"It's the unknown that draws people."

― E.A. Bucchianeri

Cosette had heard him grunting from the bottom of her tower. She had been inside, staring at herself and examining the inches of her face she did not like. She had been surrounded by too much quiet, and so when she heard the deep breaths and grunts from below, she had jumped.

She knew it could not be her family or Montparnasee– even if they did not want to use her hair, they would know there were stairs at the bottom of the tower. It could be no one she knew, and her body flexed and pumped with sudden worry.

She glanced out, past her window sill, just for a second, and saw below her a boy she had never seen, staring down at his feet as he tried to place them on the largest ledges. She gasped and drew herself back into her tower. She could close the shutters– but they would squeak and he would know she was in there. He must have been after her for her hair, a terrible boy her family had warned her against. She gasped again, fear shaking her arms.

His grunts were getting closer, and she knew she had to act fast, before he could harm her. With quivering lips and a fast pacing heart, she ran quickly to her kitchen, grabbing the heaviest thing she could lift and running into a corner near the window. She moved her hair as far out of the way, and closed her eyes to stop the tears that had collected. She wanted her mother.

She watched, as sunlight started to peek in through the window, onto the floor of the tower. Suddenly the shadow of a hand appeared, then of a whole body. And soon, he stood in her tower. He was tall, much taller than she. Probably much stronger. Her mind flashed with all of the horror stories her mother and father and sisters had whispered to her over the years. His arms were lean, his jaw pointed. His face was flickered in freckles, and around his arm he had something shiny.

He let out a breath, and stared at the shiny thing. With every ounce of courage and strength she had, Cosette stepped forward, held the frying pan behind her, before bringing it down and hitting the back of his head.

A gasp left his lips, before he fell to the ground in a heap, the shiny object sliding away and out of her thoughts. She dropped the frying pan out of fear, and it hit the floor in a loud thud. She shuffled away, trying to save her poor toes and her mind imagined the man's eyes opening. She stared at him in horror, waiting for him to sit up, glare at her with pure red eyes, growl and hurt her. She felt herself begin to cry again.

Several minutes passed, and he did not move and she eventually let her hands drop to her sides, and her breaths slow. She carefully took her barefoot and kicked the bottom of the man's shoe. He shifts, but did not wake. She feels safer, and walks over his legs, and around to where his head is. She stares at him carefully, noticing the bit of red on his hair from the spot she hit him. For a second she feels guilty. Terribly so. Her stomach trembles and she, without thinking, goes to get a towel. It takes her five steps to remember she shouldn't feel bad. She had to hit him– he had come in her tower! She turns on her heels, staring at him again.

In all her life, Cosette had seen eight people, beside herself. Her mother, her father, her sisters, her brother, Montparnasse, and two of her father's friends. In all her life she had seen eight of same faces. Eight faces over and over again. Never changing, she feels. So, as this man she's never met before lays on her floor, she spoils herself. She stares, sitting on her knees and staring at him. His cheeks are dotted in freckles–ones like Eponine use to have when they were younger. His skin is a paled tan, sweet honey coloured. His hair is light and she feels like she could touch it and know it was soft. His eyelashes are longer than hers, gentle crescents that shape the moon she knows well. His lips are chapped around the edges, just a shade lighter than his skin. Cosette's hand reaches out, just to touch him, but she draws back. She remembers the stories and the fear crawls back in her skin. The sun is setting over the side of the trees. How long has she stared?

There's another spike of fear in her heart, because the boy is clearly breathing, and there's a very good chance he'll wake up. And when he does, she won't know what to do, because Cosette has never had to fight someone. She shudders and looks around her small tower.

Her hair catches her sight, lying lazily on the floor and she quickly grabs the locks in her hands. She takes them, and starts to wrapping them around the boy's wrists, binding them above his head. She grabs her hair, and with all of her strength she pulls the boy, far off into her bedroom. She's not thinking clear, and quickly starts to wrapping her hair around him, binding his feet and his hands behind his back, she even takes a lock through his mouth in case he wakes up to holler. She looks at what she's crafted with slight horror and a slight nod of being impressed. She shoves the boys under her bed with all her might and just then she hears the yells from the bottom of her tower.

