@lespersonnes​ asked  ❝ unhand me or bleed. ❞

Javert looked at the young woman amusement flickering over his face for just a moment before his expression settled onto one more serious. How did this child, this street urchin hope to ever get the advantage over him. Yes, she had youth on her side but she looked thin and sickly.  “Non tu ne le feras pas,” He said. He very much doubted that she would attack him or even make him bleed. “What you will do is hand your knife to me and be on your way. Unless you would like to go to La Madelonnettes for the night. Don’t think I won’t send you there,” He warned. He just carefully took in those eyes, the thin form, the red skin of her fingers and the glint of a knife. “Enough Eponine,” He hoped the use of her name would be a sufficient deterrent from any further action against him.  

the girl grits her teeth ,  not backing down yet .  𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴'𝚂 𝙰 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝚄𝙶𝙶𝙻𝙴 𝙱𝙴𝚃𝚆𝙴𝙴𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙼  —  she fights against his grasp ,  the sharpness and weight of her knife still safe in her hand .  it appeared she would not be giving it up anytime soon .  it cost her pretty two centimes ,  after all .

éponine scrunches up her face ,  rearing back ,  and stamping a foot down ;  it didn’t matter if she missed him ,  now she just wanted to create a diversion .

a street urchin with a weapon was a dangerous thing .  desperation ,  and fear  —  and something else is hidden deep within her expression .  𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 .  𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐝 .  𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 .  he backs away long enough for her to get a better grip on the knife .

❝ i should skin you alive , ❞  she hisses ,  defiant .  stubbornly ,  and perhaps even childishly ,  she shoves the knife in her belt and starts making to move back .  she had to be careful ,  of course  —  one wrong move and she’d be nothing more than a number in a cell for the rest of her days .  but a single night out of the cold ...

éponine promptly spits and it lands on the ground in front of him .

❝ very , ❞  éponine grins from ear to ear ,  a laugh catching in her throat when he reaches for her hand .  without much thought ,  she moves to interlace their fingers together .  

𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙳𝚂 𝚂𝙷𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝙰 𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴 ,  but only from happiness making her jittery .

❝ i like them too , ❞  she says at long last ,  swaying on her feet slightly :  and she pauses ,  just long enough to lean forward ,  standing on her tiptoes .  ❝ and you ,  of course !  but i think that that’s a given ,  yeah ? ❞

fingers flex ,  gentle yet firm ,  comforting in its pressure .  

@lespersonnes​ ( RAPUNZEL ) said:  ‘  best  not  to  ask.  i  think  the  answer  would  please  no  one.  ’

            “ the most important answers often don’t. ”  Mithian smiles, linking her arm through Rapunzel’s to continue on their walk. the day is lovely, warm without being suffocating, and Mithian is determined to not waste it. “ I suppose it depends on how important the question is to you  …. ”  she raises her eyebrows.  “ so, how important would you say it is? ”    

rapunzel mimics the action ,  fine brows inching high upon her forehead .  she meets her gaze  —  flushes ,  then ,  𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙻𝙰𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚂 𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙲𝚁𝚄𝚃𝙸𝙽𝚈 .

❝ oh ,  the utmost ! ❞  she insists ,  a teasing grin playing upon her mouth .  she rests her hand upon her companion’s arm ,  gentle .

❝ though i am not sure if i can 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 ,  you see .  i have made the mistake of asking something when i shouldn’t have ,  far too many times . ❞

the silence ebbs and flows ,  cloaking them ,  shrouding the room with its presence .  a tremor sits at the base of her spine .  christine doesn’t speak ,  not for a long moment  —  she is reflective ,  each second that ticked by a testament to the very horrors she’d encountered ,  the grief she experienced .

𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽 𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻 ...

❝ in truth ,  i do not know , ❞  the daaé girl says at last ,  shaking her bowed head gently .  messy curls tumble against her shoulders .  her trembling hand ,  at the base of her throat ,  closes around the simple chain and pendant ;  a gift from her father from what seemed a lifetime ago . 

the angel of music had been nothing more than a man ,  christine soon enough learned .  she closes her eyes ,  heart thudding against her ribcage .  she dreams of a better world , of one where the shadows from her life had been chased .

