I can't resist a tragic romance. I wrote it pretty quickly and it is far from perfect. I may revisit it when I feel more inspired. Based on the events of Les Miserables by Victor Hugo, more specifically inspired by the musical by Schonberg and Boublil, English by Kretzmer.

Enjolras

Evie couldn't stop shivering even though the night was warm and damp. It seemed as though a summer storm was holding its breath, waiting to cry out its contents over the inevitable disaster. She finally set aside the book she had been staring at, reading the same line over and over, not taking in any of its words. The glare from the candlelight was straining her sleep-deprived eyes and she blew it out, leaving her room eerily illuminated by the lamplight from the street.

She tried once again to settle herself in bed. The shots dimly punctuated the waning night and grew less frequent as the seconds ticked by. Evie's eyes refused to grow heavy even though her body ached with fatigue. The words, that conversation played in her head over and over. The way his lips moved. The way the warmth in his eyes betrayed the coldness in his voice. The desperation in his last words to her...

Before she could think about what she was doing she was up. She wrapped herself in her lacy dressing gown and slipped her coat and shoes on. The house was quiet and she drifted through the halls like a ghost. The cat eyed her quizzically, unaccustomed to human activity at this hour.

The door echoed deafeningly as it clicked behind her in the cool morning air. The sun had not yet risen from its slumber but the dark was softer and thinner than it had been several hours before as she had run home. It seemed like an age ago.

"Why are you here Evelia?" was his greeting to her, harsh and bitter in the quiet corner of darkness he had pulled her to. He had almost never used her full name when addressing her, always just Evie. She fought to blink the immediate sting of tears away and met his eyes, shrouded in the gloom.

"They say you are abandoned and overpowered. That you will not last the day. How could I stay away?"

"So you come to weaken my resolve then, on the eve of battle? Was that your plan all along?" his words sliced at her.

"There was no plan, Enjolras." she sighed, the strength draining through her feet. "I don't spend my time plotting as you do. You may have stopped caring for me but I am not as easily unburdened as you. How could you not be in my thoughts as you hurl yourself toward death?"

"If you truly cared for me you would not distract me now, and shadow our morale with your words of doom."

Even as he said the hurtful words, he could not keep them flying at her like daggers. A shadow of the boy she had loved flickered over his face. How could he ever expect her to stop loving him?

The others continued to laugh and talk softly as though a spell of tranquility had passed over them. Her eyes trailed across the scene before her; the shoddy barricade that was no more than a few splinters worth of a shield from death, the men, no, boys slung about as if it were just another carefree evening at the tavern. The girls, some she knew, others strange to her, were soothing, siren-calling the students to their fates. They had come to enjoy and make merry. She had come as a last resort. A pitiful plea for her own selfish sake to try and quiet her breaking heart. She could not let him run to his death without one last try.

He knew it, all of those thoughts in her head. And she knew that despite the weeks of distance, the dismissal, the sharpness of tongue and gesture…his eyes would always betray him. The fire that was always in them dimmed to a smolder when he looked at her. How they held her captive the entire first evening when they had danced and talked long into the night. Before his mind had been ignited by thoughts of change and battle and revolution - and Death. It had become the dream that replaced her. The triumph that would completely transcend and eclipse the honor of winning the heart of one of the loveliest and wealthiest girls in Paris. It had supplanted her as the glorious victory that would guarantee his importance in the world, the dream of glory in death.

And how cruel that it had been Enjolras's dreams that had captivated her from the beginning. Beyond the whirlwind of her superficial interest in his heartbreaking looks and charm, whenever he opened his mouth, beautiful, poetic, and dangerous ideas would spill out. He entranced her with thoughts and musings that were from a world far greater and removed from her own. She had at first despaired that she would ever be able to think in a way like that, but as she grew to know him, her mind opened in a way that her tutors and finishing school lessons could have never achieved.

Evie's parents reluctantly approved of Enjolras; it was impossible not to love him. His family moved in the same social circles that they did but lacked their establishment and exorbitant wealth. He was so clever with his words and his manners he could win anyone over within minutes of talking to them. They understood that technically their daughter would be marrying down a rung in the ladder, but they were secretly delighted at the prospect of having him as a son-in-law.

The young couple shared so many dreams, idealistic and naïve and brimming with hope. They shared a vision of justice for the poor, a world where everyone had a say and all children were loved and cared for and not left abandoned on the street. A world where people fought for each other, for what was right. And then they started to become real. As lessons began again at the college, Enjolras's attentions were obligated to books and the long summer evenings of wandering conversation, secret touches and kisses away from the eyes of chaperons and spellbinding infatuation became lonely and cold. She was welcome to join him at the café or tavern with his friends from school, but her parents disapproved of her keeping such company and when she did go, everything was foreign and strange. Especially the way he treated her.

