TO CARVE AN ANGEL FROM MARBLE act two, chapter twelve
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( november 1831 )
THE LEATHER BOUND SKETCHBOOK taunted him from where it sat atop his belongings. It'd been sitting there since he found it whilst shuffling through his things at the Musain that morning. Upon realizing what it was, he'd thrown it down as though it had burned him. He assumed that the sketchbook had gotten mixed up with his belongings during Madeleine's cleaning spree the night before, but he felt almost guilty for having it in his possession. He knew it was wrong, but he felt drawn to it, a strange magnetic pull of curiosity towards the drawings Madeleine had yet to share.
Running his hands through his curls, Enjolras turned away from the sketchbook. Only seconds later, however, he was looking at it once more. Surely a quick look inside would do no harm, and Madeleine would never know.
He slid into a chair and grabbed the sketchbook, taking a moment to stare blankly at the cover and run a delicate finger along the binding. Then, before he was able to talk himself out of it, he flipped it open.
At first, the drawings inside the sketchbook were not unlike the ones she'd already shared with him and the other Amis— illustrations of France, exaggerated depictions of the king, and the occasional sketch of falling leaves or blooming flowers that contrasted greatly with her other work. Nearly every page was filled with an intricate drawing, and Enjolras found himself growing more and more absorbed by the second.
He flipped away from an illustration of a bourgeoisie carriage being trailed by a small group of beggars, and he froze as his eyes landed on the drawing on the next page. At first, he hadn't any idea what he was looking at— he was certain there was no way it could be what he thought it to be. But it was. There was nothing else it could be.
It was a drawing of him.
Enjolras set the open sketchbook down on the table in front of him, unable to tear his eyes away from the drawing. He had no idea what could have prompted Madeleine to draw him, yet he was unable to fight the faint smile that grew on his lips. He'd come across no drawings of the others (apart from the illustration of the street urchins that included Gavroche from one of her first visits to the cafe) and he couldn't help but feel flattered that she decided to draw him.
Enjolras closed the sketchbook and pushed it away from him, forcing away the momentary elation that he'd felt. He couldn't allow himself to feel this way, not when there were more important things to focus on. He'd gone this long without allowing himself to become distracted, so why now was he questioning everything he thought he knew about himself?
In an attempt to clear his mind of thoughts of Madeleine, he picked up his quill and ardently began adding to his notes for the meeting that evening.
