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cracking marble
prologue, eighteen twenty three
prologue, eight years earlier

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( decembre , 1823 )

A COLD WINTER HAD hit the city of Paris in 1823, the chill struck each and every person to the bone. The unfortunate on the streets shook and trembled as a result of the vicious wind and her cold bite.

The winter, however, seemed more tranquil in the woods surrounding the edges of the city; white blankets of snow wrapped up every tree in a tight embrace. Snowflakes danced through the air as they slowly sank to the powdery forest floor.

A small girl - no more than twelve - edged her way throughout the maze of plant life; her small shawl failed to keep out the chill, her shoes wet through from the fallen snow. The cold stung her rosy face, as her fingertips began to turn blue, all the while a ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"Ferre?" She let out a small cry. The cold stinging her throat; the volume of her voice losing out to the howls of the wind. "Combeferre?" She tried again, her tired voice shaking as she cried out for her older brother.

Taking a few more small steps forward, she peaked around another tree, as fresh snowflakes caught in the long curls of her hair.

The fresh snow would have covered her footprints and that of her brother, this clearing looked familiar? Or didn't it? The child gave a small hmph, wrapping her arms more tightly around herself. This child was stubborn; she was going to find him, no matter what.

"I'm tired of hiding now!" She whined, her voice finally reaching full volume, as it echoed throughout the vast landscape in front of her. "Combeferre!?" She yelled, impatiently, a pout forming on her small blue lips.

Finally accepting that she was lost, the girl remained quiet. She let out a small whimper of disappointment. She wasn't scared about being lost. Oh no. She was merely frustrated that she wasn't able to find her brother.

The girl listened to the outside world, she could feel it screaming at her. Her mother had never permitted her to go out to these parts after dark, and now the child knew why.

But being as stubborn as she was, this child believed that anything her brother could do, she could do too. The five years of age that separated them meant nothing to her. "I'm smart," she would reassure her mother and father. "I can take care of myself," she would persist.

But she was naïve; obnoxious to the world she lived in.

No, she would not be able to take care of herself. That's why Combeferre would accompany her when she wanted to go and watch the wildlife in the forest at nighttime. That way she would be safe; that way she wouldn't get lost.

How very effective that theory proved to be.

These thoughts swam through the child's head, when suddenly the tranquil silence of the forest was broken by the sound of gentle humming.

"There is a castle on a cloud," A small voice hummed from afar, "I like to go there in my sleep."

A more mature voice responded, that of a grown man, "There, you escape these winter streets. Up in your castle on a cloud."

The partnership came into view; a tall man in a long winter jacket and top hat, holding the hand of a small fair haired girl of similar age to the other, although her hair was much lighter and shone almost angelically in the moonlight.

Despite his tired eyes, that had seen many a torment, the man radiated a warmth that thawed the chill running through the veins of the curly haired girl. He caught her eye.

"Mademoiselle?"

Her eyes widened at this recognition, causing her to scurry behind the tree, upon which she leant. She had never engaged with a stranger before, at least not like this.

The man moved forward with the small blonde girl still clutching his hand, her curious gaze fixed too on the girl behind the tree trunk.

"Hush now." The man sang softly, attempting to calm the nerves of this newcomer. "Do not be afraid of us." He reassured her, "Don't hide. We mean you no harm."

The girl peaked out from her hiding place, her sweet brown eyes peering up at the man; she knew she could trust him.

Taking a step forward, she placed her hand in the palm of the man's which was already outstretched to meet hers.

"Tell me, my child, what is your name?" He spoke softly, captivated by this child, evidently a child of class, lost in the wood.

"My name's Mathilde." The girl responded, solemnly, as a cool wind struck the wood once more.

"Bonsoir Mathilde." The fair haired girl spoke up, a weary smile on her lips as she greeted the other girl, her hand yet to leave the older man's, "I'm called Cosette."

"Bonsoir." Mathilde replied to Cosette in a shy manner, rare to be found in her usual characteristics.

"Come, we'll take you home, mademoiselle." The man reassured her, with a compassionate squeeze of her hand.

Mathilde's face lit up, her cheeks finally finding their rosy colour once more. All shyness and worry forgotten in the face of such a proposition.

"Thank you, M'sieur." She grinned, as the three began to walk east, opposite to where Mathilde had been walking for the last twenty minutes; to Mathilde's residence at Rue Plumet.

The snowfall had calmed by nowhere. Gently, pieces of snow were falling from the heavens, leaving loving kisses wherever they touched the humans below.

Mathilde's gaze travelled up to her rescuer, to his eyes again. They were frantic, they didn't match his collected manner in the slightest.

"Are you scared?" Mathilde blurted out - it was safe to say the young girl had never been one for subtlety.

