𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑷𝑯𝑬𝑪𝒀 || 𝐄𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐥𝐫𝐚𝐬

09. 𝑰𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒕 𝑷𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑻𝒐𝒊

Chapter 8.

✎ᝰ

March 18, 1832.

SHE SAT WITH HER quill poised above the parchment, but her thoughts were light-years away from the ink-stained page.

Staring out the small window, Elizabeth lost herself in the chaos of cobblestone streets below; shadows flitted past, the giddy laughter of children carried like a song on the wind.

She felt drawn to the sight but caught in the gravity of her own heart.

Laughter and spirited debates filled the air, a sharp contrast to the often grim discussions of their cause.

In the middle of the room stood Enjolras, his golden hair catching the fading sunlight, his eloquence captivating the small crowd.

The fire of his conviction was evident, burning bright against the dark backdrop of their time.

Yet despite the fervency of his speech, his gaze flicked toward Elizabeth more often than he intended.

She was a contradiction that stirred something volatile within him, a desire to protect her and to claim her as his.

Courfeyrac, seated beside Elizabeth, sensed the tension that coiled around them like a tightly wound spring.

He cast a quick glance her way, his brow furrowed as he attempted to gauge her mind.

"Deep in thought, are we, Lizzy?" he murmured, tilting his head to catch a glimpse of her distant expression.

She blinked, like a child awakened from a dream. "What?" Elizabeth replied, shaking off the remnants of her wanderings.

The laughter in the room rose, washing over the moment with an unintentional cruelty, as if they were mocking her. There was an edge of irritation that curled her lips.

"Could you repeat that, Courfeyrac?" She offered a weary smile, trying to brush off the chill of being lost.

The sharpness of Enjolras's tone broke through her haze. "Are you even listening, Elizabeth? If you're not going to engage in this meeting, perhaps you should leave."

A silence cloaked the room, shocked murmurs lingered in the air as he directed his caustic words at her, the room holding its breath as laughter quickly faded into apprehension.

Elizabeth's cheeks flushed crimson, not from embarrassment, but from a rush of indignation.

"Excuse me?" she said, standing and meeting his gaze with an intensity that echoed in the quiet of their company. "I—what did you say?" she asked, her voice laced with bewilderment.

A ripple of laughter erupted around the table, but it only deepened the frown etched on Enjolras's face. "I said," he reiterated, tone sharp, "if you aren't going to listen, you should get out!"

"Maybe I was thinking of something more important than your droning speech!" Her words were sharp, her heart pounding as adrenaline coursed through her veins. It was a dance of fire, two stubborn souls drawn into the fray.

"Droning?" he echoed incredulously, disbelief etched into his features. "We're fighting for our lives here, and you can't even spare a moment to listen?" His voice had risen, veering dangerously into an anger.

Elizabeth flushed, her cheeks burning with anger. "You think you can just order me out like I'm some child? Maybe if you weren't such an immature boy, you'd understand that not everyone revolves around your self-righteous agenda!" Elizabeth shot back, defiance igniting her eyes.