Becca5002

Grantaire knew what the revolution would bring. The blood, the shots, the cannons, and the thought of what was to come made him sink further into his bottle. But it wasn't just his own death that shook him to his core, it was the fear of watching the fall of the only person he ever truly cared about.  Even after nights of his usual indulgences, he'd lay on his worn mattress, on the cusp of dreams when the images would come to him. He'd see them all; Combeferre and Joly's expired bodies on top of those whose lives they'd inevitably try to save, Prouvaire with his hand on heart. But there was one image that disturbed him the most. It was Enjol