"COSETTE!" her mother screams and Cosette winces at her tone. She runs out of the room, before the shiny object glistens in her sight. In an impulsive move she grabs it off the floor and slides it into her room, where it streaks off under the bed. Her mother yells again and Cosette moves over to the window sill, grabbing the very end of her hair as she goes.

"Sorry mother!" she cries to the earth and throws her hair down, pulling her mother up as quickly as possible. Her mother starts to complain the minute she's past the windowsill, but Cosette doesn't listen because she's suddenly washed over with all the incredible fear in her body and she clutches herself to her mother in a tight hug.

Her mother draws back, looking down at her clinging daughter and says, "What the devil's gotten into you?" she says with a tinge of disgust and forces her daughter off of her. "Let your father up, you brat," she says and walks away from her daughter and Cosette is still shaking when she throws her hair down. She tries to hug her father when he comes into her tower, but he merely brushes her off and she's still shaking with excess fear.

"What's wrong with you?" her father asks. She opens her mouth to speak, but he holds up his hand to stop her. "Nevermind. I'm actually more concerned about this." He holds up a small book in his hand, which is bent on the spin and the pages are soaked and dirty. It's Oh How Small, the book Cosette had thrown from her tower so forcefully. It had been returned and Cosette felt a sense of dread in her stomach. "What is this young lady?" he asks scornfully.

"It's my old book," she says smalley. "But Father I–" She's interrupted again.

"Why was it outside on the ground?" his voice is rough, angry and Cosette shrinks back away from him.

"I–I," she thinks to lie, but can't reason one and tells him, "I threw it out there. I was angry. I don't like that book."

His eyes go alight in furry and snatches one of her arms in his grasp. "Don't like it? What kind of bloody excuse is that! I bought this damn book for you because you were 'so bored'," he whines in a high pitched voice that makes Cosette flinch and try to pull away from his grasp. He holds tighter. "You think you can just throw away what I get you just because you don't like it?" His grip gets tighter. "You little brat– see if I get you anything ever again! You'll go mad bored in this damn tower you-you–"

"I'm sorry, Father," she cries and shrinks back as he lets go of her forcefully, making her lose her balance and falling to the floor. "I'm sorry," she weeps.

"Useless child. Just like the rest of them. Sing," he says coldly, reaching down and grabbing her hair roughly.

Cosette looks to her mother with blurred eyes, who is holding a stray bit of Cosette's hair in her hands and not looking anywhere in her daughter's direction. Cosette coughs, and feels her father pull roughly on her hair. Her voice cracks and slips, but she sings. Her hair lights up the room and she sings and cries. When she's done her parents drop her hair, and her father throws the book on her lap in disgust. They slide down Cosette's hair without a word, and Cosette is left to cry by herself, Oh How Small staring at her from the floor with a smug look only she can see. She kicks the book away from her, then flinches and crawls over to grab it, dusting the dirt off of it and setting it on the bookshelf again, where it would always stay.

She takes her hands and roughly rubs at the tears on her face. She feels exhausted and stares at her hands, small and pale and weak. Weak, weak, weak. She wants to scream.

Suddenly, there's a shift in her hair and she looks to her room, where she knows the boy must slowly be waking up. She looks back down at her hands, open palms faced towards the sky. Hands that are indifferent to the life they lead. She clenches them, tight fingers into her dry palms. Into tiny balls of fists that can hit and hold frying pans and knock out boys much taller than herself. She stands up, and walks towards her room, her fists clenching.

!&!

Marius wakes up, suddenly, propped up against something, his legs laid out in front of him, and feeling somewhat refreshed and alert. He shakes his head from side to side, yawning loudly. He looks around, noticing that this room doesn't look like Courfeyrac's apartment, and his cheek itches and he goes to scratch it, but when he tugs at his arm from behind him, he suddenly feels a restraint tugging on him to stay in that spot. His adrenaline suddenly spikes and he pulls again and suddenly realizes he's tied up–hands behind his back and his torso tied to the pole tightly. His fear spikes and for a second he thinks the guard found him and knocked him out and –

The tiara!

