Crossover Catfight/Cosette's Dream

The following story is a work of fiction. All of the characters are imaginary and not intended to refer to any persons, living or dead, or reference to any actual events, in the past, now, or in the future.

Cosette moved through her dream in a daze. She supposed it was a dream because of the half-finished houses, odd structures, black snakes on the ground, fantastic vehicles and the people…

She lowered her eyes so as not to stare any longer. Women (and men too) attired in the most scandalous fashion. Uncovered arms, and even worse, legs!

She rushed into a room to hide and compose herself. It would be safer there, away from them. She took a deep breath—

And once again his face imprinted itself on her mind’s eye: dark, curly hair, limpid eyes, a gentle smile…

She crossed herself to stop the thoughts. The Sisters would be so disappointed in her. At fifteen she was already two years past the marriageable age, but Papa still insisted she needed to know more about the life she would give up if she became a Bride of Christ…

“Hello, sweetie.”

Cosette looked shyly at the beautiful blonde. The word “sweetie” was strange but the friendly tone was unmistakable.

“Bonjour, Madame.”

“Do you speak English? I don’t speak French.”

“Oui—Yes.”

The blonde nodded happily. “Much better.” She peered at Cosette. “I haven’t seen you before, you must be new.”

Cosette nodded, it was the safest response.

“What’s your name, hon?”

Another word she had never heard before. But she answered regardless. “Euphrasie Fauchelevant.”

The blonde giggled “That’s quite a mouthful.”

This didn’t seem quite so nice. “Cosette, then. I suppose that is less of a mouthful.”

The blonde stared. “Excuse me?!”

“Cosette. I am also called Cosette.”

The blonde’s eyes slitted. “The f**k you are! I’m Cosette.”

This was laughable. The blonde was certainly taller. The next words sprang from her lips unbidden. “But you’re so old—“

Whap!

The slap stung her cheek. The blonde looked at her coldly.

Memories of horrid people who had looked at her and treated her just so came flooding back.

Face smarting from the blow, Cosette hurled herself at her tormentor.

* * *

“Cosette! Cosette!”

She woke with a start. “Papa—“ She clung to him tightly and told him of her dream. He gentled the tears away and kissed her forehead.

“Ma puce, ma puce, it was a cauchemar … you are safe now; none shall ever harm you.”

The trembling passed.

“From now on, I read only poetry or the bible to you before you sleep; no more horrid fantastical tales—“

“But Papa!”

“Monstrous bellringers, tragic gipsy maidens! That would be enough to give anyone bad dreams!”

“Yes, Papa” she said meekly and settled back under the covers. She felt him rise and held onto his hand tightly. “Don’t go!”

He settled back down and smiled at her. “Sleep, ma puce. I will be here when you awake.”

She fell asleep with her tiny hand enclosed in his huge calloused one.


DISCLAIMER: Cosette and Jean Valjean are the property of their respective owner. This art and story are mine.