"Papa, remember the barricade?"
Marius and his daughter were good friends. Well, they would have been anyway, but Marius had a feeling that if Elizabeth wasn’t his daughter, she would be either his best friend or his worst enemy. She was tiny, and Marius and Cosette both wondered where she’d gotten her curly blonde hair, as neither of them were blonde. The blue eyes were understandable, as was the pale, rosy-cheeked complexion, but what they didn’t understand was her size. She was entirely too small for age ten, even if her mother wasn’t the tallest woman. Still, she was their daughter, with or without her little oddities.
On one Sunday morning in June, Marius and Elizabeth were sitting on the floor of their sitting room, Marius reading a book he was set to translate into English, Elizabeth playing with her dollhouse. The dolls were small twists of cloth with painted-on faces, but the house itself was lovingly crafted by an old family friend. As a gift for Elizabeth, each year the family friend made something new for the house — one year, it was a settee and a sofa, the next a carriage, the next twelve tiny chairs.
"Papa, remember when we built the barricade?" Elizabeth’s voice broke the silence and Marius looked up sharply, his eyes falling on his daughter, who was adding the final touches to a miniature barricade, made out of dollhouse chairs, sofas, settees, beds, wardrobes, and a table.
"What?" he asked, his voice suddenly tight.
"Remember when we built the barricade? I died, and you didn’t because you got pulled away, through the sewers. Yuck." She made a face at the last part, sticking out her tongue and scrunching up her nose. Marius’s heart was beating somewhere in the region of his Adam’s apple.
"What are you talking about, Elizabeth?" he asked again, sitting forward and putting his book aside. His daughter looked up at him and smiled. Her smile reminded him of someone he used to know but he couldn’t place it for the life of him.
"I got shot. With a gun. Right here. Also here and here and here and here …" she went on, tapping her torso every time she said ‘here’. Eight times. In the exact places …
"Elizabeth, you’re talking nonsense," he said quickly, his mind racing.
"No I’m not. You want to think I am, but I’m not, because I died holding a flag and someone’s hand and I can’t remember who but I know they loved me very very much."
"And what did you think of them?"
"I think I loved them too."
(if you couldn’t tell, Elizabeth is Enjolras)