her grave resembled her bed,

fantine⠀of⠀les⠀misérables⠀by⠀anya.

[faentine]

misery   offers,        society   accepts.       ––––––          fantine  of  victor  hugo’s  les  misérables.        novel  based.        written  by  anya.

[eleaktra]

i’ve moved! you can find me at the same url :)

[eleaktra]

everyday i get the urge to move not gonna lie.

[eleaktra]

okay i lied i’m moving.

[eleaktra]

everyday i get the urge to move not gonna lie.

[lu-in-the-sky-w-diamonds]

Bojack Horseman, Season 6, Episode 16 "Nice While It Lasted".

[eleaktra]

absolutely in love with the way arai draws fantine.

[eleaktra]

that manga is beautifully drawn but what type of psychological horror and emotional anguish was that? les mis but it's a psychological thriller so true

the last sentence of this made me giggle im not gonna lie

[eleaktra]

she doesn’t feel the rain when it first starts to trickle down, falling upon her face drop by drop, splattering on muddied golden hair and rags, her knees curled to her chest. at her feet, a muddy puddle begins to pool. she watches it fall, each little drop, as though something else — a miracle, of sorts — were to fall from the darkened, clouded sky. it never did, of course, though that did little to wane on her persistence; she would always cling to hope, as though it were the only thing left.

it takes her a moment before she notices the barren streets, the echoes of children’s laughter replaced by their doting mothers ushering them inside, lest their clothes get soaked by the oncoming storm. no one bats an eye at the children left behind; the ones who call the streets their home, the ones without a family, the ones who do the best they can to survive. they come and go, after all, just like the vagrants who wander through from time to time, so what use was there in dwelling on the matter?

what would become of these urchins and gamines? who could say. the streets held onto their memories, yes, but only for so long. in the beginning, they were a wonder — a peculiarity of sorts. somewhere in the middle, they were an amalgamation of fractured memories. in the end, they withered away, one piece at a time, until they vanished completely, their existence lost to time.

by now, the rain had begun to pick up, and a cold breeze sent a chill through her spine. It was only then that she began to pick herself up, brushing the dirt off her now dampened rags. she shivered, her lip quivering as the rain continued to fall, heavier than before. the gamine carries herself down the long, narrow road, as fast as her brittle legs can take her; where is she going? wherever she can. she pays no mind to the old brick houses that lined the streets, now only a blur in her peripheral, nor to the puddles that only splattered her with more cold, dirty rainwater, and especially not to the man passing by, wandering aimlessly through the streets.

“little mademoiselle!”

she stops, dead in her tracks, seemingly without reason. the voice calls to her again, deep and hoarse. “little mademoiselle!”

she turns to it posthaste, curiosity having gotten the best of her; it was the man from before, bag in hand and a sack over his shoulder, having turned off his course, now approaching her.

it isn’t long before he’s right in front of her, craning his neck to look down at her. she stares at him, puzzled, still shivering. “little mademoiselle,” he begins, concern laced in tone. “why are you all alone? in such terrible weather, no less?”

she does not speak; what was there to say, anyway? she, a lonely little girl, of no family, no home, and no story. she who survived off scavenged leftovers and well water, who learned to pray from two women sitting on their porch, sewing as along as they were able in order to make a living. she was no different from the other children who had come and gone, whose memories were destined to be wiped from history, doomed from the start before they even had the chance to cry.

a moment passes before he speaks again. “do you know where your parents are? do you know your name?”

she does not answer. don’t give him your name; you don’t have one.

“ah—, ” he huffs. “well then, if that’s the case…”

he runs a hand over her golden head, now dampened by the rain. “why not a name like this? this would certainly suit you… — what do you say, little fantine? ”

for a moment, he’s there, standing in front of her, a smile upon his once stone-faced visage. the next, he’s already gone, off to wherever he may be headed next. she watches until he is out of view, vanishing over the horizon — all alone again, in a ghost town of her own creation.

in her newfound sanctum, she glances to the sky, now a mirage of pink, orange, yellow, and indigo. something new was beating in her heart, though she couldn’t quite name it — it was as though the world had burst into color, that life had burst inside of her. she fell to her knees, teary eyed, a tide of emotions coursing through her; here, the death of the gamine and the birth of a girl.

the clouds began to part, a ray of sunlight beamed down on her, and the girl — fantine — took a breath. she could still feel the rain upon her face, dripping through the gap.