He's panicking, looking around and praying he'll get a glimpse of the crown they all fought so hard to get. Instead he sees an old dresser and candles and paintings. So many paintings along the walls. Flowers and butterflies and trees and stars and he's confused as to what prison looks this way, until he hears a voice speak.

"D-Don't try to-to st-struggle," a little voice says from somewhere he can't see.

"What?" he asks, his voice gravelly and he coughs.

"R-Resisting is pointless. I-I… I can knock you out again." The voice is most likely female, and that makes Marius even more confused.

"Who are you?" Marius asks, looking around. Suddenly, in the corner of the room, cowering like a child, he sees a figure, tiny and almost frial. His confusion doubles and he's straining to see where she's hidden herself.

He hears her inhale and exhale. Suddenly, she steps out of the shadows, her figure coming full in the light. His eyes widen and he thinks he's perhaps gasped out loud. She's small, with a strong posture and green eyes so wide he can see white surrounding every bit of colour. Her eyelashes are long, longer than his he thinks, and her cheeks are round. She's stunning in the light, and Marius, despite his predicament, can't help but feel his heart stutter.

"Who are you?" she asks, her voice more stern than before. "How did you find my tower?"

He continues to stare, at a daze for what's being asked. In her hands she's holding a frying pan, and her hair is golden, deep and flowing. It hangs past her neck, her shoulders, her hips, her… knees… all the way to the… floor….

Suddenly Marius is trying to follow the trail of her hair and when he looks down to his waist, he sees that same shade of deep gold wrapped around him and he flinches back into the pole. "Is this hair?!" he screeches and Cosette flinches and holds the pan up higher. Marius's hands flail as he tries to show surrender. "No! No, sorry, um I'm not–What did you say? I'm not going to resist, I promise. Please don't hit me again."

She lowers the frying pan, slowly, suspiciously.

Cosette watches for a second, as the boy pants and twists awkwardly from where he is tied to her bed post on the floor. She stares into his eyes, which are now revealed to be green–one shade darker than her own, she'd say. His voice is soft and sweet in her ears and her knees quiver in a way she's never known them too.

"I–" he starts, trying to adjust himself to sit straighter. "I'm sorry but–do you have me tied up with your hair?" She nods and his eyes widen again and he looks down. "God, how much do you have?" he asks, but then immediately silences himself when she flinches the pan in her hand.

"Who are you?" she asks again, her voice stronger, firmer. "How did you find my tower? How many of you know?"

Her questions confused Marius, and he shakes his head and says, "My name is Marius P– Marius." He stops himself in time and breaths lightly. "I stumbled across it I was–I was running from the Castle guards. I'm of the rebel allegiance." Even held as hostage, being interrogated by a small girl with long hair and a frying pan, he feels a small twinge of pride in his stomach when he says that.

She glares at him and takes a step closer. "Guards? Rebel allegiance? Who are you, Marius? What do you want with my hair?" she asks quickly, her glare deepening.

Marius's brow furrows and he shakes his head. "Ma'am, I have nothing to do with your hair. I just, if you will, I just want to get out of it." His lips quiver at his joke. The girls glares stays stern. He nods, "Fair enough," he mumbles.

"You want nothing with my hair?" she asks again.

"No–What would I do with so much?"

It comes clear very quickly to Cosette that he doesn't know– that he doesn't have a clue about her hair and its qualities. She had checked his head when she pulled him out from under the bed– it was perfectly healed. She must have fixed it when she had sung for her father and mother earlier. She couldn't tell if she was thankful or more worried.

Cosette holds the frying pan up suddenly, pointing it at Marius's face and inhaling as her elbow quivers. "Why were you running from 'castle guards'?" she asks skeptically.

"I–" His eyes go wide and suddenly he's looking around again. "Where's the tiara?" He rasps, squirming to crane his neck. He looks to her, with wide eyes and quivering eyebrows. "Miss, please. The crown I had– where did it go?"

She trains herself to not glance to the bag by her bed, where she stashed the shiny jewel. She fixes her eyes on his shoulder, and takes a breath. "I hid it. You'll never find it," she says as steady as she can.

He looks like he might cry. "Please, please, Miss please. We went through so much for that– miss we risked our lives, please–"

"Who's we?" she asks sharply, holding the frying pan an inch in front of his nose. "Who's we?" she says, fear deafening her to anything but the unsteady breathing of the boy.

