Original Fiction: The Tales of Adrienne L'Ange

Obviously, this has its inspiration in Les Miserables - I was trying to create a Neo-Victorian steampunk persona, and every time I tried to imagine her she always ended up being a revolutionary of some sort, so I let her go where she wanted to.


I. Unassuming

The bustle of high society all about,
Clacking of hooves and boots on cobblestone.
Her ears are deaf to the din in the air
As she walks the streets alone -
Goal clear in her mind, book and quill in her satchel,
Head up, eyes hard.
A thinker with a mission,
Nothing more dangerous, always on guard.
A student, they thought, a woman no less,
And paid her no heed - She'll abandon these fancies,
They thought - but soon would reassess.
The world bustled around her, never ceasing its din;
They know not her goal,
Nor would they ever.

II. Misery

No enemies she had,
Save the one called Misery,
Ever-present enemy of all.
She looked on it with anger each day,
She who had always
Been above it
And drawn in by it
In her quest to end it.
The world she read and wrote of
In her books was her
Sanctuary - one she longed
To bring out of the minds of men
And into solid form.
The world she dreamed of -
Would fight for -
Would not care, however,
If she rose or fell.
The world would rejoice
To receive into its bosom
One more troupe of
Schoolboys and schoolgirls,
A blood sacrifice of
Hopeless idealists.

III. Silent Language

"Lovely evening, Miss L'Ange, is it not?
Still engrossed in your silly studies these days?"
The young gentleman advanced,
As if her corset and curves alone made her fair game.
"Lovely evening indeed." Her voice was cold,
Clashing with the lace fan fluttering
Before her face in her clenched left hand.
'Leave me!' it shrieked.
The hint was not taken, it was never taken.
Meaningless one-sided chatter continued,
A waste of precious time.
The fan snapped shut,
Revealing steely eyes.
"A good night to you, sir!"
The dagger-sharp voice bit.
"I beg your pardon,
But more important matters
Are at hand!"

IV. Frost and Flame

Ice dulled her fire
As the news was delivered.
The students parted before her
As she stood,
Departing without a word.
The steam-clouded alleys
Frosted in her wake,
As if they knew her mission
And dared not hinder her.
She knew it would have
Happened eventually -
Ignorant minds feared
What they understood not.
Hand clasped around the guilty's throat,
Pistol to his temple,
She seemed less a lady, more an angel.
"You killed my brother. Now go to him."
Flame-red life scattered over frost
As equivalent exchange took its course.

V. Goddess

"Adrienne-Athena the wise, ever-virgin,"
She could hear a voice dear to her tease,
If only in her mind and memory.
"Ready to lead man into battle for a new dawn!"
Quill scratched across paper desperately,
Scrawling words that had fallen on
Deaf ears far too many times.
'I am not a goddess,
One who admired me so.
I am a woman, human,
Weak as only a human can be.'
Silent tears shimmered in candlelight
As the words burned,
For the words could never be said,
The tears never be seen,
For the sake of
The ironic defeat of
Misery.