude, then for a little while there is no harm in her state."

"And what if she were to kill herself?" Sparrow could not help but ask as she looked up at Simone, her face red and her eyes swollen. "What if she wills herself dead for this lover who will never come? Is there shame in that?"

Simone shook her head and pushed a strand of hair from Sparrow's face. "Oh, you are my Mariana," she whispered. "No, bird girl. There is never shame in passion. Tragedy, yes. One could argue that all the world's tragedy comes from passion. But to have passion is to live and, as long as you hurt no one else, there is no shame in living."

Sparrow let out a choked sob in what was, perhaps, her first full emotional release in Simone's presence. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "I fear I must be ill, I'm not myself. I – I should go to bed. Bid your father goodnight and give him my apologies."

"It's barely nine," Sebastien exclaimed, but Simone shot him a poisonous glance as she stood to let Sparrow by.

"Don't worry, love," she said. "Sleep well."

Sparrow nodded once and left. Sebastien sighed, staring as the door shut behind her, and placed his book upon the table. "That was…well, odd."

Simone threw her own book at his head. "Don't be daft. Did you honestly think that poem wouldn't effect her?"

"It's an emotional poem, but it doesn't warrant that."

Simone let out an exasperated sigh as she returned to her seat across the table from her cousin. "What do we know about why Sparrow fought with you?"

"How is that relevant?"

"Answer, 'Bastien."

"She had a brother fighting. A lover too, perhaps."

"But you'd never seen her before?"

"Never."

"Didn't your friends ever bring their lovers out with them? Why, even when I visited last February, I met quite a few of their ladies."

"Not every man at that barricade was one of my friends, Mona."

"But you know she knows them! You said so yourself! She knew you were the leader, she knew of your group."

"Simone, I don't see a point to this."

Simone sighed again. "Oh, for Christ's sake, Sebastien! The girl scarcely eats and still has been steadily growing since she's been with us. And you told me that she was the same when you were in Paris. As much as you claimed to fight for the poor, I'm fairly certain that none of your friends took a starving girl to bed and, if any of them did, I can promise you they wouldn't let her keep starving!"

"Jesus Christ, Simone! Is this what you do in your spare time? Try and deduce her origins?"

"You would too if you gave a damn!"

"Of course, I give a damn. But if she wants to remain unidentified, who am I to identify her?"

"I'm not trying to give her a name, Sebastien. She is Sparrow. I just…I just want to understand her."

"And how does knowing which of my friends, if any, took her to bed help you understand her?"

Simone rubbed her eyes. "I don't know, 'Bastien. It's not relevant now, I suppose. I just…all I'm saying is that what if she went to the barricade to find her lover who wasn't coming – either because he was preoccupied or didn't love her back? She was less than an inch from death, Sebastien. 'He cometh not…I am aweary, aweary. I would that I were dead.' Didn't you see how much it upset her?"

Though Sebastien shook his head, he knew that his cousin's deductions were not completely wrong. After all, Sparrow had all but told him that she had died for a man who did not love her. The fallen princess and the noble duke. But that was his information, his that he had earned because the girl called Sparrow trusted him. And though he was sure she trusted Simone as well, he knew that Sparrow's story was not his to tell.

"Are you suggesting she tried to die for love?"

"Would she be the first?"

"I think, Simone, that you are trying to romanticize the life of a girl you know next to nothing about. Surely her presence here is entertainment enough for you."

Simone stood. "How dare you? We let her in because we cared for you and we begged her to stay because we care for her, too. She is my friend, Sebastien, not a puppet gifted for my amusement."

"Good," Sebastien said calmly, rising from his seat. "I'm glad we're in agreement."

Without another word, he tucked his book under his arm and left, leaving Simone to fume alone as she bitterly turned through the pages of her book. He quietly made his way to his room and, after quickly changing into his night clothes, lit the lamp beside his bed, ready to read himself to sleep. But before he even read a full page, he was closing the book once more. Sighing to himself, he rose and grabbed his dressing gown, cursing sentiment as he grabbed his lamp and slipped into the hallway, making his way to Sparrow's room.

"Little bird," he whispered, knocking lightly upon the door. There was no response. Against his better judgment, he took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The room was dark, save for his lamp, and he had to step carefully, knowing full well of the way Sparrow's belongings lay strewn across the floor. As quietly as he could, he made his way to her bed, expecting her to, at any moment, shout at him for coming in without her permission. But she was silent and when he got to her bed, he was surprised to find her fast asleep. And, though the evening's tears had left streaks upon her face, her sleep appeared to be a blissful one. Carefully, he set his lamp upon her nightstand and, gently as he could, pulled the blankets up around her, shielding her from the cold of a midwinter night. Securing the blanket over her shoulders, he gave her a final stare, still bewildered and concerned by her behavior, before retrieving his lamp and, as quietly as he had arrived, departing from her room and returning to his own.

