After being assumed to be dead, Eponine finds it easier to pretend to be a boy that roams the streets. However, her disguise is soon uncovered by one of the surviving members of Les Amis de l'ABC, and Eponine must let sequences of her past return to...
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The barricade was composed of all types of furnishings—be it a spinet piano, obliterated by the force it had taken to bring it crashing against the cobblestone street, or a splintered bed frame; all was strategically stacked upon one another to form a barricade. Although the idea of rebellion and overthrowing the government was music to Eponine's ears, she found herself engaged by the unruliness that entailed the revolution. Her body was rested along one of the furniture that blockaded her fellow revolutionaries. Her hand fumbled to the recent gunshot wound she received, and she winced as she applied pressure to it. Her blood flowed incessantly, painting her surroundings a beautiful red.
And it rained, diluting the blood encircling her, even more so dispersing the bold colour. Writhing, Eponine felt herself shaking along with the slight precariousness of the barricade. As her heart pounded faster, she clutched at her clothes until her palm and wound both hurt from the pressure. Tonight, death and life would encompass everyone, and it wouldn't matter.
The level of pain rang through her; it rattled her bones. Still, she let not even one shriek escape her chapped lips. In her peripherals, she saw Marius clambering up the barricade, towards her. He was in hysterics, and he kept on mumbling something along the lines of, "I should have never gotten you caught up in this. This is all my fault, Eponine. I'm so sorry. Eponine, I'm so sorry."
She smirked, bittersweet. Was now the right time to confess her undying love for Monsieur Marius? Her undying love. Eponine could laugh at the irony.
"Someone retrieve the boy!" someone yelled. Eponine couldn't quite distinguish whose voice it was; neither did she care any longer. She sensed Marius' arms cradling her as he wept in the rain.
Oh, how handsome he was, even in such state of horror. His russet hair was disheveled and swept over, dripping rainwater onto his fine apparel. His piercing grey eyes were widened in fright, refusing to be averted from Eponine's set of chocolate ones. Slowly, Eponine's eyes panned down to glimpse at his lips. It confused Eponine how he could still be talking so excessively; it clouded her senses.
Then something struck her, and she remembered how much her beloved Marius was infatuated with Cosette. His darling, pretty, educated, and in all possible ways, delightful Cosette. Eponine flinched disdainfully at the thought.
I love him... but only on my own, she finally concluded. And so, being the unlikely martyr that she was, she made the decision to make one final gesture.
"I have a confession..." Eponine choked out in between laboured breaths. Sluggishly, she plucked out a piece of envelope from her inner pocket and placed it delicately in Marius' hand. It was indeed a letter, but whom from? Marius strained to see. "It's from your beloved Cosette... I'm sorry I kept it from you all this time..."
Marius faltered in his sadness, and for a flash of a second, Eponine could have sworn Marius' eyes had a glint of slight fury. Or was it the look of betrayal? Smilingly, Eponine mumbled one last, "I'm sorry, Monsieur Marius. You know how I am."
Eponine's vision began to decline. She heard from many tales that when death was impending, the first sense to go was taste. Then it was smell next. Then the sense of touch. Eyesight. And lastly, hearing. Her approaching death seemed to confirm so.
"Eponine!" was the last word she ever heard as she lay limp, succumbing to her demise.
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