A little note here,

So here it ends, thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I like these characters a lot and (once I finish my other story) I think I will continue writing about Éponine and Enjolras, maybe in this same universe or maybe new stories, we'll see.

For now, thanks again for everything, and special thanks to RavenCurls for the constant reviews which helped me keep going!

As always, feel free to leave anything you want in the comments!

Greetings from Colombia and enjoy the last chapter

Sixteen years have come and go…imagine that. And yet, the Parisian breeze carries rumors of revolution once again. Somewhere, madame Trépat's old clock is ticking the night away. The golden pendulum goes back and forth, always returns, like the people's chants from the streets. The slightest provocation and I know the barricades will rise again tomorrow. Could it be that time gets exhausted and we are bound to watch the same over and over again? I am tempted to think so, as faint bells echo now through the night, making the same chant I could hear from the inn when I was a girl. The same snow seems to fall and melt every year, and yet time leaves its little traces all over, it leaves them in the rusting edges of a padlock as much as in the lines in our faces, to remind us we have so little of it in the end.

But there are things that never change, I guess, and maybe the fire of revolution never quite dies, but gets passed from torch to torch. Once it was Louis XVI's head, tomorrow might be Guizot's, who knows. What I know for sure is that tomorrow's banquet campaign shall be a turning point. I have to admit, I had not realized how crucial those gatherings had become until a month ago. After one of the more violent speeches ended, the men stood up and clapped with such vehemence, it prompted the woman sitting next to me to lean over and say "Ideas are dangerous, one cannot grasp how much". To which I replied "So is hunger", and between the two I have to say hunger is to be feared more. But I realized then how far we were from being at a playful left-winged tea party. Ideas are dangerous, even more so when they hit the ears of the hungry.

And, well, here I am, writing, piecing it all together like a seamstress of memories. The words here cannot beat the stubborn pendulum of the clock, but they will probably outlive me. I know not who I write this for, everyone, no one, me? The question perhaps is if that even matters. I write, I suppose, hoping one day it might be found and our stories may live on, isn't that what we all strive for?

That is all for now,

É.E.T.

Paris, 21st of February, 1848.

Éponine ran a finger over the last words and looked at her own ink stained thumb before placing the last paper with the others. To her it seemed the house had been rendered silent with that last movement, though it had been just as still before. She stretched her hand a couple of times, stood up and grabbed the candle from her desk. The door creaked as she exited the room, prompting her husband across the hall to lower his book and look at the living room's entrance. While the hall's lamps were lit, only the chimney's glow lighted the living room and Éponine's shadow appeared before she did.

"You finished writing early tonight" Her husband remarked with a smile.

"I think I finished all together" She replied, walking towards him. "Are the girls asleep already?"

He nodded and glanced at the stairs. "It only took two tales, and they were all down."

"At least someone's getting some rest tonight."

"Are you thinking about tomorrow?" He asked sweetly.

She nodded.

"We're just going to a banquet, like we have before."

"I wish it wasn't practically banned now, though."

"You think we should not go?" He stood up with the help of his cane and placed his book over a small table to the right.

She sighed and rubbed her temples with her free hand. "Doesn't it feel we've been through all of this before?"

"Are you afraid it will end like before?" He asked, placing a lock of her hair behind her ear.

"I'm more afraid it won't"

He smiled and held her hand slowly. Only as his warm fingers locked between hers, she realized how cold she was. "We were lucky, weren't we?"

"Lucky is quite the understatement." She smiled. "Now, seeing as neither of us are likely to rest much tonight…" She casted a look at their chess table at the end of the room.

"Interesting, are you ready to lose?" He offered his arm to escort her towards the table.

"How funny I was about to ask you the same thing" She replied as they walked together.

"What are we betting tonight?"

"How about asking madame Lacouture to give us our trunk back?"

"Ah, the stakes are high"

"As they should be" Éponine smiled gingerly, as she sat down. She glanced at the chess pieces pensively, before looking back at her husband "you know, regardless of what we do tomorrow I think we shouldn't worry."

"You think so?" He asked, supporting on his cane to sit down.

She nodded. "Tomorrow's just one day more."

Fin