“fan… tine.”

[eleaktra]

deep   within   the   walls   of   the   rue   plumet ,      tucked  away  from  the  rest  of  the  world ,      was  a  small  clearing ,      hidden  deep  within  the  garden.         here ,      𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒  𝘩𝑎𝑑  𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦  𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑢𝑛  𝑖𝑡𝑠  𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 ;      patches  of  ivy  had  rooted  themselves  within  stone  cracks ,      climbing  the  old  garden  walls ,      damp  moss  squishing  beneath  her  boots  as  she  tread  through  untamed  wildflowers  and  overgrown  grass.         it  was  here ,      within  this  cage  of  unkept  foliage ,      where  one  lonely  soul  laid ,      lost  in  her  restless  mind.         she  hadn’t  visited  in  a  while ,         though  she  couldn’t  quite  fault  herself  for  it ;      cosette  was  𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 ,      after  all ,      more  jovial  than  ever ,      having  begun  to  experience  the  newfound  joys  of  girlhood.         𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙻𝚈   𝙹𝙾𝚈   arose  from  the  old  depths  of  her  heart ,      though  it  looked  quite  odd  upon  weary ,      youthful  features         ––––          motherhood  never  quite  fit  her  skin  right ,      anyway.

it   was   a   rustling   that   had   startled   her ,      coming  from  the  outside  the  garden  walls.         she  doesn’t  think  of  it  much ,      not  at  first ,      anyway         ––––         𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟  𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑘  𝑜𝑓  𝑡𝘩𝑒  𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑 ,      𝑖𝑠𝑛’𝑡  𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡  𝑟𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡 ,      𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒  𝑓𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒?         ––––         until  it  sounds  again ;         CRACK!         the  snapping  of  a  twig  pierces  through  the  silence ,      followed  by  the  shadow  of  a  figure         ––––         a  ghost ,      if  she  had  ever  seen  one         ––––         hoisting  itself  atop  the  stone ,      before  landing  on  the  mucky  ground  below.          ❛❛         𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆?          ❜❜            its  voice  croons  into  the  dark ,      being  met  only  by  the  garden’s  now  unnerving  quietude.         fantine  rose ,      her  mouth  agape         ––––         out  of  shock?          𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑?         she’s  not  quite  sure.

❛❛          are  you  wondering  where  i’ve  been?          ❜❜            @epponina​​  asks  once  more ,      playful  yet  apprehensive  in  tone.         another  silence  followed ,      and  dread  had  begun  to  seep  into  fantine’s  bones.         she  began  to  approach ,      trepidation  carried  in  her  pace ,      thrusting  branches  aside  before  she's  met  with  a  pause ;      before  her  stands  the  figure  of  a  girl ,      alone ,      𝑎  𝑛𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡𝑙𝑦  𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.

❛❛          you  shouldn’t  be  out  this  late ,      𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑒 ,          ❜❜            she  coos  to  the  shade ,      taking  another  step  forward ,      the  ground  mushing  beneath  her  feet.         𝑎  𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑦  𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑠 ,      as  though  it  were  a  lost  relic  washed  up  on  shore.         it  weighs  on  her ,      dragging  her  to  the  depths  of  her  psyche  before  she  sinks  below ,      with  little  resistance.

“ little  mademoiselle! ”         a  passerby  calls  from  afar.         a  little  girl  is  running  past ,      barefoot ;      she  stops  dead  in  her  tracks.         it’s  raining      ...         i  am  five  years  old      ...         my  home  is  montreuil-sur-mer      ...         i  am  alone      ...         my  name  is      ––––

a   beat   passes   before  she  speaks  again.         ❛❛          ...         where  are  your  parents?         ❜❜

[eleaktra]

the arai manga my best friend.

