She stills in the long shadows at her name, but it's not in fear, not this time. If it were someone to fear, or to fight, it wouldn't be her name they'd call her. Girl, they'd say, or bitch, or brat, or that tramp. Miss, maybe, in the ironic tones of an inspector that makes the formality a dirty word.
But rarely Eponine.
And she'd recognize that voice, anywhere, wouldn't she, even if it were not who she was trying to get back to? Every casual pronouncement of it, every tu since he switched from vous, it goes in some little treasure box in her mind that she won't let anyone know she has.
Here, though, it feels like just another madness, some new trick of her mind, and she turns, distrusting herself. "Who's there," she calls, folding her arms around herself protectively.
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Date: 2017-12-01 05:11 am (UTC)But rarely Eponine.
And she'd recognize that voice, anywhere, wouldn't she, even if it were not who she was trying to get back to? Every casual pronouncement of it, every tu since he switched from vous, it goes in some little treasure box in her mind that she won't let anyone know she has.
Here, though, it feels like just another madness, some new trick of her mind, and she turns, distrusting herself. "Who's there," she calls, folding her arms around herself protectively.