Swear By The Stars

Chapter Three

Jehan woke abruptly, the evident smell of parchment directly before his face. He withdrew a white-feathered quill from behind his ear and gazed down at the unfinished poem, before his eyes.

"Rosined shoes of faded pink pivot as she spins, 

Locks of gold and precious fair skin, 

She humbly awaits her queue on pointed toes, 

And yet-"

He sighed groggily, incidentally smearing more in onto his cheekbones from his hands. He ran an ink-stained hand through his dark blonde waves of hair. The weary poet finally rose from his desk and toiled over the tedious task of ridding his skin of the black ink and dressed himself for the day. He had risen earlier than most of the city, allowing time to ponder and delve into his thoughts. He adjusted the collar of of his coat, frowning at the assortment of his clothing; he had never learned how to properly match his clothing together. The clothes themselves were were sophisticated, but their effect was lost through the poor ensemble.

A strange feeling entered him. He felt that today was going to be special and he knew not why, but he could feel an excited shaking in his hands and a euphoria in his mind.

Nevertheless, Jehan stepped out of his moderate abode, surprised by the unusually cold air of the day. It signified the oncoming winter. He tucked his hands into his pockets after exhaling on them briefly and bending the joints as the warmth entered his skin with slight pains. The could smell the lavender still strongly wafting from his coat when he gathered flowers in his favorite field by his father's old cottage. His parents lived in Vezélay at the time, but he grew up in Paris up until he was twelve, then he returned at the age of seventeen to pursue writing. He was told that he held great potential. In fact, he had an appointment with a printing shop regarding the first edition of his collection of poems.

As he incessantly puzzled over what title he ought to grant his book, he trod down a different path, towards the Seine. He wanted to hear the gentle flowing of the water under the bridges, to see the leaves falling and creating delicate ripples from gentle touches. The entire scene itself was a poem.

Jehan closed his eyes and studied the sounds of heels and carriage wheels on the pavement, the river rushing and the leaves brushing in the wind. He smelt the fresh morning air, the baker's bread, the fish markets, the horses, the flower shops. The city itself was a poem, waiting to be written, which was why Jehan wanted to live there. Paris, nature, music, and love were his muses.

The clock tower struck nine; the rally would start in one hour. He left the river and and wandered his way towards the courtyard. On his way, he passed a violinist playing on the street, his clothes tattered and his face dirty, but the violin was impeccable. Jehan granted the man a franc and carried on, letting joy swell in him as the man smiled at him with appreciation.

Jehan was not always the sort of man to turn the heads of ladies in the street. That job involuntarily belonged to Enjolras and he met those women with nothing but a harsh stare. Jehan wasn't unattractive, but he lacked the confidence and certainty that Enjolras did.

The strange euphoria from earlier entered his thoughts again and he smiled. Today, I am going to be happy! Come what may!

Madame Beareux laid down the dusty trunk before the group of young ballerinas. They stared at her vacantly. Sylvia caught the rumble of one of the girl's stomach and she realized that it was her own. She had given a younger girl her portion of bread today and she fought not to regret it, but it was become exceedingly difficult as she felt the hollow, sickly ache in her stomach.

Madame Beareux opened the trunk and inside were dresses of various colors. Sylvia eyed the the pastel lavender one lustfully, Patria squeezed her hand with excitement, she knew of her friend's love for that color.

"My girls, it is about time for each of you to have a new dress and shawl. There should be one for each of you, so decide amongst yourselves which one you'd like."

The second Madame Beareux stepped away from the trunk, the girls flew into a scurry over the dresses, wrenching them from the trunk, holding it up to themselves and seeing how they'd fit and how the color would suit their skin.

Sylvia reached for the lavender one but another girl ripped it from her grasp. A girl with raven black hair smirked at her and held the dress up to her. Sylvia admitted that it complimented the girl's alabaster skin and long black locks, but it hurt to see it stolen away, so she grasped the first dress she could, a lovely green thing both clean and not as worn as the others.

Patria emerged from the crowd with a blue dress, scratches across one of her hands. "Je suis désolé, Sylvia, I tried to get your dress back."

"Never mind that, merci, but let's forget it. This one will suit me well." Sylvia showed the dress to her friend, though she thought it would better compliment Patria's green eyes and red-brown hair. Sylvia was feeling particularly insecure today, and her friend could sense it.

"Ahem!" Madame Beareux obnoxiously cleared her throat, bring attention from the dresses to her once more. The girls immediately obeyed and the room was completely silent. "Today, we are permitting a day off for business purposes, you will be free to go about as you please as long as you behave responsibly and you return at dusk. You are now dismissed."

Sylvia's heart leaped with excitement. She couldn't wait to take a long stroll through the streets and see more of Paris than the mere block between the dorm house and the Opera Populaire. "Patria!" She tugged on her friend's sleeve gleefully, "Oh, we have to go into town!" She imagined the wonderful sights, the handsome men in the streets, the children running and giggling, the carriage rolling by and the horses clopping on the pavement. She could hardly contain her excitement.

Patria smiled, "Indeed, let's go!"

"Perhaps you'll see Enjolras again?" Sylvia teased. Patria rolled her eyes, but her blush confirmed her feelings. Sylvia wanted to know what it felt like to be in love, to feel the excitement of seeing a partner of choice lock eyes with you. She could only reference what she had been told in stories, but it seemed too distant to be realistic.

Sylvia waited by her bed as Patria changed into her new dress. Patria's struggle to get Sylvia the lavender dress cost her both in the scratches on her hand and the poor state of her dress. There was a black oil stain along the hem, but no one could focus on the stain when Patria was in view.

Sylvia then put her own dress on. Patria gasped. "Ma chérie, Sylvia! C'est magnifique!" Sylvia laughed, but as she looked in the mirror, she felt pride swell within her. She indeed, looked very pretty. Patria fixed her golden hair in various twists and braids before tying her own hair into a simple braid.

"Say, what if we were to pawn our new shawls? Our old ones are still useful, we could make spending money for the day!" Patria suggested.

Sylvia tittered with excitement. "Yes! Now let's go, I don't want to waste another minute!"