[thescytheandthesword]

Visit Original Link

[rosources]

—   lyric starters   :   hadestown   ,   partial broadway cast recording.

on the road to hell, there was a lot of waiting.

she’s never early, always late.

these days she never stays too long.

are you wondering where i’ve been?

when you’re down, you’re down. when you’re up, you’re up. if you ain’t six feet underground, you’re living it up on top.

who’s doing the best she can? [name], that’s who.

you take what you can get, and you make the most of it.

who says times are hard?

if no one takes too much, there will always be enough.

to the world we dream about & the one we live in now.

better go and get your suitcase packed, guess it’s time to go.

did you ever wonder what it’s like on the underside?

give me morphine in a tin. give me a crate of the fruit of the vine.

takes a lot of medicine to make it through the wintertime.

an eye for an eye, and he weighs the cost. a lie for a lie, and your soul for sale.

you better forget about your wishing well.

kind of makes you wonder how it feels.

hey little songbird, give me a song.

i want a nice, soft place to land. i wanna lie down forever.

the choice is yours if you’re willing to choose, seeing as you’ve got nothing to lose, and i could use a canary.

suddenly, nothing is as it was.

wasn’t it gonna be the two of us? weren’t we birds of a feather?

look all around you. see how the vipers and vultures surround you.

life ain’t easy. life ain’t fair. a girl’s gotta fight for her rightful share.

oh, my aching heart.

aim for the heart. shoot to kill. if you don’t do it then the other one will.

the first shall be first and the last shall be last.

cast your eyes to heaven, you get a knife in the back.

nobody’s righteous, nobody’s proud, nobody’s innocent.

my heart is yours. always was and will be.

wouldn’t you have done the same? in her shoes, in her skin?

you can have your principles when you’ve got a belly full.

there ain’t no compass, brother, ain’t no map.

keep on walking and you don’t look back.

wait for me, i’m coming. wait, i’m coming with you.

who are you? where do you think you’re going?

who are you to think that you can walk a road that no one ever walked before?

don’t give your name, you don’t have one.

i am not alone. i hear the rocks and stone echoing my song.

i don’t know about you, boys, but if you’re like me, then hanging around this old manhole is bringing you down.

you’re stir crazy! stuck in a rut!

i got the rain on tap at the bar. i got sunshine up on a shelf.

come here, brother, let me guess: it’s the little things you miss.

when was the last time you saw the sky?

you want stars? i’ve got a skyful.

tell my husband to take his time.

what i wanted was to fall asleep. close my eyes and disappear, like a petal on a stream, a feather on the air.

dreams are sweet until they’re not.

flowers bloom until they rot and fall apart.

is anybody listening? i open my mouth and nothing comes out.

you, the one i left behind, if you ever walk this way: come and find me lying in the bed i made.

how about you and i? are we gonna try again?

who are you to lead them?

you got a lonesome road to walk.

between your ears, behind your eyes: that is the path to paradise, and likewise, the road to ruin.

i’m coming, wait for me.

it’s an old song. it’s an old tale from way back when.

that is how it ends. that’s how it goes.

it’s a sad tale, it’s a tragedy.

here’s the thing: to know how it ends, and still begin to sing it again as if it might turn out this time.

can you feel it like a train? is it coming? is it coming this way?

[eleaktra]

although fantine is naïve, she is not ignorant;  she came from the gutter, after all. she’s had to fight for a comfortable life; to rise from the slums, to make some kind of living for herself, and as such, she’s taken it into her own hands –– at ten, she went to work on a farm, at fifteen, she walked to paris. somewhere in between she took up sewing, and begun to find a means to support herself, all culminating in her transformation  (a metamorphosis, of sorts)  from gamine to grisette. by the time we meet her, she is two years a mother and seemingly has her life in control  (although, as we’ll soon learn, that’s not exactly the case). she’s fought so hard to live a life with some semblance of comfort and she finally has it, achieved by her own means and accomplishments –– it’s all she could have ever dreamed of, really, and in a way, it’s the first thing that’s truly hers. she takes matters into her own hands again following her abandonment, returning to her hometown in order to continue providing for not only herself, but for cosette, as well. hell, even the book itself says she had the “the fierce bravery of life” within her, that she was vaguely aware that she could fall back into a life in the slums. she’s seen enough of life –– of both its joys and its horrors –– to know better than to just sit around and wait for something to happen. her true detriment, i think, is that she’s an idealist... painfully so.

