|My Mistress' Eyes are Nothing like the Sun
Author: celestialprincess2007 PM
One-Shot, Why is Grantaire a raging alcoholic? What does he think of Eponine? Very short one-shot, no disrespect to any pairing, this just popped into my head and I had to write it! My first one shot and it's really hard to write a summary for these things without giving the story away! Just read it, I am sure you will at least tolerate it...Rated: Fiction T - English - Hurt/Comfort/Romance - Eponine & Grantaire - Words: 829 - Reviews: 6 - Favs: 7 - Follows: 1 - Published: 02-01-13 - Status: Complete - id: 8969689
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Hey guys! so I just saw Les Miserables like 2 weeks for the first time (so far I've watched it 3 times), and I love the E/E (Enjolras/Eponine) and I also love the E/R (Enjolras/Grantaire) pairings. Anyways, I was rereading some Shakespeare and I came across Sonnet 130. My creative juices started to flow, and BAM! I decided to ship E/R only now it means Eponine and Grantaire lol maybe I should call it R/E or G/E haha. It's a one shot. DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sonnet 130 or Les Miserables, if did man I would be old!
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Her dull brown eyes stared at me, it was always this way. I could see her sorrow for waking up with me instead of him. I know she doesn't love me, she loves Marius, but she cares for me, I know she does in some way.
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If she was from a wealthy family, she would be able to purchase make-up. She would be able to enhance her beauty, her color filled lips would then be able attract every male suitor in the area. I'm selfish, I thank God that she lives in misery, otherwise she would have never been mine, even if I have to pay a couple of francs a day.
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
I don't mind the dirt on her skin, bourgeoisie mademoiselle are pale and extremely soft, but she is not and because of that I know she is strong. She is strong, while I am weak, under her spell I am and I do not regret it.
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
Sometimes, when I am her last customer of the night, she stays the night in my bed, and when I awake her dark brown hair is the first thing I see. During those mornings I know her hair is as dirty as her naturally olive toned skin, just like I know that before she leaves, it will be wet and clean at least for the day.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
No matter what I say she never blushes. At least not when I want her to, when her cheeks turn to the color of a beautiful rose it's because of Marius. Never for me; and yet, I can't help but love her even more.
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
She hasn't properly brushed her teeth since she was 9 maybe 10, that was the first thing she says the night before the barricade. She hasn't been able to decipher that I have never cared about that. And so I kiss her, and make love to her for the very last time.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
Her voice is not soft, like the voice of Marius' love, her voice is rough, after all she has had as much alcohol in a her short lifetime, as I have in the past year. The only reason I drink is because I know she will never love me as much as she loves him.
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
She's never walked like a proper lady should, and as I watched her die in his arms instead of mine, I realize that she never tried because it was all part of her cruel plan. To make me fall for her, to make me an uncontrollable alcoholic, so that I wouldn't notice that she was preparing to die with us, with him.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
That doesn't matter in the end, I figured out her plan out too late, she died too soon. I hear the troops come up the stairs and I take the opportunity. I shake away my fear, because some how through death I know that I will be with her. Die with my friend, as a Martyr, in the eyes of the citizens of his Patria.
As any she belied with false compare.
In reality, I die because there is no life without her. No matter how unattractive she might have seemed to others, to me she was the most beautiful thing in my life. Comparing her to what society deemed as beauty, would be like comparing vegetables to meat, while meat may be filling for the moment, vegetables give you a longer life. And thus I died for her; I died for my Éponine, so that I can live a longer life with her, in death.