Over time she realized her presence among his friends was becoming an embarrassment to him. He would only see her when they could be alone and those opportunities grew scarce. He missed her, it was apparent, but she had grown to represent something that he could no longer support and accept, something he would grow to hate, to want to destroy: the society that he was the product of, but could no longer stomach the very idea of.

He had come to her one night in the early spring. His tall, broad-shouldered figure emerging in the lamplight outside of her window caused her breath to fall short and her hands and feet to tingle. She wanted to be angry with him for leaving her alone so frequently, but she could not deny how much she always missed him. She crept out, dreaming of rushing into his strong, warm embrace but as she rounded the gate onto the street his ashen face stopped her cold.

"I came to say goodbye, Evie." He said, his voice smooth, but tight. She swallowed.

"I hold nothing against you, only our situation and what I have come to stand for… I…I can't continue to see you and stay true to what is in my heart."

She breathed for a moment, taking the words from him, holding them even as they scorched her soul. "There is no more room in that heart for me then?" she said, her voice calmer than she had expected. The springtime air moved against her and her knees weakened. Perhaps this was just a dream. He shifted and his eyes could not linger on her as they always used to.

"Evie…you will always be a part of my heart. But everything is changing. The world is crumbling around us and I have to be there to help turn it into something better, something beautiful. You understand that, I know you do…" he said looking at her, his eyes desperate. It was as though he was asking her permission.

"I know you too well to think that any pleading on my part will move you from anything your heart is already set upon. But don't expect me to let you go as stoically as you have me." Her voice quavered. "There is going to be a fight isn't there? A real one. Not just ideas anymore." She said, more of a statement than a question.

"If all goes according to plan." He said.

"I suppose it was the perfect escape all along." Evie said, tears welling and brimming over before she could even attempt to control them. "Lead me to dream your dreams, share your thoughts, and not allow me to disagree when they become real, when they will have to take you away from me."

"Evie, if this world were fair and I could find a way to have everything I wanted and not be garroted by the guilt of it, I would steal you away and marry you now and we would go out and save the world together…" The tantalizing vision of this destroyed what was left of Evie's composure.

"…but that is the dream of a selfish child. I know and you know that you will not abandon your family, your comfortable existence, your life! - for a cause that may not even be realized in our lifetime."

There were too many thoughts, too many feelings. Her yearning for him burned brighter still, even as he tore himself away, even as he insulted the strength of her belief in the dreams they shared.

"The truth is Evie, this fight was never yours. You don't deserve to suffer for what the world around you has forced upon you. You can continue to move our cause, to change the minds and thoughts of those around you, those in power. You have a brilliant mind, Evie, don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Evie didn't feel brilliant. She felt like a little child, stupid and lost and scared, just wanting to be held. And then she was.

She breathed him in, the scent she had pined for over so many weeks. His heart beat like a marching drum beneath his shirt, steady and driving, just like his resolve.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me for what I am doing, Evie. I'm just asking you to understand."

She didn't say anything. She was afraid that if she opened her mouth, nothing would issue forth but sobs. Revolution. That was her name, the mistress that had always been waiting to steal him from her. And now she had. His arms weren't sheltering her anymore. They were a charade. He never truly cared for her. She was a pleasant diversion for him, something to amuse him while he dreamt of greater things. She pulled herself away suddenly.

"Go then. Fight your fight. Free the world. Should you survive, don't expect me to have waited for you." The words fell flat, even as she tried to lace them with as much venom as she could muster. There was hurt in his eyes, but she knew that this was probably the reaction he had been initially hoping for. Rage battled profound anguish and she fought to keep the former at the surface of her countenance.

"Besides, I will have no place in your new world that is baptized with blood. My family will likely have to flee if your side has its way."

It was no longer "their" side. He had made that clear enough. She turned to go before she would begin to crumble again.

"Evie, I will never let any harm befall you or your family. Never."

"That will be a difficult promise to keep when you are cold in your grave." She spat back, and ran back to the house. Her tears did not cease throughout that long night.

The sun, unseen behind buildings and trees had crested the horizon and a gray light seeped into the darkness, illuminating a still, wounded world. The sky was still clouded over but its tears did not yet fall. Her feet continued to move on their own accord even as dread built in her heart. Shots popped in the distance very infrequently now. There wasn't even any shouting. The streets were empty and her shoes clicked and rang against the stone walls. She could almost feel his presence walking beside her, which was unsettling instead of comforting. She was not ready to face his ghost yet. Not when there was still the slightest breath of hope...

He gave up trying to be angry. He had taken her hand gently, propping his gun against a flung-over bookcase. He raised it to his lips and kissed it. It burned as he pulled away.

"I will never regret having known you." He said, his voice raw.

"You know I had to try." She said, beginning to tremble. He was lost already. She couldn't read the expression in his face. He leaned to her ear.

