Room 330, Sunday Morning
Mar. 30th, 2014 12:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wildandbraveCosette had never really remembered much about her early childhood. She knew that before her father came to take her away from all of it there had been a time when she went about in a constant state of lonely, terrified despair. That was all it had been to her, though: a dark and suffocating haze, like being trapped in a dark room full of ominous noises until all of a sudden someone came along, opened the door, and pulled her out before her eyes had time to adjust to the brightness and she could look back to see where she'd been.
This morning, when the chime of an incoming text message woke her and she sat up in bed to grab her phone and read the 'good morning' message from her father, she was a little confused, and much more uncomfortably aware of memories that she hadn't had before.
She'd never wanted to imagine what life would be like if Father hadn't found her, but she didn't have a choice about it now. On the one hand, it was reassuring to know that despite the way Madame Thénardier treated her, she could have endured and even flourished in some way -- like a mushroom instead of a plant, granted, but she would have held on somehow. On the other, it horrified her to realize the person she could have become . . . and she didn't know what to do with the knowledge that the Thénardiers' two daughters -- who'd alternately ignored her and, when they were bored, yelled at her in imitation of their mother or tried to get her in trouble for some made-up infraction -- would have ended up in the same circumstances.
It wasn't that Cosette didn't want to pity them for it. She did, absolutely, though it was debatable whether she might have been as readily sympathetic without the memories of growing up with them in that other universe. She just didn't know quite how to make that pity coexist alongside the knowledge of how they'd treated her, or how to be as readily forgiving as Father was. On top of all that, she wasn't anywhere near knowing how to handle the realization that one of them was here and had been all along.
Suddenly that odd encounter back in January, during the clockwork rain, made a lot more sense.
That was a lot to think about, so once she'd gotten up, made her bed, and dressed for the day Cosette curled back up on her bed with a book that she wasn't really reading, only leafing through idly every now and then when she wasn't staring out the window, lost in an uncharacteristically moody silence.
[OOC: Closed door, open post, subject to some SP . . .]
This morning, when the chime of an incoming text message woke her and she sat up in bed to grab her phone and read the 'good morning' message from her father, she was a little confused, and much more uncomfortably aware of memories that she hadn't had before.
She'd never wanted to imagine what life would be like if Father hadn't found her, but she didn't have a choice about it now. On the one hand, it was reassuring to know that despite the way Madame Thénardier treated her, she could have endured and even flourished in some way -- like a mushroom instead of a plant, granted, but she would have held on somehow. On the other, it horrified her to realize the person she could have become . . . and she didn't know what to do with the knowledge that the Thénardiers' two daughters -- who'd alternately ignored her and, when they were bored, yelled at her in imitation of their mother or tried to get her in trouble for some made-up infraction -- would have ended up in the same circumstances.
It wasn't that Cosette didn't want to pity them for it. She did, absolutely, though it was debatable whether she might have been as readily sympathetic without the memories of growing up with them in that other universe. She just didn't know quite how to make that pity coexist alongside the knowledge of how they'd treated her, or how to be as readily forgiving as Father was. On top of all that, she wasn't anywhere near knowing how to handle the realization that one of them was here and had been all along.
Suddenly that odd encounter back in January, during the clockwork rain, made a lot more sense.
That was a lot to think about, so once she'd gotten up, made her bed, and dressed for the day Cosette curled back up on her bed with a book that she wasn't really reading, only leafing through idly every now and then when she wasn't staring out the window, lost in an uncharacteristically moody silence.
[OOC: Closed door, open post, subject to some SP . . .]
