❛ i burned their letters . ❜ Ninon to Fantine!
@reverdies (thank you!)
Fantine did not speak to this woman as often as she would like to. She had to share this attic space as best she could without drawing more attention to herself then she already hasd. It's ironic she should return to her place of birth and be received as an outsider, but snide comments are quickly resolved by replying she was born on these same streets these men and women roamed.
These cobbles and stone whispered her name, beckoned her home— how else would that man have known what to name her?
Ninon. At least they had learned each others names; well, nickname in Ninon's case, but Fantine didn't particularly care for explanations. The less they know about one another the better. It's safer that way.
Fantine had just returned from the scrivener, the letter (a little crumpled now) had been hurriedly placed beneath a pillow as she heard Ninon approach. She greeted her as blasé as she could despite thoughts being pulled toward Cosette and the ever increasing cost of her board. It would be fine. The factory paid well enough and she could work on other projects alongside... It would work out— it had to.
Ninon's comment drew Fantine abruptly from thoughts, a unconcealable panic dusting her features. What letters? Had she found those from the Thénardiers and burned them?!
"What letters?" she blurted, the fingernails of the hand rested against her pillow digging into fabric.
Please, let her be wrong. There were times Fantine thought of doing the same, but they were the only proof of Cosette's existence beyond memory alone.
"I apologise, I can't say I follow."