However, though Sebastien had appeared to catch Sparrow in the joy of blissful sleep, the rest of her night did not pass with such serenity. She dreamt that she was blind, that the world around her, though it existed, could not be seen. Looking about, she could see masses on the horizon, masses that could be trees, perhaps, or buildings. But they all blurred together.

She spun about, her heart racing. No matter how far she ran, her surroundings never became any clearer. Closer, yes. But they remained just as blurred as always. The silence was deafening. Though she yelled and though she cried, nothing penetrated her ears. She felt sick. Covering her face in her hands, she dropped down to the ground and curled herself into a ball. And, slowly, she began to hear the sound of her own heartbeat and the rhythm of her own breathing. When at last she removed her hands from her face, she found herself curled up, completely under the blankets of her own bed. Slithering out from under the blankets, she could see through the drapes the first light of dawn creeping into her room.

She surprised herself then, letting out a gasp as she sat straight up in bed, a stab of pain rocketing through her core. She brought her knees to her chest and hugged them tightly, willing the discomfort to go away. Biting her lip, she focused her attention on the stripe of pale light stretching from her window to her bed. Despite her misfortunes in life, she had been lucky with her health. Though the lack of food had often caused her stomach to churn and the winter air had often caused her nose to drip, she had been only a child the last time she had been truly bed-ridden with a malady of any sort. It hadn't been all horrible, though. She got to sleep in her parents' big bed and Maman had made soup and fed her as Papa read to her and told her jokes to make her laugh.

But now she had no maman and, as far as she was concerned, no papa either. Just herself. So, clenching her jaw, she forced herself to lie back down and, wrapping the blankets around herself, fought to find a comfortable position. The sun had mostly risen, bathing her room in a pale gold light, before she finally was able to drift back into a fitful sleep.

Though it had been perhaps another three or more hours, when she awoke again it felt as though she hadn't slept at all. She still felt as though she was being stabbed in the stomach and her head still spun. It was only when she forced herself to finally sit up that she felt something warm and sticky between her legs. Confused, she threw the blankets off of her and looked at her lap. Her nightgown was stained red and, jumping from her bed with a gasp, she saw that the sheets below her were stained far worse.

"Fuck," she couldn't help but mutter, staring down at the mess before her. Trembling, she looked down over her shoulder and saw that the back of her night gown was drenched in what she could only assume was her own blood. Over the beating of her heart, she could hear Simone's door open and instantly, Sparrow raced to the door, throwing herself against it just as Simone began to push it open.

"Sparrow," she exclaimed in surprise. "Are you feeling better today?"

Sparrow shook her head and it was only after Simone repeated her name that she realized the other girl couldn't see her.

"I still feel a bit ill, actually," she said all too quickly. "I think perhaps I should go back to bed."

"Well, if you're sick, you ought to let me take a look at you."

"No!" Sparrow pushed harder against the door. "I just mean…I just…I think I just need to sleep."

"Don't be silly! Now, let me in."

Tears in her eyes, Sparrow looked over towards her bed, still covered in those once beautiful white sheets. They had been so soft and she was sure more expensive than anything she had ever before had in her life. And she had gone and ruined them. Before she could stop herself, she burst into tears.

"Sparrow?"

Though she continued to lean against the door, she did not push back when Simone again tried to open it.

"Oh, Sparrow," she sighed upon entering the room.

"I'm sorry," Sparrow gasped out, shutting the door behind her friend. But, to her surprise, Simone only laughed.

"Is this what you're crying on about?"

Sparrow nodded.

"Well, it's not like this hasn't happened to all of us before."

"No," Sparrow whispered, shaking her head. "Not to me."

Simone continued to stare at her and Sparrow's face burnt red. Seeing Simone's concerned look only served to further mortify her and, when another shot of pain piercing through her core, she could not help but to double over. To her surprise, however, Simone immediately rushed towards her and wrapped her in her arms.

"Don't worry," she whispered, pressing a light kiss to the top of Sparrow's head. "It's nothing to get worked up about. Here," she said with a smile, reaching around to grab Sparrow's dressing gown from its hook. Put this on and we'll get you a bath."

"And my bed?" Sparrow asked in a small voice.

"Don't worry about it. Come along, don't look so scared."