[eleaktra]

what   happens   before   the   fall         ——         before  the  descent ,      teetering  over  the  ledge  of  the  event  horizon ?         𝑤𝘩𝑎𝑡  𝑖𝑠  𝑡𝘩𝑒  𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑛  𝑡𝑜  𝑑𝑜  𝑡𝑜  𝑠𝑎𝑣𝑒  𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑚𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑠 ,      in  spite  of  fate  itself ?         in  the  beginning ,      it  looks  like  this :         a  dirty ,      unkempt  room.

she  hadn’t  meant  for  it  to  become  so  dirty ,      though  it  had  never  been  particularly  clean ,      either         ——         cob  webs  strung  in  each  corner ,      walls  stained  brown  from  grime ,      a  roof  that  would  leak  rain  water  after  an  evening  storm ;      it  was  as  though  it  had  been  𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 ,      sitting      (waiting)      as  it  rotted  away.         one  could  wonder  how  anyone  could  live  in  such  a  state      (in  such  a  place) ,      though  the  state  of  the  room  had  hardly  been  at  the  forefront  of  fantine’s  mind        ——         so  long  as  there  was  a  roof  over  her  head ,      she  could  find  some  semblance  of  comfort.         

still ,      winds  would  change ,      debts  would  rise ,      and  soon ,      her  restless  thoughts  would  be  plagued  by  disquietude.          ❛❛          don’t  you  understand ?          ❜❜            she  cries ,      almost  𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺.          ❛❛          i  couldn’t  possibly  bring  her  here       ——         she’s  better  off  in  𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒆𝒊𝒍.         so ,      i  must  pay ,      and  where  am  i  to  get  the  money ?         what  do  you  expect  me  to  do ?          ❜❜

❛❛          i  do  not  have  time  for  this ,          ❜❜            @dinopunching​  retorts,      cutting  deep  like  a  sharpened  knife.          ❛❛           you  can  be  𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑟𝑦  at  me  later.         you  can  scream  and  rage  at  me  when  you’re  not  in  danger  anymore.          ❜❜

❛❛          i      ——          ❜❜            anger  dissipates ,      becoming  desperation.         𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑒𝑑  𝑏𝑦  𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 ,      the  fallen  woman  sinks  in  her  chair ,      parchment  crushed  in  her  fist.         i’m  not  in  danger ,      she  longs  to  say ,      in  spite  of  her  better  judgement ,      though ,      instead ,      she  says  nothing.         a  beat  passes ,      and  her  gaze  flickers  downward  as  she  unfurls  the  letter :      crinkled ,      yet  still  legible.

“  little  cosette  has  come  down  with  a  terrible  malady  that  has  been  going  round  the  neighborhood ;      a  miliary  fever ,      they  call  it.         it  requires  expensive  medicine  that  we  can  no  longer  pay  for.         send  all  you  can  so  we  can  pay  for  her  medicine ,      or  else  the  little  one  will  be  dead  within  a  week.           ——         thénardier.  ”

❛❛          this  miliary  fever ,          ❜❜            she  begins ,      a  quaver  in  tone.          ❛❛           (. . .)         do  you  know  anything  of  it ?          ❜❜

[eleaktra]

¹ electra, sophocles  (tr. anne carson)  /  ² les misérables, victor hugo  (tr. isabel f. hapgood)  /  ³ les misérables: the dream cast in concert  (1995)  /  ⁴ electra, sophocles  (tr. anne carson)  /  ⁵ bbc’s les misérables: episode 2 shooting script, andrew davies  /  ⁶ les misérables, victor hugo  (tr. isabel f. hapgood)  /  ⁷ les misérables: the dream cast in concert  (1995)  /  ⁸ electra, sophocles  (tr. anne carson)

[greyhyms-deactivated20220506]

ruthie henshall —> i dreamed a dream

[eleaktra]

lespersonnes​.

he does not speak ,  not at first ;  it goes unneeded ,  the weight behind her words enough to fill the room’s empty space .  𝙷𝙴 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝚂 𝙶𝙾𝙳 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙺𝚂 𝙸𝙽 𝙼𝚈𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙾𝚄𝚂 𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂 .  after giving his life to the lord ,  to cosette ,  what more can he do besides repent to her ?  fantine carried light within her .  all of that grace ,  and kindness  —  and she suffered for it .

he wishes to comfort her .