She looks down at the frying pan, his voice dropping to a much lower volume. "Th-The rebellion," he whispers. "I'm a member of the rebellion against the King Javert," he practically whispers. This time, the same pride doesn't swell his chest; which is filled an anguish that a little girl with a frying pan may kill him. "Please Miss, I mean no harm." His eyes look up, and catch hers.

Cosette's wrist's quiver, barely. The boy– Marius, his eyes are stunning bits of green so much darker than hers, she thinks now. So much darker. So much wider. So much more knowledgeable. She drops her frying pan to her side. He looks fearful, like the child she feels inside her when she looks in the mirror. He looks tired, like how she so often needs to feel.

The plan, that had been lurking so quietly in her mind, comes to the front and prods her. She nods, and crosses her arms.

"Hear this, Marius," she says, trying to sound cold and distant. "You have two options. I can let you leave unharmed, but with no tiara." Marius's eyes are wide and he starts to stutter, until she holds up her free hand. "Or, your other option, is that you leave here, and take me with you. And I will give you the crown only when I know I am safe." The words dizzy her, and she feels the need to throw up pushing in her throat and the frying pan is suddenly too heavy and this is all too scary and she wants to change her mind.

But she can't, she can't now.

Mariu's brow is furrowed together, his eyes squinted and his lips in a line. "Escort you?" he asks. "What kingdom are you from?"

She blinks, because she doesn't understand his question.

A look of worry crosses his face. "Wait, have you never left here?"

Now, Cosette blinks, but she feels like she's trying to shield herself from his question. She suddenly realizes it's embarrassing that she's only ever lived in one place, whereas people like him have probably lived in a hundred places, seen a hundred faces, done a hundred things. Cosette feels like she's only done enough for two hands to count.

Marius is aghast, face in disbelief. "My god, why?"

"It's safe," Cosette says sharply. "My home is safe. I can't be hurt here. The world outside is evil and scary. I'm safe here."

"Then Miss–"

"It's Cosette," she interrupts quickly, tired of "Miss".

"Cosette," he corrects, before continuing. "Cosette, why do you want to leave?" he asks, genuinely curious, and the words rattle Cosette.

She looks down, feeling lost in her own feelings and the brown stub of hair on the back of her neck seems to throb. "I…" she starts, words trailing off her lips. "I just… I need to," she whispers. Her eyes snap up to his, and the emotions on his face are ones Cosette has never experienced, and she almost shows a hint of fear. But the next second she's grasping the frying pan tighter and asking sternly, "So? What will it be, Marius?"

And Marius sighs, defeated.

!&!

Apparently, it's morning. Cosette tells Marius he stayed unconscious throughout the entire night, even when she was dragging him and tying him up. He shakes his head and, when she's released his hands from her bind, he touches the back of his head. It's not even sore, and he comments, "That's weird. I don't even think there's a bruise. You hit me pretty hard, I thought. I figured I would have bled."

Cosette shifts nervously, pulling all of her hair out of the way and not telling her captive that her hair is what cured him. She's not sure what the protocol for that is, so she leaves it be. When she finishes packing, securing her bag around her when Marius eyes it suspiciously. She's aware he could probably try and just steal her bag and run, because there's no doubt the crown is in it. For safety measures, she makes sure he watches her put the frying pan in her bag. It's heavy, but her safety weighs a little more.

The stairs to the tower are locked from the outside (a safety measure her parents set in place), and Marius opts to climb down the tower before Cosette can suggest her hair. She doesn't press the fact, she doesn't want anyone using her hair anymore.

He starts down first, climbing swiftly and telling Cosette he'll catch her if she falls. Cosette doesn't hear him. Doesn't hear anything. Doesn't hear the damned birds fly away or the wind rush by outside her tower. Outside the tower she will leave. Outside her home. She's going to leave. Her knees quake and there's a real feeling in her gut that she may cry or throw up. She wants to run back inside, hide under her covers and cry that she's sorry. She's so, so sorry.

A click, happens in her mind.

Why is she sorry? For being tired? For being bored? For being scared? Scared of what?

