-Prologue-

"There is a castle on a cloud. I like to go there in my sleep; aren't any floors for me to sweep, not in my castle on a cloud. There is a lady all in white, holds me and sings a lullaby. She's nice to see and she's soft to touch. She says, 'Cosette, I love you very much.' I know a place where no one's lost. I know a place where no one cries. Crying at all is not allowed, not in my castle on a cloud."

Éponine can hear the singing from behind her bedroom door as she plays with her dolls. The little servant girl, Cosette, has a lovely voice, she thinks. It is high and light and pretty and echoes through Éponine's head when she tries to find sleep. The words that she's heard sung so many times over the years Cosette has lived with them constantly dance around in her thoughts as she plays.

"There is a castle on a cloud…" From the hallway where she is sweeping, Cosette begins again and Éponine hums along in her head. "I like to go there in my sleep…"

The eldest Thénardier child is not a peculiar one at all. At the age of eight, Éponine is a simple girl that only wants simple things: a lovely doll to keep her company and the affection of her parents. With things running well in the inn as of late, she has both of those things. The doll she currently possesses looked quite a bit like Éponine herself: long, curling, pretty black hair, shining brown eyes with sweeping eyelashes, and a pretty gown with a satin bow and hat to match. Éponine is quite fond of her pretty doll and her pretty life.

She is not an unkind child. Most days she keeps to herself, playing with her dolls and quietly playing with Azelma and Gavroche while her parents work. Azelma, lately though, had become too ill to keep up with Éponine's fast-paced games and Gavroche is simply too young, only a few months old. Occasionally she will help her parents swipe a pair of eyeglasses from a customer or perhaps a few coins here and there but mostly she is simply lonesome.

"I know a place where no one's lost…" Éponine listens as Cosette makes her way down to the far end of the hall, the broom's bristles scraping along the floor as she goes. Setting her doll aside, the girl stands from her place on the rug by her bed. As silently as the old, squeaky wood will allow, Éponine opens the door and poked her head out to see the other girl at work. Her lips twist as she sighs in defeat. Often Éponine think of the other girl and what it would be like to have only even a few hours to play with her. But, her parents keep Cosette so busy. Éponine does not know why Cosette stays with them, only that distracting the other girl from her chores will surely mean herself getting punished. But she is lonely.

I wonder if Cosette ever gets lonely too, she ponders.

From down the hall Éponine hears a quiet sniffing. Although the young blond girl's back is too her, she can tell from the shaking of her shoulders that the child her parents treats as a servant is crying. And Éponine knows then, she is not the only child suffering from loneliness at the inn.

"Ay! What's all this?" Éponine hears her father's vicious snarl from around the corner; he is clearly more intoxicated than most nights. Although Monsieur Thénardier treats his own children like angels, Éponine is not unaware of the frequent sharp words Cosette receives from both of her caretakers. As silently as she can manage, Éponine ducks her head back into her room and shuts the door. "What did I say about the crying? And the singing too, ay!" Éponine can hear the resounding slap of her father's hand against Cosette's cheek from down the hall and stifles a gasps. In all of the years Cosette has been around she has never once been struck. Guilt floods through Éponine as she imagines a world if her father were ever to hit her. A shudder runs through her. "Don't. Disturb. The customers."

When she's sure her father' heavy footfalls are well enough away Éponine once again pokes her head out of her bedroom door. There lie Cosette on the floor with a hand to her pinking cheek. Éponine looks at her in pity; the poor girl has nothing. Looking over her shoulder and back into her room Éponine eyes the line of fine dolls her parents have gifted her with over the years. She plays with all of them save one: a ratted white doll made of simple cloth and string. It is torn in places and dirty in the rest, left from when the inn was suffering a few years back and Monsieur and Madam Thénardier couldn't afford such nice dolls as Éponine has now.