❝ it ... ❞  she sighs ,  eyes opening .  they’re glassy .  ❝ it is far more difficult to describe than one would imagine .  𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 ?  really ,  truly ,  without hope ?  all of man has sinned .  and yet ,  we are forgiven . ❞

a brow furrows ,  restless hands curling about her collarbone .  she shakes her head once more .  ❝ i daresay only god himself can decide .  but i do not think he would ever speak it ,  for our sake .  the line between the two is very fine ... ❞

christine drifts off ,  at once lost .  her gaze averts to her lap ,  and finally ,  her hands drop to her skirts and stay there .  

❝ you are brave ,  mademoiselle . ❞  a laugh ,  deep and melodious :  it reverberates off the walls of the opera house ,  into every nook and cranny .  

‘ 𝙸'𝙼 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙰𝙵𝚁𝙰𝙸𝙳 , ’  she had said ,  most assuredly .

she looks miniscule from where is she perched upon the stage .

the ghost is ever-present .  he knew the palais garnier better than the back of his hand ,  his own sheet music .  each wall told a story ,  each piece of its construction held secrets .  𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 .  he was not to be questioned here ,  or challenged .

yet ...

❝ and with very little regard .  do you know who you speak to ? ❞  each syllable changes direction ,  a distraction of the senses  —  overwhelming ,  dizzying .  to the floor ,  to the ceiling ;  everywhere and nowhere all at once .  fingers curl ,  cruel  ,  at his sides .  he remains cloaked in the dark .  away ,  and hidden .

❝ i will extend one last kindness to you .  a warning .  leave ,  before it is far too late .  if you do not ... ❞

the words hang .  𝙷𝙴 𝙻𝙴𝚃𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙸𝙻𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝙳𝚁𝙰𝙶 𝙾𝙽 .

❝ never you mind the tulips !  they can be very ,  very rude ,  you know . ❞  the smallest tut from alice ,  holding fast to her companion’s hand as they made their way through the underbrush .

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙸𝙶𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙿𝙾𝙸𝙽𝚃𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁'𝚂 𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙸𝚂 𝙻𝙾𝙿𝚂𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙳 .  the fresh pink paint is still dripping from the dyed blue wood .

❝ of course ,  i have found most plants to be rather terrible conversationalists ...  𝐢 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐢𝐥 .  we’re almost there ! ❞  she smiles brightly ,  squeezing serena’s hand gently ,  and ducking beneath a particularly stubborn branch .

he does not speak ,  not at first ;  it goes unneeded ,  the weight behind her words enough to fill the room’s empty space .  𝙷𝙴 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝚂 𝙶𝙾𝙳 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙺𝚂 𝙸𝙽 𝙼𝚈𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙾𝚄𝚂 𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂 .  after giving his life to the lord ,  to cosette ,  what more can he do besides repent to her ?  fantine carried light within her .  all of that grace ,  and kindness  —  and she suffered for it .

he wishes to comfort her .

❝ you’ve every right to . ❞  they come unbidden upon his tongue ,  before he can stop himself .  once again the sinner prostrate ,  making to right his wrongs .  

𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝 .  

❝ i have not always been an honest man ,  dear fantine ... ❞  a moment of silence passes after he trails off ,  eyes shut as he bears her scrutiny .

❝ coming up with a plan ,  in case this one falls through .  what’s it look like i’m doing ? ❞  there’s that low drawl ,  whisper harsh as she shakes her head .  she moves to slip the matchbox back into her side pocket . 

velma grabs roxie’s hand ,  dragging her around the corner of the busy club  —  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 .

❝ it’s the only thing i got on me right now !  besides ,  i don’t think you should be too picky ,  considering that guy has been watching us for the better part of the night .  creeps like that make me want to leave showbusiness for good . ❞

𝙰 𝚂𝚀𝚄𝙴𝙴𝚉𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙰𝙽𝙸𝙾𝙽'𝚂 𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙳 . 

❝ and what do you know of love ,  monsieur montparnasse ? ❞  the small smile she gives is so sad ,  so resigned ,  and she does not meet his gaze .

𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝚃𝚁𝚄𝚃𝙷 𝙸𝙽 𝙸𝚃 .  montparnasse could be wise ,  when he wasn’t nicking your watch .

the day she had met marius pontmercy ,  éponine had died  —  gasping ,  born anew .  𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 .  even now her heart thuds in her breast at the mere thought .

calloused hands wring at her front ,  unsure .  all joy ebbs from her expression .  she no longer has the upper-hand .  ❝ people have lost their lives for it , ❞  éponine says ,  quiet .  ❝ it only makes sense . ❞  

a moment of silence ,  the jondrette girl’s rise and fall of her chest with each breath drawn the only movement .  𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙴𝚈𝙴𝚂 𝚁𝙰𝙸𝚂𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙰𝙽𝙸𝙾𝙽'𝚂 .

