𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑷𝑯𝑬𝑪𝒀 || 𝐄𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐥𝐫𝐚𝐬

07. 𝑳𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒈𝒆

Chapter 7.

✎ᝰ

March 17, 1832.

THE CAFE MUSAIN WAS still buzzing with energy as the meeting came to a close, the sound of chairs scraping against the wooden floor mingling with the chatter of the revolutionaries discussing their next moves.

Shadows danced on the walls as candles flickered, illuminating the determined faces of those who longed for freedom.

Elizabeth sat at a corner table, notebook open, her quill poised delicately between her fingers, but her mind wandered far away.

She gathered her belongings slowly, the weight of ideas coursing through her mind as she prepared to depart.

Normally, she savored the camaraderie that filled the air here, but tonight, with Marius absent, she felt an odd emptiness, as though the café itself sighed beneath the absence.

Courfeyrac rose from his seat, throwing his arm around Grantaire's shoulder, laughing loudly as they donned their jackets, planning a night of revelry at the local tavern.

"Come on, Elizabeth! You can't possibly want to sit alone writing like a hermit!" Courfeyrac shouted, his eyes dancing with mischief as he nudged Grantaire with his elbow.

"You should find a better way to spend your evenings, Lizzy," he teased with a drunken slur.

"Come drink with us! We could use a woman of valor." He winked, leaving Elizabeth to roll her eyes with fond annoyance.

"Maybe next time, Grantaire," Elizabeth replied, smiling lightly to brush off his suggestion. "I'm afraid the ink keeps me enthralled far more than the spirits,"

She loved their company, but tonight, there were words waiting to spill onto the pages unfurling in her mind.

As the crowd began to disperse, Enjolras, who had been buried in thought, finally drew her attention. His intense blue eyes swept over her, a flicker of concern visible in their depths.

"Are you heading home soon?" he inquired, his voice low and firm, tinged with concern.

Elizabeth nodded, slinging her satchel over her shoulder. "I'm just going to finish up a few notes before I leave."

"You'll be okay walking back alone?" Enjolras asked. The streets of Paris had been known to harbor danger, especially under the cover of darkness.

Her heart fluttered at the concern in his voice. "I'll be fine," she shrugged, trying to downplay the unease that settled in her stomach.

But Enjolras wasn't convinced, and the resolve in his expression intensified. "I'll walk you home. It's not safe for you to be out alone. Not while there are men out there who don't respect the will for a better Paris," he insisted, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Really, it's not necessary-" she began, but he raised a finger, silencing her.

"It is," he replied firmly. "We can't risk your safety."

Elizabeth felt the tension ease, and an appreciative smile broke through. "All right, I suppose... if you insist," she said softly, grateful for his kindness.

Courfeyrac, now standing at the door ready to leave, glanced back at them, a look of skepticism passing over his features. "Be careful on your walk back, Liz," he warned.

She laughed lightly, brushing off his concern. "I'll be fine, Courfeyrac. Enjolras is my shield, is he not? Not that I really need one."

With that, the duo stepped out into the cool evening air, the distant hum of Paris lingering in the space between them.