Éponine picks up the oldest doll and pets it affectionately; she can afford to give up just one. She silently pads down the hall to where Cosette still lies in pain. Without a word she places the doll on the floor beside the other girl, catching a glimpse of her swelling skin as she bends. Cosette's cheek is swelling, five fingers clearly indented in pink on the girl's skin. She doesn't look up when Éponine places the doll beside her, only buries her face further into her arms and attempts to sniffle away some of her tears. "I hope you rather enjoy her," Éponine whispers as she rushes away. Although she often dreams of a friend to play with, she will not risk her parents becoming angry with her for mingling with the help. And so, with that, she moves to once again close her bedroom door, only to finally catch Cosette's eye. Neither girl says anything but, the minute upward quirk of the blond girl's lips is enough of a message for Éponine: Merci.

-Four Months Later-

A few months have passed and winter has set in. It is now mid-December, cold and snowy. Éponine contentedly skips around the corner into the inn, pulling her new hat down further over her curls. She is pleased; yesterday her father had gifted her with the pretty blue hat for no apparent reason at all, simply kissing her cheek and tying the ribbon under her chin.

"Mama!" she calls as she comes through the door. She stops fast as she hears her mother's curt words to Cosette, telling her to fetch water from the well in the wood. Éponine shudders at the thought of trekking all the way out to the well in the cold snow at night. Madame Thénardier stops her scolding of the servant girl long enough to embrace her child and admire her new hat. "Still there Cosette!" she snarls.

Éponine catches Cosette's eye for a brief moment, silently pitying the poor girl. In the past months the Thénardiers had become increasingly cruel to the young girl, adding to her work load, insulting both Cosette and her ill-fated mother, and even striking her. Éponine suspects that her parents are stressed. There had been fewer and fewer customers at the inn recently; Monsieur Thénardier had even asked his eldest to help out more often, picking pockets and swiping coins from the unsuspecting every night. Her heart clenches whenever she catches a glimpse of the red finger marks on Cosette's cheek but, she always keeps her head down, too afraid to anger her parents. All she desires is their love and affection. She twirls the ribbon of her new hat around her fingers adoringly. Perhaps things are looking up, she prays.

Cosette eventually leaves for the well in the wood, shivering and struggling to manage the weight of the bucket. Éponine spots the doll she had given the other girl hidden by the wall; she knows that Cosette fears her most beloved possession being taken away. Madame Thénardier wakes her husband gruffly as she opens the inn and Éponine smiles as her father gives her a kiss.

The young girl loves the inn. Despite the brief guilt she feels when she swipes coins and glasses and whatever else she can find, Éponine enjoys the high energy from the adults around her. Her parents pay her plenty of mind as they work, letting her help. The inn is always filled with song and laughter from the customers and residents and the smile that graces Éponine's pretty face only grows as she mingles with them. They are never shy on complimenting the pretty Thénardier girl who sends them bright smiles and flashes of deep cheek dimples. As she wades through the drunken crowds, the passing customers pat her head, stroke her hair, and touch her cheek. Madame Thénardier frequently and proudly displays her daughter, bragging about her beauty and kindheartedness.

A while later the inn starts to clear out as customers scamper off to their rooms for the night. Éponine sits at one of the tables, swinging her legs back and forth, as they are too short to reach the ground still. She is counting the coins she was able to swipe amongst the loud, drunken crowds, 12..13…14, when she hears quiet giggles coming from outside. It's Cosette. She's walking alongside an older man, perhaps Éponine's father's age or a bit older. They hold hands and the man swings Cosette from his arms, smiling down at her affectionately.

Upon hearing the laughter from the door, the Madame and Monsieur rush out to meet the pair. They exchange curt words before Éponine hears her mother's gasp. Someone has died. Cosette's mother? Éponine feels a rush of sorrow run through her at the thought. Now Cosette is truly alone.