❛❛          umm ,      𝑙𝑦𝑑𝑖𝑎      …          ❜❜            she  begins  softly ,      as  to  not  goad.         only  then  does  a  pang  of  humiliation         ——        𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 ,      even         ——        hit  her ,      a  consequence  of  her  poor  forethought.         she  furrows  her  brows ,      drumming  her  fingers  on  the  stair’s  railing         (though ,      that  does  little  to  calm  her  nerves).          ❛❛          …         did  we  manage  to  show  up  this  time  ?          ❜❜

excitement clouds lydia’s judgement .  it never hurt to try ,  after all ;  it was innocent enough to experiment with the limits of ghosthood .  𝙸𝚃 𝚃𝙰𝙺𝙴𝚂 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙵𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝚂𝙴𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙳𝚂 𝙱𝙴𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝚂𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙻𝙸𝚉𝙴𝚂 .

❝ again ? ❞

a groan ,  holding up the  ( admittedly nice ,  𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 )  photograph .  if the photo paper wasn’t something she had spent her cashier salary on ,  she would have just crumpled it up right then and there .

❝ god ,  okay .  one more picture of the staircase for my wall ,  i guess . ❞

a shrug as she waves it about again ,  just to make sure it was at least mostly dry before lydia did anything else .  𝚂𝙷𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙳𝚂 𝙸𝚃 𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙾 𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙰 𝙰𝚂 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙵 .

❝          you   look    like    you    just    saw    a    ghost.          ❞                                  @lespersonnes​     ( madame   giry. )

❝          …          ❞               a   wordless   bow   of   the   head   follows   moments   of    ᵈᵉᵃᶠᵉᶰᶤᶰᵍ    silence ,      with   the   ever - present   ticking   of   a   clock   as   their   only   company.           𝑤𝘩𝑎𝑡   𝑖𝑠   𝑎   𝑔𝘩𝑜𝑠𝑡  ?         a   wish ,      so   she   thought.         (   well ,      if   she   were   to   be   frank ,      she’s   still   not   quite   sure.         in   a   way ,      perhaps   she   would   never   know                           * ⅋       perhaps   it   was   better   that   way.   )                       ᵀᴴᴱ    opéra   garnier ,      which   lay   silent      * ⅋       still         (   slowly   digesting   ) ,      had   become       ᵖᵃʳᵗᶤᶜᵘˡᵃʳˡʸ      ominous   in   the   dead   of    night                           ᵗʰᵉ     𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂    𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒕’𝒔    vessel ,      rotting   beneath   their   very   feet.            she   sighs ,      though   a   remnant   of   shock   still   clouds   her   features ,      though   a   façade       ᵒᶠ       courage   can   certainly   go   a   long   way.         a   wish   is    a    dream ,      she   thought ;         and   dreams   can   spill.

❝          in   a   way ,      i   have ,          ❞              she   says ,      a   tremble   in   her   voice.           ❝          although ,      sometimes    𝒊    feel      ᵃˢ     though   i’ve   gone   mad.          ❞

a purse of her lips ,  silence dragging on .  madame studies her curiously :  as though one might appraise something they had once lost ,  and then found  —  𝚁𝙴𝙲𝙾𝙶𝙽𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝙸𝙽 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙶𝙰𝚉𝙴 .  she knew that look all too well .

❝ there are many things in this world we do not understand ,  my dear .  that is not ,  in and of itself ,  madness .  i daresay you still have your wits about you . ❞

the ballet mistress says this with utter certainty ,  but even still ,  there is a nagging doubt .  christine daaé had given her soul ,  𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 ,  to the stage .  there was no question that he played a hand in this  —  each occupant of the opera house was beneath the ghost’s command .

but no more than the daaé girl .

❝ aww ,  c’mon !  don’t be such a buzzkill ! ❞

betelgeuse grins  —  leers ,  more like it :  𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 ,  too .  the ghost puffs on his cigarette ,  𝚆𝙷𝙾𝚁𝙻𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝚂𝙼𝙾𝙺𝙴 𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙰𝙸𝚁 .  he leeeeans back ,  back popping audibly ,  before continuing .

she squints into the lens ,  waiting to strike  —  everything about photography required patience ,  and just the right timing .  she shifts her weight from foot to foot .