❝ you’ve every right to . ❞  they come unbidden upon his tongue ,  before he can stop himself .  once again the sinner prostrate ,  making to right his wrongs .  

𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝 .  

❝ i have not always been an honest man ,  dear fantine … ❞  a moment of silence passes after he trails off ,  eyes shut as he bears her scrutiny .

❝ but never again .  i have stolen ,  and lied ,  it is true .  i have been selfish ,  and ignorant to others in need .  but i will be honest to you .  i promise you this ,  until the end of my days . ❞

she   sat   in   silence         ——         𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑑  in  it ,      even         ——        her  eyes  downcast ,      his  vow  doing  little  to  soothe  her  newfound  disquiet.         it’s   just   the  two   of   them   now ,      wasting  away  inside  a  rotting  house ,      the  overgrown  garden  and  stone  walls  shielding   (hiding)   them  from  the  rest  of  the  world.      there’s  a  certain  rancor  lingering  in  the  marrow  of  her  bones ,      left  intangible  and  unnamed ,      from  the  carcass  of  a  cocoon  shed  years  ago         ——         the  humiliating  remnant  of   𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚜 ,      rooted  deep  in  her  belly ,      now  bubbling  to  the  surface.

night   pressed   gently   on   the   windows ,      and  a  ray  of  moonlight  sprawled  in ,      the  smell  of  burning  candlewax  cloying  her  senses.        she   doesn’t   speak ,      not  at  first ,      though  the  words  cling  to  her  throat ,      sinking  their  claws  into  its  walls         ——         fractured  𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑘 ,      setting  free  to  the  immature  pupal  within.

❛❛          you  lied  to  me ,          ❜❜            she  begins ,      hatred  wafting  from  her  bitter  tongue ,      leaving  a   𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛   taste  in  her  mouth.         perhaps  𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒚  goes  unwarranted ,      so  she  thinks ,      the  flame  of  indignance  still  burning  bright  within  her ,      more  akin  to  that  of  a  child  than  the  𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯  she  had  become.         𝑡𝘩𝑒   𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑦   𝑤𝑎𝑠   𝑠𝑢𝑓𝑓𝑜𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 ,      even  now ,      and  for  a  moment ,      she  struggles  to  breathe ;         (my  memories  scatter  around  me  like  fresh  snow ,      thawing  at  divine  touch ,      forming  a  vast ,      blackened  𝒔𝒆𝒂.)         man  overboard !      the  captain  cries  as  she  plummets  into  the  most  vicious  of  the  mind’s  tempests.         she  thrashes ,      screams  with  what  little  strength  she  can  conjure ,      and  yet ,      who  is  there  to  hear  her ?          ❛❛          how  am  i  to  know  that  what  you  say  is  true ?         how  am  i  supposed  to  trust  you ?      you  promise  to  fetch  my  child ,      and  yet  she  is  nowhere  to  be  found         ——         instead ,      you  go  to  arras.      you  promise  us  a  home ,      and  yet  we  continue  to  run  away.         you  say  you  are  père  madeleine ,      and   𝒚et         . . .          ❜❜

a  pause.         of  course ;         ——        he ,      who  had  been  père  madeleine ,      ultime  fauchelevent ,      prisoner  9430 ,      and  now ,      urbain  fabre.         she ,      who  had  been  fantine  laurent ,      little  fantine ,            and      . . .         and      . . .

a   blonde   tendril   falls   forth ,      the  gap  where  two  front  teeth  once  stood  comes  into  view.            ❛❛          who  are  you ?         who  am  𝒊 ?          ❜❜