The small group moves to come back into the inn and Éponine rushes to hide behind a pillar, not wishing to be seen. She sees her parents attempt their usual tricks, trying to take whatever off the man they can get. She scowls in distaste; this man is here to deliver grave news. However, the man isn't falling for any of the tricks, simply keeping to himself. That is, until he utters words Éponine is almost sure she must have imagined: "I will pay what I must to pay to take Cosette away."

Éponine gasps, quickly covering her mouth to muffle the sound. Who is this man trying to take Cosette away? What will happen once she's gone? Her parents bargain for a proper price for the girl for minutes but Éponine has stopped listening. What will become of us? She can't help but fear her father's wrath that is surely to come. "Come Cosette, say goodbye. Let us seek out some friendlier skies." Éponine is snapped from her thoughts as she hears the man's words. Cosette quickly runs to where Éponine is hidden and stop short upon seeing the other girl in her hiding place. They share a long look before Cosette picks the little rope doll up from the floor, offers the briefest of waves, and scampers off again.

The man and Cosette leave with the barest of goodbyes and the Madame and Monsieur argue over the price they received for the girl. Mama is angry, Éponine can tell. Soon her father is as well; they didn't receive nearly enough. "Papa?" she calls, coming out from her hiding spot. She is not sure what she's expecting but the harsh, slurred words of her clearly intoxicated father are definitely not it.

"Éponine what do you want?" he snarls, not even waiting for an answer. "How much money did you make, you brat?" Éponine shrinks back as he gets rather close to her face; she can smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Fifteen sous, papa." She mutters it, suddenly afraid of her father all the more. The monsieur complains about her mumbling and so she repeats it again, louder.

"Fifteen sous!" He yells it furiously. The thought of her father growling the words, "Don't. Disturb. The customers," at Cosette months ago distinctly rings through her head. She says nothing though. "Only fifteen bloody sous!" most nights he praises her for that much; tonight though is different. The blow lands so fast she isn't even aware it came until she's on the floor grasping her violently stinging cheek, listening to her mother's gasp from across the room. The tears run down Éponine's burning face. She is furious and heartbroken and terrified. Never has her father laid a hand on her or either of her siblings. If it wasn't for the throbbing pain in her jaw, she might not even believe that it actually happened. "You'll just have to do better tomorrow," papa mutters as he picks up another bottle of alcohol and stomps his way up the wooden staircase. Her mother gives her a pitying look before following him.

Horrendous sobs wrack though the girl's body as she lies there on the floor, completely unbelieving of what just occurred. She lies there a few minutes more before hearing Cosette's quiet giggling coming from outside again. Trying to ignore the pain she feels, Éponine drags herself up onto her hands and knees and crawls to look out the door. Sure enough Cosette is there with the man. He is handing her a beautiful new doll with a blue hat much like the one Éponine was wearing until it fell to the dirty floor when she did. Cosette gasps in delight and drops the raggedy old rope doll Éponine had given her in the snow, hugging the new one to her chest. As the pair climb into an awaiting carriage more tears flood Éponine's eyes, seeing her little rope doll lying there in the snow.

The same thought from earlier runs through the young girl's head: What will become of us?

She is uncertain.

-Five Years Later-

Éponine places a single wildflower she had picked on her sister's grave. She wipes a few tears from her eyes, takes little Gavroche's hand, and walks away, not once looking back. The youngest Thénardier daughter had passed two years prior, the illness that had been plaguing her for three years finally taking her.

At thirteen years old, Éponine knows not to dwell on the thought of her sister ill. She pushes the memories of Azelma vomiting, feverish, shaking, and dying out of her mind. Instead she recalls happier times: She and 'Zelma playing with dolls, chasing each other through the wood, helping mother cook in the kitchen. After all, Éponine knows that her sister is in a better place now. Gavroche though, is too young to understand. All he remembers of their sister is her illness and her death.

