A/N: Might be absolutely awful. Idea came from LMFFI and the story "Beyond the Barricade." And, from right after I saw LM, I asked my mother, "What would they do with the bodies? Would they just bury them in an empty field, or would they leave them to rot out where they died?" My mother said both were plausible. So I'm saying, because at that time people were still a little savage (for further detail, see Pirates of the Carribbean. Even though it happened around 30-40 yrs. Before LM, the world was still a lot alike.), they left them to rot until they smelled thoroughly terrible, an then they buried them. Joly would have a fit. This story is about Enjolras' younger sister, Danielle. The title came from The Scarlet Pimpernel.
Disclaimer: Own nothing, OK? You know the story: Flames will be used to burn the witch in Monty Python.
You are My Home
Oh, God. Etienne, why'd you go to Paris in the first place? I stare at the letter from Ma'am Hucheloup, a woman who I don't know, who has written letters to all of my brother's friends' families. I will be the only one to go.
And so I do. I find my plainest clothes, and pack them. I pack all my money, to live on. I pack Etienne's old rag-doll, a thing made by our nurse. When I was born, he gave it to me. Nana always said to me, "He said, 'A seven-year-old is too old to have a toy.'" I would laugh, and laugh, and laugh.
And he was twelve, and I five when we saw Father beat a servant to death. Etienne was never the same. He defended the servants, refused to let Father hurt them, even he himself would be beaten instead. And seven years later, when he went away to school, he never came back.
Our town is only half a day's trip by carriage to Paris, and the burial will not be for a week. The National Guard refuse to clean up the streets destroyed by the battles until all of Paris knows what has happened. Damn them. Maman would murder me for saying that. I smile at the thought. Etienne would've told me to sneak out. And so I leave her a letter, and do. I take the early carriage to Paris, and get there before noon.
I only visited my brother once, but I remember where his flat was. I remember his friends, when I followed him to his meetings, and the one who tried to flirt with me. When I hit him, another asked, "That glare—is it hereditary, or did Enjolras teach it to you?" At the time, I had been angry, but now, it's funny.
But first, I pull out the letter. Corinthe. The place means death. It's where I lost my other half, my only friend other than servants, my favorite brother. And my only one, but that's different. And he's still there. Dead. Did you even make a difference, Etienne? What did you do? What did you die for? Yourself? Or was it really this terrible squalor I see here? How should I feel, Etienne? Would you rather have me throw myself off a cliff? Did you know what this would do to me, Etienne? Or did you just get egocentric for a moment, and forget I would still be here?
I stare at the letter again. Corinthe. I stop in a shop, and ask for directions.
And I go there.
Oh, God.