Swear By The Stars

Chapter Two

Sylvia never fell asleep as quickly as Patria would, or as quickly as Patria led on. She always reminisced or imagined her own stories. Both she and Patria had artistic nature, which brought them together. For Patria, it was drawing and art, for Sylvia, it was music. She longed for music, but she never had the chance to play an instrument. At least when it came to dancing, she could hear the music and be near it, but she wanted to hold an instrument in her hands and to create something from it.

When Sylvia was very young, her father taught her how to play the violin. She became easily frustrated and hated playing the instrument, but when her parents died from cholera, she took her violin with her and was taken in by a Madame Beareux to the Paris Opera Ballet. The Madame took her violin away and sold it, claiming that Sylvia had no time to dawdle with anything other than ballet.

Sylvia never mentioned the violin to anyone again, not even Patria. To her, the violin was something sacred and she figured that the more she yearned for it audibly, the more her desire would only bring her sadness.

Sylvia sighed and hummed to herself a waltz, toes tapping along to the rhythm in her head. She remembered the man that left from Patria's dressing room and how a smile was brought to her friend's beautiful visage. She was glad that Patria had reason to be happy, but it Sylvia feeling hollow inside. She wanted desperately to be loved. She was sixteen, a year younger than Patria, but not naïve to the harsh ways of the world.

If Patria married, she would be left alone. Most of the girls in the ballet never married. They danced until they couldn't any longer. Sylvia didn't want to meet such a fate, but she figured that she would have to accept it.

She was still jealous of Patria, she wanted to be desired by someone. She felt like a weed to the flower of Patria's beauty. If they ever wandered about the Parisian streets, eyes were drawn towards Patria, not Sylvia. Sylvia could never measure up to Patria in anything, whether it be ballet or appearance; Sylvia even attempted drawing like Patria but they looked like smudges of nothing. They made good fire starters.

Sylvia felt that above all, she would never measure up to deserving a lover of her own. She wanted to feel warm, strong arms around, delivering unspoken promises of protection and affection. She yearned to feel what a kiss felt like on her own, rosy, smooth lips. She wanted a young man to look at her and turn to his friends and whisper, "Look at her. She's a beauty."

Sylvia closed her eyes and create a dream of her own. She saw a field of wheat stocks and wildflowers. She imagined wearing a dress that wasn't worn, stained, or torn in a beautiful color of lavender. She imagined laying down and watching the sunset on her back, her fingers entangled with a kind, handsome lover, but it vanished when she opened her eyes.

She didn't know about Jean Prouvaire, or any of the revolutionaries apart from Enjolras. To her, he did not exist above being more than a nameless face in the dim lights of an audience.