Silently, Sparrow pulled on the dressing gown and followed Simone out of her room and quickly down the hall to where the bath was. She waited patiently as Simone had the bath filled and, after discarding the dressing gown, slipped into the large tub, nightgown and all.

"So you've never…" Simone began, sitting on a small seat beside the tub.

"No."

"Are you scared?"

Sparrow only nodded.

"Do you know what this means?"

Sparrow shook her head, wiping her eyes in both fear and embarrassment.

"How old were you when your maman died?"

Sparrow shrugged. "It was only this summer."

"And she never said anything about this?"

Sparrow let out a cold laugh. "She never said anything at all." From the corner of her eye, she could see Simone bite her lip and wondered perhaps if she had yet to deduce anything about Sparrow's past life. Regardless, she said nothing more of the younger girl's mother.

"Well, it's normal."

Again, Sparrow laughed bitterly. "In what world is it normal to wake up in a puddle of your own blood?"

"A woman's world."

Sparrow bit her lip and looked down and the dirty water. "Is it forever?"

Simone quickly shook her head. "Just a few days perhaps. And then again in a month or so."

"Forever?"

"More or less," Simone said apologetically, making a comically annoyed face.

"Why?"

"To have children. I don't know all of the science behind it, but it's for that. You can't have children until you've bled and you stop being able to once you've stopped. When you get it, it's a sign you're not carrying a baby."

"Oh."

Simone nodded. "Marguerite congratulated me when I first...well. So I suppose I should congratulate you."

Sparrow raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Simone tossed her hair and said, with what Sparrow was sure was the most sickeningly sweet voice she could muster, "Because we're women, dear. We're not people until we can have children."

For the first time that morning, Sparrow smiled. "It sounds awful. For the rest of my life?"

"Assuming you live to a normal age, no. Just a few decades."

"And what if I never plan to have children?"

"Well, it's not like you start bleeding and suddenly become pregnant. You know...you'd have to…with a man…" Simone waved her hand as if to fill in the words she could not find.

Before she could stop herself, Sparrow supplemented her. "Would it scandalize you if I suggested the word you were looking for was 'fuck?'"

Simone let out of shriek of laughter and buried her face in her hand, her skin so red that it nearly blended right into her hair. "Only because you're a child sitting in the bathtub!"

Both girls quickly dissolved into laughter. When they finally calmed, Sparrow said softly, "I mean, I knew that much. That…that could lead to a child." Before she could continue, she let out a pained moan and wrapped her arms around herself. "Will it always hurt so much?"

Simone nodded. "Unfortunately. But nothing that can't be remedied with brandy or wine or something of the sort."

"I want to eat, but I think I might die if I do." Simone only nodded. "Jesus Christ."

"May I ask you something?" Simone said softly after a moment of silence. Sparrow nodded. "Why did you go to the barricade? Surely, you didn't wish to die."

Sparrow looked away, focusing her attention on the way her nightgown bubbled in the water, and shrugged. "I think," she said after a minute. "I think that perhaps I did."

"Were you in love?"

Sparrow looked up quickly, her heart racing. "Why?"

"I'm only curious."

Though she first wanted to exclaim that she had loved as fully and as passionately as one could, Sparrow silently leaned back and shut her eyes. No matter how hard she concentrated, she could scarcely remember what he looked like anymore. She could still speak of him, of course, with his pale and freckled face, the way his hair was almost red in the sun. But she couldn't even place a color on his eyes. Warm and welcoming and caring, that she knew. But there was no color. And, if she were to be honest with herself, she had not thought of him once since New Years. Now that he had returned to her mind, she could only wonder if his marriage brought him the happiness he deserved and, before she could stop it, a voice within her seemed to scream that of course he was happy without her. Just as happy as she now was without him. It seemed as though her world was not limited to his presence. Before she knew it, she was smiling.

"No," she said, opening her eyes.

"Then why are you smiling?"

"Because I thought I was. But I must not have been."

"Is that so?"

"He is gone and I am still here and no worse for it."

"Then why were you there?"

"Because I don't think that he ever loved me, not for a moment. I told myself he did. But, as you said, I'm just a child."

"All people deserve love."

"But not all get it. I've never had anyone love me. But he didn't hate me, so it was the most I was ever loved. I think that, if I still had him close to me, I might still…" She trailed off and looked about, as though the end of her sentence hid somewhere in the walls.

"If you still had him, you might be blind to the world around you?"

Sparrow's head immediately snapped back to face Simone. How on earth could she possibly have worded it so perfectly? She stared wide-eyed, her lips parted in amazed shock. "How?"

"'She only said, 'My life is dreary; He cometh not,' she said.'"

