Eponine glared at the massive pile of dresses that Cosette had draped over her chair. “I am not trying all of those on.”
Cosette frowned, her blue eyes sad, and Eponine instantly felt bad. Yelling at Cosette, or refusing her, or anything, was like kicking a kitten. It made it impossible to not apologize.
“Alright, fine,” she said, resigning herself to a day filled with lace and silk and uncomfortable material. “Let’s get this over with.”
Cosette smiled and picked up one of the dresses. Instantly, Eponine hated it. It was white and the skirt was wide and poufy, with short sleeves that billowed out.
“No,” she said, not caring how Cosette reacted. There was no way in hell that she was wearing a dress that looked like a balloon. “Not wearing it.”
“At least try it on!”
“Seriously, Cosette? This looks like a wedding dress. I thought you were the one getting married.” She rolled her eyes, willing herself not to bolt and run.
“Oh, fine,” Cosette pouted, then picked up another dress. “What about this?”
Eponine studied it. The skirt was white, covered in lace; the bodice and sleeves were blue and looked soft. “I – I’ll try it on.” She was wary about trying on the dress, as beautiful as it was. She remembered wearing prettier dresses when she was young, but that was so long ago, it felt like an ancient memory. She carefully slipped it on, convinced that she was going to tear something.
“Oh, that looks beautiful,” Cosette sighed, pulling Eponine towards the large mirror.
Eponine glanced at the mirror and had to admit that Cosette was right.
“I like it,” she said quietly, wondering if she would have to try on the rest of the dresses. She hoped not; the pile was absolutely massive.
Cosette smiled, then spun in a circle. “This whole wedding – I mean, I know it’s quick, but it’s wonderful, isn’t it? Absolutely perfect!”
“It’s… yeah. It’s great.” Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. She didn’t want to crush Cosette’s enthusiasm, but she was sick of hearing her prattle on about how great getting married to Marius would be. Half the time, she was convinced that Cosette did it just to hurt her. She knew how Eponine had been in love with Marius. She knew how she had been willing to die for Marius. She knew all of it, and she still showed no sensitivity. Sometimes Marius would glance at her apologetically while Cosette talked, but there was nothing more, no official apology. Somehow that seemed to hurt more.
She shrugged off the dress and was relieved at the feel of her skirt and chemise and shirt, their material more familiar than the soft silk and itchy lace. Cosette folded up the blue dress, somehow forming it into a neat pile.
Eponine sighed and looked around the room. Even though she had been here for almost two weeks, it still wasn’t hers, not at all. The nightstand was bare except for a single candle; the drawers of the dresser were almost entirely empty. The only personal effects that she had were Gavroche’s pin and medal, and her own coat, its collar still bloodstained. She could be gone in less than a minute.
A little voice nagged at the back of her mind. Where would you go? She didn’t know where she could go. There was the attic above Café Musain, but the landlady wouldn’t let her stay there anymore, and sleeping there – where all of her friends and Gavroche had died – the thoughts of them dying beneath her feet would drive her insane after only a few nights. She refused to return to her family, now that she knew that they only saw her as a source of income. She could take some shelter in Gavroche’s elephant, maybe – it would at least shield her from the wind and the cold, but it would only be temporary home.
