To Love Another Person is to See the Face of God - ARRIVAL, OTA
Fantine opened her eyes with a gasp, a hand immediately clasping at her chest. But the pain was gone. Tentatively, she took a shallow breath...then a deeper one. She did not cough. And she did not feel that wracking need to do so that had been her constant companion for so long.
But...how?
One did not simply wake up one morning cured of consumption. Even the best of doctors gave little hope.
But that was not the only thing different. Her hair, all the thick blonde waves of it, fell around her shoulders as they once had. With her tongue, she touched her front teeth, and a shiver went through her body. She had sold her hair. She had sold her teeth...to earn the money to send to the Thénardiers for Cosette.
Shaking, she closed her eyes, thinking back over the past few days. It had been cold. It had snowed. But she had been out on the streets regardless, selling the only thing she had left. Cosette was sick, they said. How could she do otherwise? All of her suffering meant so little if Cosette was well. She lived on the dreams of her daughter happy and bright. When the men were using her, she thought of the little one she had left, who had grown in her mind into a perfect little girl, happy and healthy, playing and singing. And it was enough.
But then there had been that man. That man who had thought it fun to torment prostitutes, who perhaps didn't understand how much they already suffered. He had thrown snow down her back, and had lit a fire inside of her. She still could remember little of that moment but the blind rage that had gripped her, causing him to attack the man like a wildcat, clawing his face. And, of course, he had called the police. And because he was rich and propertied, they had taken his side...she had begged so for mercy, pleaded, offered anything she had. But Javert would not relent.
And so she had been arrested, but the mayor had pardoned her - he, who had forced her from her honest job at the factory when it was discovered that she had an illegitimate child.
And then...and then...
And then she could remember nothing, nothing but fever dreams. Had she been cured? Had it all been a dream? No, not a dream. The dress she was wearing said otherwise. It was the same cheap, over-revealing, obvious garment that she had been wearing when she was attacked.
It hadn't been a dream then, but...but where was she? And what had become of Cosette? Monsieur le Mayor said that he was going to get her. Had she been found? Oh, but she couldn't see her, not like this...
"Hello?" she cried. "Monsieur le Mayor? Cosette?"
But...how?
One did not simply wake up one morning cured of consumption. Even the best of doctors gave little hope.
But that was not the only thing different. Her hair, all the thick blonde waves of it, fell around her shoulders as they once had. With her tongue, she touched her front teeth, and a shiver went through her body. She had sold her hair. She had sold her teeth...to earn the money to send to the Thénardiers for Cosette.
Shaking, she closed her eyes, thinking back over the past few days. It had been cold. It had snowed. But she had been out on the streets regardless, selling the only thing she had left. Cosette was sick, they said. How could she do otherwise? All of her suffering meant so little if Cosette was well. She lived on the dreams of her daughter happy and bright. When the men were using her, she thought of the little one she had left, who had grown in her mind into a perfect little girl, happy and healthy, playing and singing. And it was enough.
But then there had been that man. That man who had thought it fun to torment prostitutes, who perhaps didn't understand how much they already suffered. He had thrown snow down her back, and had lit a fire inside of her. She still could remember little of that moment but the blind rage that had gripped her, causing him to attack the man like a wildcat, clawing his face. And, of course, he had called the police. And because he was rich and propertied, they had taken his side...she had begged so for mercy, pleaded, offered anything she had. But Javert would not relent.
And so she had been arrested, but the mayor had pardoned her - he, who had forced her from her honest job at the factory when it was discovered that she had an illegitimate child.
And then...and then...
And then she could remember nothing, nothing but fever dreams. Had she been cured? Had it all been a dream? No, not a dream. The dress she was wearing said otherwise. It was the same cheap, over-revealing, obvious garment that she had been wearing when she was attacked.
It hadn't been a dream then, but...but where was she? And what had become of Cosette? Monsieur le Mayor said that he was going to get her. Had she been found? Oh, but she couldn't see her, not like this...
"Hello?" she cried. "Monsieur le Mayor? Cosette?"