"Why would you think so?" The man responded, intrigued by the inquisitive - and evidently perceptive - child holding his right hand.

"By the look in your eyes." She said, softly, "Papa always says that eyes are the window to the soul."

From this statement, Jean Valjean knew that this was a child who was wise beyond her years, and questioned whether their encounter was merely a coincidence after all.

"Are you in trouble?" Mathilde continued to press with an arched brow.

He didn't respond, causing to Mathilde to recognise that she'd crossed a line. At this silence, she looked at her feet, walking in sync with her two companions in a simple rhythm as a thought crossed her mind.

"Papa sings me a song when I'm scared or sad." She declared looking up admirably at her hero, with an apologetic smile. "I know all the words."

Valjean glanced quickly at Cosette, sharing a small smile, before his gaze travelled back to Mathilde, "Perhaps you would sing it, Mathilde."

The curly haired girl cleared her throat and sang softly - a lullaby her father sang her - into the black night.

"How does a moment last forever?" She sang, with a weary smile at Cosette, "How can a story never die? It is love we must hold on to, never easy but we try."

Mathilde realised, in this moment, the love she had for her family and the admiration she felt for this man. She was eager to be home. She broke away from the man and darted forward in a familiar direction.

"Sometimes our happiness is captured, somehow our time and place stands still. Love lives on inside our hearts ... and always will." She finished, stopping in her tracks as she recognised the building she was standing in front of.

"Is this your residence, Mathilde?" The man asked her, wondering why else the girl would have stopped her pleasant song.

"Yes, M'sieur." She nodded, turning to address him before reaching for the gate handle. She led the two strangers towards her front door - but before her knuckles sounded against the wood, she reached into her sleeve.

"Here." She smiled as she withdrew a small handkerchief, embroidered with floral patterns in all corner but one which bore a cursive 'M'.

Her mother had always encouraged her to carry a handkerchief for occasions such as this, it just so happened this one was hers, gifted to her by her older brother. But she wanted this man to have it.

"It's a token of my gratitude." Mathilde said slowly, quoting her mother, tucking the handkerchief into the man's palm, "Papa and Mama say that gratitude must be given to those who aid us."

"Thank you, Mademoiselle." The man said, flashing heartwarming smile at her, as he tucked the handkerchief inside his overcoat, taking great care in doing so, before he knocked firmly on the front door.

It didn't take long, maybe a minute or so, for a response from within the house.

With haste the front door flew open, Mathilde ran forward excitedly with a small giggle and embraced her seventeen year old brother, Combeferre.

"Mathilde!" He cried in surprise, hugging her small frame tightly, barely glancing at the other two figures at the door. "Mama! Papa! Mathilde's home!"

Another figure emerged from within the depths of the house at a steady pace, a tall dark-haired man at least in his fifties with tired eyes and sombre smile.

"Oh, Mathilde." The gentleman chuckled with a shake of his head, as he picked up his small daughter into his arms.

"Bonsoir Papa." She greeted him with a cheeky grin and a kiss on his cheek, as her father hugged her tightly.

"Thank you M'sieur. We are forever indebted to you." Mathilde's father, Mathieu, thanked Valjean, who had Cosette close to his side, hugging his leg.

"You are in no such place, M'sieur." Valjean shook his head, wearing his content smile. "I wish you all the best, Mathilde." He added to the small girl, who wriggled free of her father grasp and moved toward her rescuer.

"Have courage and be kind, M'sieur." She whispered to him, "You'll be alright."

Valjean took a second or two to respond, this child was destined for something great; he could sense it, he knew God would guide her to where she needed to go in her life, he needn't worry for her.

"Thank you." He replied, finally, before turning to his own adoptive daughter, "Cosette."

A piercing cry emitted from the household disrupting the sober moment at its door; an infant's cry.

"See, you've woken Amélie now." Combeferre chastised the eldest of his sisters for waking the youngest.

"I expect she is just excited that Mathilde is home." Mathieu reasoned with his son, clapping his back and sending him back inside the depths of the house.

Mathilde glanced back at her father before she sent a small smile up at the stranger she learned to so greatly adore in such a short space of time, and then, with small hesitation, Jean Valjean and Cosette turned on their heels and made their way out again into the night once more.

"Au revoir, Cosette!" A voice cried from behind them, they turned to see a waving Mathilde stood in the door frame.

"Au revoir!" The fair haired girl replied with a small smile, returning the wave.

And with that, the two figures disappeared into the dark night, Mathilde watched longingly as they left her sight.

The farewell shared by the two girls was most profound. This was no goodbye, but merely 'until we meet again'. And as the curly haired girl stood in the doorway spectating the last of the snowfall, with her father close by her side, she had faith that the three of them would meet again once more.

And she was right. They would meet again but not for a very long time. And in that time, they would all become very different people.

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