![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Madame Boissy was a respected woman among her neighbours. A 61 year old lady who had been a hard worker almost all her life, and a renowned beauty in her youth, she was always of a kind and polite disposition towards everyone despite the terrible things she had gone through.
She was alone, with only her traditions to keep herself sane.
Among those there was an annual visit to the Café Musain, the place where, as people would tell you, her lover died in the July revolution.
Though it was more complicated than that. She went away a year before his death, and even then she was not sure he ever really loved her.
But she... She still loves him, after all this time.
She still keeps his sketches, and most of his notes, among other mementoes. Even a flower from that time they went to the countryside. A dandelion.
That may be the reason why every July Madame Boissy visits the Musain with a dandelion and a bottle of wine, leaving them on the corner where they found Grantaire's body after a moment of the most complete silence, and only talking if some of the youngest patrons (the old ones did know better) asked her for who was that.
And all of this out of some stubborn impulse. Because she didn't want him and his friends to be forgotten. Because she wanted to show him that their deaths held meaning, even if for just one person.
Still, the surprised faces of the boys near the Café Musain have reasons. It is two months early for her annual visit, and she has decided to go almost in the middle of a skirmish.
But the bullets flying over her head don't seem to matter as she approaches the Café, wearing her best dress and carrying a bag with her in one hand and the ever present dandelion in the other.
Nothing else matters to her as much as reaching her destiny in time.
And the owner (the new owner, despite it's been almost a decade since his mother died) opens the door when he sees her despite the risks he takes doing so.
(She always leaves generous tips. Generous enough for her small annual shrine to stay in its place and grant her those moments without herself getting kicked out.)
"Madame Boissy, I didn't expect to see you so early in the year." He says, genuinely surprised.
"I am afraid I might not be able to come back again, my dear boy." She states simply "And I wanted to say goodbye."
She puts a small purse of money in his hands.
And he hugs her like a little scared boy.
"Go back home, Madame." He tries to hand her back the money, but she refuses.
"It's all good, mon cher." she pats him on the back, slipping the money into one of his pockets, before she does go upstairs.
The Musain's second floor is empty aside from Madame Boissy, who reaches to the point where the flower, now petal-less, and the bottle of wine from the last year rest.
Carefully, she takes them away and replaces them with the new, fresh dandelion and the bottle of wine. It's probably the best wine bottle she ever bought and the prettiest dandelion she could ever find.
Then she sits, holding the bag that carries her box close to her chest, and admires the picture the bottle and the flower make in silence for what seems an eternity.
"I think I owe you an explanation for such an early visit." she breaks the silence. "Even if you think I don't. Or if you don't even care."
She sighs
"I do care. That's why I need to tell you that this is my last visit." she admits "I'm an old woman that only has her traditions to keep herself entertained and forget how alone she is."
"Which is too much. All my friends are either dead or so far away from Paris that my old bones would not be able to stand the whole journey. And my family..."
"My family... They are gone too. Another revolution took the twins. They who so wanted to join you and les Amis and ended up imitating your friend Enjolras sixteen years later. And idiot of me that though I could stop them."
Without her noticing it, a tear falls down her right cheek.
"My mother did not last a year after their deaths. And Helène followed her a month after, faithful to her as always." there's a bitter smile. "And Alexandre. He has a grave but that grave will never have a body inside it..."
And neither her would have a reason why he ended in the Seine, as many told her.
"Even Agnès. Agnès who I hoped would have the happiness that God seemed to forbid the rest of the family. Agnès who married a count and had two beautiful boys, died giving birth to a third one."
She clutches the box as close as her arms allow.
"I did what I've always done. Soldier on and continue living."
"But I am tired of everything. Any matter I had on this earth is solved. My money given to those who need it, as well as the few possessions I have. Except this damned box. I can't bear to part with it and that's partly because of you. And because I am an idiot and I still hold to what was. Or what I like to think that was."
And she was sure their accounts would differ.
"The thing is... You'll think it ridiculous, you'll laugh." She bites her lip. "But the moments we were together were probably the happiest of my life. Or at least among them, because you brought me out of a dark place and made me feel alive. That I was something beyond a daughter and a sister, despite how much I've always loved my family. I think that's why it hurt so much when I left. And so much more when you..."
"... when you decided to be brave for once and join your friends."
She hears a sound, like glass breaking. But she doesn't look to any place but down.
"I thought of burning the box. Burning all your notes praising my beauty. That flower you gave me. Your sketches. Those letters I never sent. Saving the mementoes that weren't yours but burning you..."
Her throat hurts.
"... burning you out of my life."
"If your soul was lingering in this place, I bet it would have ran away after this confession." she jokes "But I miss you. As sad it seems, I've missed you for 30 years, despite..."
She feels a warm liquid running down her neck and her shoulder.
"You thought yourself a coward... But you were as brave as your friends when the time came."
With weak hands she reaches for her neck.
"I was the coward."
There is a piece of glass stuck to it.
The only link she has to life. If she retires it, she'll bleed whatever she has left in her body.
But still...
"I'm ready." She smiles.
It hurts when she retires the glass. But the next thing as the blood leaves her body is that she begins to fall asleep.
She feels calm. As calm as she hasn't felt in ages.
And when she wakes up and stands up, she looks at her hands. They are not the weak, old hands that held the piece of glass. Those belong to the old lady on the chair who looks as if she were asleep.
They are the young hands that had yet to see years of work. And the face she sees before the broken glass of the window is that of her young self.
Voices call her.
Irma... Sister... My child...
She passes by the side of the owner, who goes to the rescue of the old lady and cries when she doesn't answer to his call.
(Poor boy- she thinks)
Irma goes to those voices, clearer with every step she takes.
And for the first time in decades, she feels at home.