"I'm glad you did." He whispered and for the first time she heard the sound of terror in his voice.

He pulled away and searched her face. He was going to kiss her for the last time when shouts erupted. "GUNFIRE!" there was brief confusion as the women were shooed away, retreating into the night and the men took up their positions. Enjolras was expected.

"You must leave, it isn't safe." He said. "I will find you when the fight is over." They both knew that he wouldn't.

"Go!" he shouted as splinters erupted somewhere nearby. Her last glimpse of him captured the white fear in his eyes as he ushered her away, and she ran.

These couldn't be the same streets. They were so pale and small and safe, with shops and cafes, dim and huddled. Yet there it was, the first body. Beyond the gate, someone had tried to crawl away, perhaps in a delusional search to find help. His blood trailed back toward the haze. She stepped towards it. Bodies slumped in the mist. The air was singed with gunpowder. The gate was ajar.

As the barricade appeared dimly through the fog, she realized just how small this fight had been. A small barricade, a tiny street, a little neighborhood in this wide, wide world. The light waxed stronger and illuminated what she had to see. They were there, frozen, twisted, motionless. As she neared, their faces grew clearer. Eyes fixed, jaws slack. Faces she knew. But not his. She didn't permit herself to hope he had escaped. There was a small path around the side and she gingerly stepped over more boys, allowing her thoughts to stay numb and frozen. She didn't pause to consider she could still be in harm's way.

More had arrived on the other side of the barricade, washwomen, bakers, people peeping out of their holes to see if it was safe to resume their normal lives. Some were just onlookers, curious to see what had become of the boys who had desperately called for their aid in the night. She could not be angry with them for not responding. She had done no better.

There were hushed voices and people pointed to the familiar, slain figures. Some were pointing up. Evie had been looking at the ground. She followed their gaze to the crest of the barricade.

He was a painting, white like an angel against the blood red of the flag behind him. His back was arched over the top, his arms outstretched, like he had been prepared to take flight. His eyes were softly lidded, she couldn't see their deep blue. Upside down, his mouth was pulled into a slight, sad smile. There had been muffled sobs around her, but then the world grew silent. For all her knowledge of what was to come, it had only been a nightmare before now. Her vision blurred and she was on her knees. Cold blood from the ground seeped into the stark white of her gown. Against her will, her gaze was drawn back up to him and she was flooded by memories of his life, his fire, his dark hair sweeping over his brow, his jaunty smile, his beautiful, graceful hands entwined with hers. He was reaching to her now and she began to climb toward him. Perhaps he was just injured. Perhaps there was the faintest heartbeat struggling in his breast. She slipped as rubble shifted beneath her and her arm stung as it caught on ragged wood.

"Girl, get down from there, it isn't safe." A voice called in the distance. She moved closer, and then he was there. Cold. She took his hand in hers. It was still soft. It hadn't been too long. She touched the familiar fingers and his thick, soft hair. She saw where the bullets had pierced him, his shoulder, his chest over his lungs, his abdomen. Blood had blossomed on his white shirt. She touched it, and it was real. It was darker than her own bright blood which dripped from her arm and spread into her gown. She watched his chest, willing it to rise, her eyes nearly tricking her into thinking that it had. There were hands on her.

"Come child, get down from here. The soldiers don't want anyone disturbing the bodies until they are accounted for." She allowed herself to be led away. She sat on the curb, near some other huddled women.

"Who will wake them?" A child's voice.

"No one ever will." Replied her mother.

Lucid thoughts were interrupted by less coherent ones. Evie knew she had to ensure that Enjolras's body was returned to his parents. There was no one else here to mourn him yet. She wondered how many knew…She thought about what she would say to her parents. She thought about the times his fingers traced alongside her body, her breasts, how she yearned for him in a way that she could never tell anyone about. How they would never be together that way. Never.

The soldiers began picking over the barricade, looking for identification, and of course, survivors.

She heard faintly in the distance - "got to clear the streets...dump the bodies in the sewers." She saw a soldier prod at her Enjolras with a pole.

"No," she cried out faintly. "No his family will want to bury him." Enjolras's body was jolted, startling Evie, and pulled over the barricade out of sight.

"Please," she sobbed.

One of the soldiers looked her way.

"You one of the whores that conspired with this filth?" he said, obviously confused by her bloodstained and bedraggled finery.

"He was my friend, long ago. I loved him." The words were dry in her mouth. It hadn't been long ago, though it felt like it.

The soldier shrugged her off and there was nothing to do but return home. She could find help there. She moved away, turning back frequently, willing it all to disappear. She would look back and find the sleepy street clean and waking for the day. She would pass the ABC café and see it warmly lit as it would be in the evenings while the boys sang rowdily and planned for their bright and glorious tomorrow.

It was tomorrow and tomorrow was dead.