Lonely Souls, Chapter One

Liberty, equality, fraternity…

“They’re old words,” someone was saying wearily. “We have heard them before. A hundred times.”

“Truth never grows old,” came the steady answer of their leader. “Liberty never dies. And as long as there’s a God in heaven, men are meant to be equal on this earth.” He leaned forward, the firelight reflected in his dark blue eyes, dancing wildly. He clenched his fists as his fervor rose. “I dream of a world where men can hold their heads up and stand tall… a world where children do not starve in the streets… a world where women are not dishonored and cast aside, mere playthings of a cruel and wicked society. This dream… it can become a reality. It will. The light of the new sun is already dawning on the horizon. Patria will rise… will shine in the light of the sun…” he started, his words trailing off. Patria. She seemed to be standing before him now, as real as a living, breathing being… Patria, his homeland, his country, his one true love… and she was changed. He had never seen her thus before. Nothing more than a half-starved girl with a dirty face and hollow eyes, stringy dark hair hanging down on scrawny shoulders… and a look of longing about her that spoke of a blighted womanhood and a heart grown early old. And in spite of it all, there was something of beauty beneath the grime and hunger and sorrow… he came to himself with a start, realizing that it wasn’t a vision, but a real girl he was staring at. He looked quickly away… but her image stayed with him.

Yes… Patria… it was right that she should look so. She had been in bondage so long. And his heart raged within him. Patria would be avenged. He, the marble lover of liberty… he himself would lead the charge that would strike the death blow into the hearts of her enemies.

oOo

She sat in the corner of the fireplace, relishing the warmth of the flames and not minding the bit of black smoke that drifted into her already grimy face. Warmth and comparative safety were so rare in these dark days. She would take all she could get. And while she sat there, bony hands clasped around her knees barely hidden by her ragged skirt, she kept her eyes fixed on the face of the man she loved.

He was sitting at the table, scribbling fiercely away at something, affording only brief glances at the leader of Les Amis as he worked. It was late, and he had an essay due in the morning. But she didn’t mind. It gave her such a perfect opportunity to take in every detail of him… down to every freckle on his face… she loved every one of them. And the soft, faraway look in his green eyes. She smiled. Perhaps he would never truly see her… but just at that moment, she didn’t mind. She dare not hope so much of such a cruel life. Just to sit here, so near to him… that was a blessing to her.

But the voice of the leader interrupted her romantic daydream and she found herself clinging to his words even as her eyes never moved from Marius. Something about those words of his… they wanted to kindle flames in her heart.

“A world where women are not dishonored and cast aside, mere playthings of a cruel and wicked society…” 

She turned to look at him when he said that… and somehow all she could think of was a lion. A lion of liberty… she grinned at the thought. She had seen a lion once as a child, when she peeked between the bars of the Tuileries Palace gates. A lion in a cage, tossing his golden mane and letting out a roar that seemed to shake the very palace walls. It had shaken her to the core of her being… as this man’s words were now shaking her soul. She wanted a world like that. 

She had looked up at him, the fire in his eyes reflected in her own… and they had shared a startled glance. He had stared… murmured something about Patria… and looked away as if suddenly ashamed.

“Marius,” she whispered, edging nearer the young man who was still scribbling busily away, ink from his pen seeping messily over his fingers.

“Mmm… what is it, ‘Ponine?”

“What is his name?” she nodded toward the golden-haired leader, her curiosity piqued. Marius followed her gaze briefly and bent over his paper again.

“Enjolras,” he answered over the scratching of the pen on paper. “Haven’t I mentioned him before?”

Eponine didn’t answer. She leaned back against the wall, arms wrapped more tightly around her knees as she rocked gently back and forth. She stared at this Enjolras a moment longer, taking in the strong lines of his face, the determined look of him, the way his eyes glittered as he spoke to another young man, tracing the outline of a diagram on the table before him. There was something in this man that she had never seen before. It made her heart race. And the realization of that made her pin her eyes on Marius again. Never let it be said that Eponine Thenardier was not loyal to those she loved, fiercely and with all her heart.

She was just a shadow. A mere slip of a girl who appeared in their midst without warning and flitted away into the darkness of the night. She came softly and left in silence. She spoke to no one but Marius, and not even very much at that. Mostly she sat there in her corner by the fire, staring at him out of big black wistful eyes that seemed all the bigger and blacker because of the pale thinness of her face.

She was starving to death, this shadow-girl… starving not only for food, but for love… love and safety and warmth and kindness. Marius had shown her the kindness she craved, and her desperate mind had turned it to love. He was the first man who had ever been kind to her, the first to smile sweetly and not with mocking hatred or leering cruelty. The first to touch her hand in gentle respect, the first to speak to her softly and in words given in sympathy and friendship. She was used to rough curses, to painful abuse. Her hungry heart clung to Marius with all the strength left in it.