As the pair walk away from the tiny grave, the smallest one available and the only one the Thénardiers could afford, the tiny boy sniffles. Éponine looks down to see her brother rubbing his tears away. She picks him up and carries him as she walks in the hopes of comforting the boy. It should be a struggle, carrying him. Éponine is not particularly strong, her arms thin and weak from hunger and exhaustion. This is what worries her, not her own starvation, but Gavroche's. At the age of five, he's a growing boy. She should be getting all the nutrition he can but, Lord knows that they can't afford that anymore. And, stealing food from vendors is becoming increasingly difficult what with everybody being so cautious of what few possessions they have.

Gavroche buries his head into his sister's neck and his tears mix with the warm rain that is dripping down her exposed skin. It beads in the hollows of her gaunt collarbone and drips off the ends of her hair. The sky is grey overhead, fitting the mood surrounding the two remaining Thénardier children. In the trees birds have taken shelter in their nests and the only people on the streets of Paris are the homeless, attempting to hide from the rain underneath doorposts and overhangs and bridges.

Éponine loses her footing when she encounters a slippery patch of stone. She and Gavroche go tumbling down, landing in the muddy water that has collected in the random divots and potholes of the streets. She takes the brunt of the fall, with one hand supporting Gavroche's neck so he doesn't hit his head, and the other slamming down on the hard road, scraping off some skin on the stone. She falls on her hip when her legs slip out from underneath her and she groans in pain. Without a word, little Gavroche stands and holds his hands out to assist his sister up off the ground. She links her hands with his, noticing the dirt that is caked under the both of theirs nails. There is mud clumping in their hair and streaking their clothes. Éponine scowls as her brother helps her up and they proceed down the street towards their family's tiny flat.

They are dirty: covered in mud and sweat, dripping cold in the rain water, wearing the same clothes they've been for two years. Neither wears shoes, both having grown out of their respective pairs when papa insisted that it was unnecessary to buy new ones. The skin on their feet is cracked and rough, dirt under their nails and between their toes. Both have greasy, unwashed hair, not having the means to bathe very often, and dirt constantly smudges their skin.

But they aren't just physically dirty: they are corrupt, their whole family. Yes, they have always been of the thieving variety. Éponine remembers as clear as day swiping treasures from unsuspecting customers alongside her parents when they still owned the inn. When the family first sold the inn and moved to the city, papa had been mad with desperation. They used what little money they made from the inn to rent the tiny flat they inhabited now. They had come to Paris with nothing and Papa had forced all three of his children out into the streets to beg and steal. Gavroche at the time was only three, using his gaunt, innocent face to guilt some of the bourgeoisie into sparing a few sous here and there. Éponine had resorted to stealing, scheming alongside her father and his goons. Azelma did a good share of both. She was forced out into the cold in minimal clothing like the rest of them, and her sickly face and skeletal figure earned her enough pity to make a few coins. The harsh conditions and even harsher words from her father had eventually exasperated her illness and lead to her death.

Éponine shudders at the memory.

When the pair finally makes it back to the flat Gavroche can barely pick up his feet, too exhausted from the long trek and emotional ups and downs of the day. The flat is empty when they arrive, mama and papa probably out running a con. Éponine gives her brother a small portion of stale bread from its hiding place, wrapping up the rest and returning it, hoping her parents won't notice any of it missing. When the boy finishes his meal, Éponine wipes some of the mud from his feet with the torn hem of her dress and tucks him into the cot below the window. She kisses his brow and tells him to sleep lightly, keeping an ear out for mama and papa's return. They would not be pleased to find Gavroche asleep instead of out working.

When the boy is resting peacefully, Éponine grabs her old fraying, threadbare scarf from her cot and hurries out the door.

She wraps the scarf around her neck and mouth, attempting to hide her face. The pickings are slim; hardly anybody is on the streets what with the rain. The only others around are the poor, with nothing worth stealing. But Éponine is desperate. In the past five years her father had become more and more ruthless. It was not uncommon that he would strike her if she didn't bring home enough money or treasures to meet his standards. At first she'd attempted to hide the bruises but soon, she learned, it was pointless. No one cared if a poor ex-innkeeper was striking his daughter. She was of no value.

