"You don't want to go there Soleil! There are those filthy rats that pass for people! Soleil, you are a growing woman of high class society. I don't see why you want to visit them."
"But Papa, you don't know what they are like."
"Honey, you don't know what they're like but being an Inspector, I have experience. They will hurt and curse you. They will..."
I had heard enough.
"Papa, I'm a grown woman and I can take care of myself!"
Hello, my name is Soleil Emile. I'm the 19 year old daughter of Inspector Javert Emile. I would like to see myself as a proper lady but I'm not. Everyone in the mansion says I'm the most headstrong woman in the house, next to our head maid, Fantine.
I am considered average in look. Brown hair, brown eyes, and a light complexion. This is true for just about every girl in Paris. I'm not as lucky as I seem.
My father being the leader of... well, everything, he raised me more like a son than a daughter. He trained me to shoot a pistol, how to argue at a meeting, and only things boys would do. My life was clean and quiet. Well, for the most part.
My life was quite normal. At least before my mother, Nora Emile, was killed in a carriage accident thirteen years ago.
It was a chilly October night that thirteen years ago. My mother and father were a young couple with a young daughter, me. Father being an important man in the country, was invited to all the high class balls and dances. This night was a ball at the palace to celebrate the birth of the new prince.
All I remember is my mother looking in the mirror. Looking like a princess. Her hair was a brilliant blonde and her eyes sky blue unlike boring, old me. The jewels reflected her glow and her gown could make the queen jealous. My father was in his military uniform and his hair was a light brown. Any prince would kill to look like my father. At least before what happened.
My parents said their 'good-byes' and walked out into the bitter night. They both stepped into the carriage but only one came out alive.
Father says that a small storm had hit the palace that night. Mother was worried but father had persuaded her not to wait until the next morning. About halfway through the ride, a bolt of lightning came out of the sky and hit a nearby tree. The horses were so frightened they were blind. The carriage hit a hole and flipped over on its roof.
My father barely made it out alive. After losing his childhood sweetheart, my father slowly became further away from me. That's why he trained me like a son and caused my life to be a living hell. He blamed mother's death on him and never wanted something like that to happen to me.
He doesn't want me to get hurt. That's why he won't let me go into the poorer sections of Paris. Father claims that their is an uprising being planned and that they planned to attack any high class person they saw. I couldn't find any truth behind that.
"They won't do a damn thing to me Papa! These ruffians, revolutionaries would never touch a lady!"
"You hold your tongue young lady! You are inexperienced, naive, and helpless in the world out there. The world is cruel. The world is wicked. These boys will chew and spit you out."
"How do you know?"
"They are against the King and the government. That means that they are no good bastards. They are bullies and thiefs."
"Well they do have a point," I said heading toward the door," the government is overusing their power. What do you call that? Tyranny! These revolutionaries should have a voice and should stand up to the government. Especially you and the military..."
That's when I realized what I just said. Father came looming over me. His face was bright red and his eyes were practically popping out of his sockets.
"What did you say?!"
I couldn't say anything. I knew what I said and I knew I couldn't take it back. My big mouth had just insulted the highest military officer in the French army, my father.
I didn't even stutter a sound before I felt a burning sensation in my cheek. Father stood their with his hand level with his eyes. It was brighter than his face but his face was a pale white and his eyes were even bigger now.
Now it was my turn. I raised my hand and gave him what I felt for the past decade, pain and anger. His face had returned to red where my handprint was slowly forming.
Before he could stutter, I ran out with my purse and umbrella. I heard father yelling to come back. I even thought he called the guards to chase after me but no one followed me. I slowed my full out run to a jog, then a walk. My father never hit me that hard and never on my face. He only hit me when I was very disobedient and he'd hit my back or shoulder.
I had finally made it to the poorer part of Paris after an hour walk. My purse had enough money to last me a month but with all the pickpockets, I'd lose it in a minute. But I won't go back ever again, even he tries to drag me by my hair.
Maybe I would get lucky and fine a rich family to adopt me. But until then, I was a beggar fallen from grace.