"'She said, 'I am aweary, aweary; I would that I were dead.' Is that what I am, then? Waiting for my love to return to me until the day I die?"

"I think that is up to you."

"So you understand, then, don't you, why I am who I am?"

"Why you are Sparrow, you mean?"

"Were I to allow myself to be who I was," Sparrow said, breathing deeply with each word so as not to let herself burst once more into tears. "I don't think I could be happy. Not ever. There's too much with that life. Too much misery, too much sorrow, too much hatred. That girl, the one who went to the barricade, the one who had to watch all those young men die, that's not me anymore. Not Sparrow. Even the girl who pulled Sebastien from the window was not me. Even once he called me Sparrow, I don't think I was quite her yet. It was the start of it, yes. But part of me was still the girl I used to be and scared of returning to the life I used to live. But now I'm here, now I'm so far away from everything that was. And I think I can be happy."

"Just as long as you stay Sparrow."

"Just as long as I stay Sparrow."

Simone smiled with such affection that Sparrow felt guilty for ever having doubted the love the girl bore for her (however foolish she thought it was). Pushing Sparrow's hair once more out of her face, Simone stood and said, "I'll just go get you some clothes and something to help with..." she gestured to the dirty water, causing Sparrow to blush. "Well, this."

She returned shortly and helped the younger girl dry off and change, whispering her own stories of, as she put it, "feminine mortification" into her ear. By the time she made it downstairs, she was giddy with laughter.

"You look well," Sebastien said as they entered the library. "Are you feeling better?"

Sparrow nodded, her cheeks turning pink at the recollection of the previous night's outburst. "Quite," she told him. "I slept rather poorly, but I feel better now."

"I'm glad," he said with a soft smile. "Come, sit by me. Your usual chair is a bit far from the fire and your hair's still wet. We wouldn't want you ill again."

Sparrow nodded again and walked towards him.

"I'm going to get some tea and, well, whatever I can find in the kitchen. Should I bring back a tray?"

"Thank you, Mona," Sebastien said, making a space for Sparrow to sit beside him. The moment the door shut behind Simone, he turned his attention the girl beside him. "May I be candid, Sparrow?"

She could not help but laugh, despite her discomfort. "Aren't you always?" she teased, trying to find a position that alleviated the pain in her abdomen.

Sebastien shrugged. "I suppose, yes."

"Then why ask permission?"

"Very well, then. Are you lonely?"

Sparrow froze in shock, eyes widening and cheeks growing red. "How could I possibly be lonely, Sebastien? Why, I'm more cared for than I've ever been in my entire life!"

Sebastien shook his head, his face solemn. "I didn't ask you if you were well cared for, little bird. I asked if you were lonely."

"I spend near every waking moment with people. Loneliness in this life would be absurd."

"Have you lived in a big city your whole life?"

Sparrow raised her eyebrow at the sudden change in Sebastien's line of questioning. "Nearly. Before Paris, we lived in a small town not too far from the city. But it had people."

"So you have spent, no doubt, much of your life in crowds?"

"Yes, I'd even have to run off just to get a moment of solitude."

"And that's where your confusion lies."

Sparrow shook her head and laughed. "My only confusion lies in you."

"Solitude is not loneliness. You can be lonely without being alone."

"I know that."

"So, tell me honestly, have you ever been in a room full of people and felt completely alone?"

Sparrow thought for a moment. "Yes."

"Then I ask you again: are you lonely?"

Sparrow was silent for a long while. Lonely was, perhaps, not the word she would have picked. Yes, there was an odd sense of isolation, living outside of a town rather than in one. With the exception of a lone seamstress, she had yet to meet anyone. Monsieur Mathieu had even chided his daughter for not introducing Sparrow to any of her friends and using the girl as an excuse to avoid socializing. At the time, Sparrow had not cared.

"I have more intimate friends now than I've ever had in my entire life," she said carefully. "But I would be lying if I said I did not miss the chaos of city life."

Sebastien nodded, looking sadly at his lap, and Sparrow feared that she had perhaps offended him with her confession. But, to her surprise, he then looked up at her and, taking her hand with a small smile, said, "Me too. And the people Simone knows here, the people when you go into town, they know me. I've spent so much time here over the years that even those who I've never met know me as my uncle's nephew. But you they've never met. So tomorrow, you and Simone will go into town. And she'll introduce you to everyone you pass. And you'll probably think they are all idiots, but you can revel in the fact that you're far cleverer than they are. And you will come home and report it all back to me and I shall live vicariously through your words."

"And what about you?" she asked, noticing the sadness in his eyes, so nearly hidden by his smile. "You say you will live vicariously through me, but no one can live alone, Sebastien."