Éponine wanders the streets for a few hours, managing to swipe some two francs and a couple of sous, a broken but jeweled brooch, and a few apples from a vendor. It's not enough. The sky starts to darken and panic sets in. Although she is used to the beatings by now, the thought of the pain in her very near future always makes her heart beat just a bit faster.

Just when she is about to give up and return home, a boy walks around the corner, crosses the street to her side, and continues on in front of her without a backward glance. He is bourgeoisie, she can tell. He is wearing nice clothing, a fine scarf, and the shine of the golden ring on his finger catches her eye as it shines in the fading sunlight. Her eyes brighten at the thought of bringing that ring home to her father; perhaps he would be proud of her, show her the fatherly affection she hasn't known in years. But, her mood darkens slightly as she realizes stealing the ring will be tricky, if possible at all, without getting caught. The scarf though, is a possibility. It is wrapped loosely around the boy's neck, not tied. Even from her spot about ten paces behind she can see that it is a fine scarf, thick and warm, red with beautiful embroidery. Yes, she could make a decent amount selling that.

She picks up her speed just barely, her bare feet making sound only when she comes in contact with a puddle. But the noise mixes with the gentleman's own steps and he doesn't seem to notice her fast approaching behind him. Her plan is simply to rip the scarf from his neck and run. By the time he turns around she will be halfway down the street and he'll have no chance at seeing her face and turning her over to Inspector Javert. But, just as her fingers close around the neck of the scarf the boy turns around, grasping her wrists in his strong hands. Her eyes widen at getting caught, she has never truly gotten caught before. His grip on her wrists is firm and warm, his hands smooth and unblemished from lack of manual work. He uses his weight to push her against the side of the building and pull her own soggy scarf away from her mouth. His face is much too close and Éponine is finding it hard to breathe. She shrinks back further into the wall, afraid of what this strange bourgeoisie boy with the bright green eyes might do to a thief like her. "What do you think you're doing?" His voice is deep and husky and Éponine suddenly has a strong urge to count every one of the many freckles on his face.

"Please, monsieur," she mumbles it, all too aware of the dirt streaking her face and the rain dripping from her hair. "I didn't mean-"

"To what?" he interrupts, his face not cruel, but firm. "Steal my scarf? Because I believe you did mean to do just that." He doesn't seem angry, this boy who couldn't be much older than her, a few years perhaps. Instead he just seems confused, wary.

"Please sir, my brother is ill." It is an old line she used to use when begging back Azelma was alive. Please, monsieur. My sister is gravely ill. She would squeeze out some tears and walk away with a few sous. Now though, it was just a lie. It felt wrong on her tongue; there was no truth to it at all. "I have no money for medication." This however, is not a lie, even if it is not medication she needs the money for.

The boy's face softens and his eyes fill with pity. He takes a step back and Éponine starts to run. "Hey!" he calls after her and she finds herself stopping short for reasons she can't seem to fathom. She turns and looks back at him, catching his eye. "What's your name?" he asks, coming back towards her.

She considers lying, knowing that he will only use her name to turn her into the inspector for stealing. But, there is something in his expression that makes her stop. "Éponine," she whispers.

"Well Éponine," he takes a few more steps towards her and removes the scarf from around his neck. She starts to back up again, unsure of his intentions, when he grabs her wrist again and pulls her closer. "Tell your brother to get well." He lays the thick scarf in her hands and gently closes her fingers around it.

Éponine's eyes widen in shock at his act of kindness. She is stunned for a moment and cannot say a word. Before she can recover the boy has let go of her wrist and started on his way again. "By the way," he calls over his shoulder. "I'm Marius." He gives her a long look and smiles before entering the Café Musain just down the road.

Éponine tells herself that the stuttering of her heart is from his act of kindness.