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The first thing I noticed when I awoke was the pain. It was excruciating, a low dull, throb which radiated throughout my entire body. I groaned, wrapping my arms around my stomach and pressing my knees up against my chest. A warm light shone through my eyelids, and I tried to force them open. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but I knew that sooner or later I would have to wake up.

"Amélie! She's waking." A deep, male voice echoed through my throbbing head.

I tensed, snapping my eyelids open, and blinking them into focus. A man stood over me, his hands on his knees as he peered at me with concern. He was an older man, perhaps fourty or fifty, and rather short for a man of his age. His light honey colored hair had begun to grey and dull with age, and dirty skin was wrinkled and scarred from far too much time in the sun. My instincts told me to be afraid of him, but something his his deep green eyes comforted me, and I relaxed upon looking into them.

"What is your name, child?" He asked quietly, crouching down beside me.

"A-Azelma." I replied weakly, sitting up against the wall.

He smiled, nodding once at me. "Bon jour, Azelma." He greeted, "I am Bernard." He gestured to a small girl behind him. "And this is my daughter, Amélie."

My eyes fixed on the small girl. I recognized her. She was the same one who had come to me after the events of that day. She peered at me timidly, offering a small smile, which faded as quickly as it came. She then joined her father's side, grasping onto him as if her life depended on it. I turned back to Bernard.

"Your daughter saved my life, Monsieur." I said.

He gave me a quizzical look. "How so?"

A good question, for she did not go through some heroic feat to help me, did not risk her own life to save mine. So why was it that I felt such a great deal of gratitude towards the young gamine? "She gave me the courage to live, in a time that I thought I would not. It was a small act of kindness, but one that I so desperately needed nonetheless."

Bernard beamed at his daughter, pulling her into his lap. "She has a good soul." He said proudly.

Amélie's cheeks flushed at her fathers compliment, a sheepish grin forming on her thin lips. A smiled at the two of them, a feeling of warmth spreading through me at the sight of them. It was families such as these that gave me hope. Poverty does not ruin a person's morals if they are strong enough to fight through it, and Bernard and Amélie were proof. A kind man, who raised his daughter to the best of his ability given the circumstances they had to live in. They were a beacon of light in a place so dark that even the sun seemed to not dare be seen here. To know that there were good, honest people was more life-changing than any revolution or rebellion, because it showed the strength of those who were willing to fight for what they thought was right. It was silent, peaceful protest, seen by few, but felt by all. My mind snapped to Eponine, and all at once, I remembered the urgency of my mission.

"Monsieur," I said to him, "do you know where I can find a man by the name of Montparnasse?" Bernard's eyes clouded, and Amélie burrowed into her father's chest, cringing as the name escaped my lips.

"Please, Mademoiselle," He whispered, "we do not speak of him here."

"He has my sister, Moinsieur."

Defecating silence filled the empty space between us. Bernard held Amélie tighter, as Amélie's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, Mademoiselle." Bernard said. "I cannot help you."

He stood to leave, but I grabbed him by the hem of his pants. "Why not!?" I cried desperatley, "If you know where he is, then why won't you help me?"

"He killed Mamman!" Amélie cried.

I let go of Bernard, standing, using the wall for support. "I am sorry, Amélie." I whispered, turning my attention to Bernard. "Please, Monsieur. If you do not help me, my sister will die as well. Is that what you want?"

Bernard placed Amélie on the ground, wringing his hands nervously. His eyes flicked between me and the center of the slum, before he sighed. "Very well." He said.

After Amélie finally promised not to follow us, we left the young gamine, moving quickly through the back alley ways. It reminded me of the times I had followed Eponine. Bernard was nimble, and fast, and clearly knew his way around these streets. The closer we got, the slower and more apprehensive the man moved, and the more uneasy I began to feel. The streets were dark, infested with rodents and those who could not find sufficient lodgings. A few would grab at our feet, begging us to spare a sous or some food. I ignored them, pulling away from their grasps. It was a sickening place, more vile than I had ever seen. And yet, in the center of it all, a small house which was kept in moderately good shape stood. Standing at two stories, it was the finest house in possibly all of Saint Michel. Bernard stopped, panting heavily.

"That is it." He pointed at the house, turning to me. "Be careful, Mademoiselle Azelma. He is gone for most of the day, doing God knows what, but even so. There is no telling what oddities you will find in that house of his."

I curtsied quickly. "Thank you, Monsieur. I do not know how I will repay you."

He smiled sadly. "Come out of there alive," He stated. "and when you do, visit Amélie and I. She is quite fond of you."

I nodded. "I promise." I hesitated before pulling the man into a hug, and running to the house.

This was it. This was the point of no return.

The interior of the house was an utter mess. There was hardly any furniture, and the little there was had been decimated by mold and insects. The stench of dry alcohol hung thick in the air, masked only by the smell of dried blood. It only then hit me how me how similar this house was to Montparnasse himself. On the outside, he was a decent looking fellow, nice clothing, a good smile, but on the inside, he was tarnished by hatred and rot. I covered my nose with my arm, trying to shield myself from the scent. Upon finding nothing on the bottom floor, began walking up the stairs with as much stealth as I could muster. The upstairs of the house was split into two rooms on either side of a short hallway. The two doors were in relatively good shape compared to everything else in the house. Their doorknobs were a metal of some sort, perhaps copper, and the varnish was only just beginning to peel. I assumed that Montparnasse stole the doorknobs, but that doors I could not be sure of, although I would not put it past him to do such a thing.

A low, faint moan echoed through the hallway. My senses pricked up. "Eponine?" I whispered. There was no response, only another whimper.

I burst through the first door, finding the contents of the room empty, before galloping to the next just as a high-pitched shriek filled the air. I stopped, hesitating as my hand met the door handle. After everything I had been through to find her, all of a sudden I wasn't sure if I wanted to. I was afraid of what stood on the other side. I shook my head, pushing those thoughts to the back. With one hand on the doorknob, and another touching Eponine's cap, I pushed the door open.

She was there, a knife pressed to her pale neck, all color drained from her face as his hand clutched her by the waist. There was no color in the room, except for the bright red crimson that covered her and the ground. It was everywhere, and I then realized why the scent of dried blood was so evident when I first walked in.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Azelma." Montparnasse hissed. "How nice of you to join us."