𝙰𝙽𝙳 ,  𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙽 ,  𝙻𝚈𝙳𝙸𝙰 𝙷𝙰𝚂 𝙸𝚃 :

❝ don’t move ! ❞  she pounces ,  leaning down to get the perfect angle ,  and at once her polaroid camera is flashing .  𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 ,  preserved on paper .

her eyes sparkle at his words ,  alight from joy !  christine reaches for him in an instant :  gentle hands entangle with his ,  holding fast to him ,  as if she did not want to let go .  𝙰𝚂 𝙸𝙵 𝚂𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝚂𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙴𝙻𝚈 𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙴𝚅𝙴 𝙸𝚃 .

❝ do you mean it ?  truly ? ❞  her words are caught in her throat ,  and her heart thuds against her breast .  𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 ,  and she ,  dazed ,  smiles so brightly christine may just as well be the sun .

@lespersonnes​

The countenance of the so-called opera ghost was unmoving as he watched the stream of Parisians go by with little care for what was beyond their own nose. His lip curled in slight disdain as he watched a particularly well-dressed fellow discuss in loud terms what he thought of these revolutionaries, these Septemberists who seemed determined to put Paris to flame. How he pitied their closed minds. How he envied their ability to walk the streets in safety. His gaze was then drawn to a young thing. Hands red with cold, a face thin and aged with poverty mere rags to call clothes. Yet there was something in her eyes, something almost alluring and frightening. He brushed his fingers across his lips as he thought. He did not usually reach out to help street urchins or those in need. When one had the disadvantages, he had it seemed almost laughable to be stirred to pity.  

He remained cloaked in shadows as he watched her. His brow creased with concentration and then he gave a soft huff of annoyance. Damn that little bird to have moved his stone heart. He knew very well the entrance to his own lair was not too far. Perhaps a night in warmth and some sustenance would help her. But what then? Turn her out into the cold with barely anything once more. Before he could stop himself, he moved. His gloved fingers lightly touching that cold reddened skin at her arm. “You must be cold and hungry,” His voice was calm, measured and almost soothing. “Perhaps I can give you somewhere to stay or some money to aid you?” He asked. He did not know how she would take this but the choice was now hers. His face was hidden in shadow much like the ventriloquist Claquesous who rarely showed his face to anyone. His line of sight caught a young gentleman out in new clothes and a new hat. A brightness about his young face.

the day had been long and hard ,  the cold bitter and just as harsh .  every step she takes is painful ,  a knife digging into the soles of her feet .  she can feel the cobblestones between her toes ,  her worn boots not enough to fend off the sensation .

she shivers  —  éponine has since become accustomed to the chill of paris at night,  as opposed to the days of her youth ,  but even still she cannot stop the spread of gooseflesh ,  the tremble of her jaw as her teeth clench together .

a pang of hunger slices through her abdomen .  she can’t remember the last time she’d eaten more than scraps .  éponine miserably considers her options .  there was safety in numbers ,  of course ,  of being with her family :  she ,  however ,  did not particularly feel like parting with the single centime she’d managed to nick in the square .  they would want it .

the girl freezes in place ,  a trapped animal ;  her eyes are wild ,  and her heart leaps into her throat .  the voice that speaks to her is even ,  and completely hypnotic .  her gaze travels through the darkness ,  finding him :  and he touches her ,  and she shudders at it .  éponine cannot remember the last touch she had received that wasn’t out of anger ,  or malice ,  or sheer violence . 

the leather is soft against her skin .

she forgets to breathe .  she sways ,  just a little on her feet ,  light-headed .

everything about the stranger was cloaked in mystery ,  in shadow .  she cannot read his expression .  his clothes ,  though they exclaimed wealth ,  were insurmountable to the stark porcelain mask he bore upon his face .  éponine finds her tongue ,  drawing back in fear ,  though she cannot bring herself to entirely recoil from the warmth .

❝ such wonderful things always come with a price ,  monsieur .  i am not willing to pay it . ❞  she shakes her head ,  almost sadly .  her gaze averts .  a roof over her head was tempting ,  of course ,  and the promise of enough money to buy something to eat far more ,  but the jondrette girl knows better .