He squeezed her hand. "I am not alone. I thrive in solitude. When I need company, I have you. And Simone. What I need now is time for reflection. To see where I went wrong, to see if I should begin again. I need to decide how I should live."

"You're not the only lost one, Sebastien."

"Do you need to know how to live?"

"Of course. So I, too, am looking for it."

To her surprise, Sebastien laughed. "I can tell you, little bird. You need to be happy. You need to see what life suits you. You may have started afresh in life more often than I have, but I am still much older and have seen different things. How can you know what you want if you don't let yourself be happy?"

Sparrow rolled her eyes, far too used to Sebastien's privilege playing such a roll in their differences. True, he may have seen more than she had, but what she saw, she was sure, taught her so much more. Though she smiled and squeezed back his hand, she said, "You're being condescending, Sebastien. Living a different life does not make you wiser to the world than I am. If anything, I know more than you."

Sebastien's cheeks reddened. "I do not mean to be condescending and I apologize. I only mean that you cannot decide how to live if you haven't tasted all your options."

"So you want me to become a little socialite?"

"I want you to meet all the people you can. I want you to choose who you surround yourself with and who you remove from your life. I'd rather you spend all your time with a single person that makes you happy than a thousand people who upset you."

"I am happy with you. I am happy here with you and Simone and Monsieur Mathieu. Happier than I believe I've ever been."

"And what if there's someone out there who makes you happier?"

"And what if there's not?"

"Then you will appreciate us all the more."

Both Sebastien and Sparrow looked immediately at the door. Neither had heard Simone reenter. She smiled at them, a tray in her hands, and walked over, kicking the door shut behind her.

"As much as I hate to admit it, Sparrow," she said, setting down the tray. "He's right. I'm afraid I've been a terrible hostess."

"Oh, don't say that!" Sparrow could feel her face growing hot with embarrassment. How on earth could Simone view herself as a bad hostess? She was nothing but kind and welcoming, so much so that Sparrow had grown in only two months to see her as a sister. If she discovered that she had even for a moment demonstrated anything less than the most sincere gratitude, she was sure she would certainly die of embarrassment.

"No, I have. I've kept you shut up in here, all to myself. Why, I struggle to even share you with 'Bastien, though that's only because if I don't dominate your time, I fear he will."

Sebastien laughed. "And what would be wrong with that?"

"Impressionable young women ought to be corrupted with things more fun than political misery."

Sebastien merely shrugged and once again squeezed Sparrow's hand before finally releasing it.

"So," Simone continued, sitting on Sparrow's other side, "tomorrow we'll go into town. We'll go to the book shop and the hatter and I'll tell you who's tolerable and who's not."

"And who will you tell them I am? The bird that flew in through an open window?"

Simone brought her hand to her chin and seemed to think about it for a moment. "My father used to be a professor, you know. He stopped shortly after Maman died, but he's always kept in touch with his colleagues. We'll say that your papa is a professor in Paris and has sent you out of the city following the uprisings."

Sebastien shook her head. "Too many people here know people in Paris. A professor is a tough story. Especially with the people you know. They're all such gossips, Mona, they'd be looking up every professor in Paris quickly as they could."

"Surely there's far too many," Sparrow said.

"They'd still try. Simply say that you're a friend Mona made last time she was in Paris. You grew tired of city life and came to stay with her."

Sparrow nodded at first, but then looked down, feeling the tears well in her eyes. All the lies, all the deceit, it felt as though she was once more the other girl. For, though Sparrow's whole existence was in itself a lie, the girl called Sparrow was true to her new name. But, of course, she realized sadly, her name was not even a name at all. "No one will believe that I am called Sparrow," she whispered.

Once more, Sebastien took both of her hands in his own. When he spoke, Sparrow was surprised by the earnestness in his voice. "You will always be Sparrow. As long as you wish to be Sparrow, you will be. If you want to give people a different name, you may. But it does not change who you are."

Before she could stop herself, Sparrow flung her arms around Sebastien's neck. Though he tensed at first, she soon relaxed and held her tight.

"Thank you," she whispered. After a moment, she released him. "I will always be your Sparrow," she said. "It is my name and I have no other."

Simone hit her lightly on the back of the head. Sparrow spun to face her, having almost forgotten she was in the room. "And what of Mariana?" Simone asked teasingly.

Sparrow tilted her head back and laughed. With a grin, she gestured towards where the sun flooded in through the window. "But the day is lovely," was all she said.

Thank you so much for reading! Hopefully I'll get the next chapter out relatively soon, but classes do start tomorrow, so life's about to get a bit busy...