Eponine Thénardier

Eponine is somewhat aware of the fact that she hasn't been herself over the past few days. The rapid disappearance of her fever and the hacking, lugubrious cough and plugged nose have been major clues that she's ill, with the same sort of dreamy, delirious fever that would wrack her when she was sick in the slums.

She still has the occasional urge to paint her face, cover herself in fur and dance like a can-can girl.

It's something she assumes - hopes - will pass eventually. The fur-trimmed blanket lying over her is something of a compromise to the illness.

Visitors welcome.