The questions hit her. Cosette buckles her knees, clings to her hair that's thrown around the hook and towards the ground. She looks up to the sky, something she's always felt so close to. Closer than anyone should feel. She looks down, and in an instance, she jumps.

The air around her rushes and pours and her hands grip tightly to her hair. She gasps, and without her permission, her eyes shut and she hears Marius scream out a warning. Her eyes open, and she manages to tighten her grip enough to slow herself down. Her body lurches and before she can register, before she can prepare herself, the souls of her feet hits the skin of the earth.

It's instant. A high and a shock through her body. It runs up her spin and she's on a slope and falls backwards, onto her bum and her hair falls the rest of the way off the hook and next to her.

Marius is next to her, asking her questions, but she can't hear him, can't hear anything. She can feel the grass. Soft and damp in the early morning's dew. It slips between her fingers, which flex and pull the leaves in close. The dirt is gushy and cold and she can see bits of brown under her fingernails. It's soft and hard at the same time and Cosette is baffled by how this can be. She runs her hands up and down the ground, her heels kick in a push her toes through the grass and Cosette is smiling, pure and honest. The grass tickles her calves and she lays on her side, her cheek rubbing the ground and tingles run down her spine. Her dress is wet and her hands are dirty and her blood roars in her veins and her heart may burst. She sighs and tears prick the back of her eyelids. She closes them, savouring the feel of grass softer than any blanket and dirt purer than light. She stays still, feeling the water soak her skin and the sun warm her face.

"I've never felt so good," she whispers to the wind.

Marius takes its reply, "It's just grass."

Her eyes snap open and she sits up. "I've never felt grass," she whispers. "Never."

The words boggle Marius's mind and he wonders how childlike it is– to have never felt something as common as grass. He's been around grass his entire life, he can't imagine never feeling it.

"Is it… is it nice?" he asks dumbly, because he's never been around someone who's so content with something so small. It startles him.

She smiles, smalley, gently. "Yes," she sighs. "It's better than my bed. And the smell." She inhales and falls back onto her back.

The sun shines, over the tips of the trees and spilling onto their hidden meadow. It coats her, and Marius watches as every shard of light transfixed on her, being absorbed into her and being let out in a gentle glow that makes his chest hum. He inhales sharply, trailing his eyes along the path of her hair to the bundle it's made from it's fall from the top of the tower. It shines as bright as the sun, and the back of Marius's head seems to itch.

He coughs, after letting her soak up the rays for a minute (because he was being generous, certainly not because he was starring). Her eyes open lazily, and when she looks to him, her green irises glassy and clear, he feels incredibly rude. "It's a two day travel," he says. "to a safe village I know quite well."

A strike of fear freezes in her eyes and she says, "What if my parents live there?" Her bottom lip is trembling and she's clutching the blades of grass, begging to never leave it again.

Marius is at a loss for a second, because it is a possibility until he remembers that it's not, because certainly Courfeyrac would have told him about the parents who kept their daughter locked up in a tower. Right?

He shakes his head. "Doubtful." Her eyes are still unsure and the look queases Marius. He extends a hand, and smiles gently. "I promise. There's no possible way you're mother or father could live where I do. Surely I would know."

Cosette blinks, slow, letting her skin settle into the ground for a second longer, feeling it on her body and dress, before reaching a hand up and placing it into Marius's. His hand is rough, large, and warm. He seems too sweet to lie, surely. "Right," she whispers as he pulls her up. She releases his hand quickly, and dusts the grass off of her hands, already missing the feel of it all.

She takes a second, cranes her neck to look up, up, up at her tower. It's long, tiny. Tinier than she remembers, even now. How did she not grow out of it sooner? It's much too small for her and all of her hair. Birds fly past and she feels smug, down on the ground with her bare soles scrapping between the earth. She looks back to Marius, her cheeks warm and her eyes wide.

"Shall we?" she says. He smiles, smally, and nods.

And without looking back, Cosette leaves her tower.

!&!

A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to follow me on tumblr (theonewhowrites). Big thanks to Kelly (sketchingapollo tumblr) for being my beta, and Samantha (poninefaulchevent tumblr) for making the graphic!

Please review!