In The Rain

Éponine

It was raining. Tiny streams ran down the sides of the cobbled streets, and the sound of the downpour drowned out any other noises of the night.

The only person out on the streets was a young gamine. She wandered aimlessly through the maze of houses, her flowing dark hair soaked from the rain. She wore only a ragged dress that was so filthy you could no longer see its colour, and she walked barefoot.

Éponine Thénardier loved the rain. She thought it was beautiful; the way the pavements shone, the way the river reflected the lights, and the stillness it brought upon the rest of the city. The streets were always deserted, so there was no one around to judge her or look down on her as a dirty street urchin. She felt free to sing, free to dance, free to do whatever she wanted.

There was something about the soft pitter-patter of raindrops that made her feel safe, and told her everything would be fine once the rain stopped.

But the thing she loved most? The fact that in the rain she felt like a flower, growing and blossoming, forgetting all about her life and who she was forced to be, and just being Éponine, a beautiful little flower. Because as we all know, rain will make the flowers grow.