Not a Dog's Daughter

Several things might have caught Éponine's attention, had she been in the right state of mind to notice. One: the narrow alley (if you could even call the tiny space between two buildings an alley) she'd been creeping through was suddenly less constricted and much more open. Two: the usual overwhelming reek of rotting garbage, human waste, and God only knew what else floating in the Seine that characterized most of her usual routes in this part of the city had disappeared in favor of a light ocean breeze. Three: the road beneath her bare feet was much colder than the paving-stones of Paris in June ought to be, even this early in the morning.

Under the circumstances, though, she was not at her most observant, and all of those peculiarities blurred into a vague, disorienting sense that she assumed came from being half-delirious. She wasn't sure where she was going or what exactly she was going to do; all she knew was that if the police had found her alive in that place she wouldn't have had a chance in hell, and damned if she'd let them toss her back in the Madelonettes. She'd sooner die out here on the streets than end up back in jug, thank you.

When her legs finally refused to hold her up any more she collapsed against the wall -- half-wall? That was odd -- and slid unceremoniously down to the ground. Even thinking about trying to get up was too exhausting; she didn't realize she was shivering, but she'd instinctively curled in on herself.

( Allie would never forget how easily she slipped across the Causeway from her world to Fandom. )

[OOC: Follows after this. Let's call this one NFB, but OOC okay. Preplayed with allie_vamp and glacial_witch, with massive thanks; thanks as well to harpy_daughter for the use of the Magic Box.

Content warning: there's a lot of bleeding going on in this post.]