A/N: Originally, I wasn't going to post this short fic, mainly because I thought I was going to work on it more. However, I don't think I will be giving it another once-over, and as my list of fanfics is looking quite dismal... I figured, why not?

Disclaimer: not my characters. ): well, minus the family.


i.

The sun was warm on her back and evidences of spring's arrival surrounded her. Yet, her heart was dark, flooded with disappointment and bitterness, when the cordial woman's smile froze.

'Mother, I'd like you to meet Esmeralda,' says Phoebus. His grin is as wide as ever but his eyes betray him.

'Oh. You—you're a very exotic beauty dear.' A marble mask is suddenly in place.

'Thank you ma'am.' A modest bow of the head.

'Gypsy?'

'…yes.'

ii.

Phoebus' brother was a serious boy. He rarely spoke, and kept mostly to himself, but he held high admiration for his older brother. He smiled only for the one knight in shining armor he wanted to be.

But right now, from what the crack in the door revealed to Esmeralda, there was none to be seen.

'A gypsy?' Theo sounds skeptical.

'And so?'

'What happened to ridding Paris of sin?' Pressure. Disappointment. There was a lot to be said for a disillusioned brother.

'That's a goal I'm still striving for.' Phoebus places a hand on Theo's shoulder.

'But you love a gypsy.'

'Theo—'

'Hypocrite.'

iii.

Esmeralda tries to help the servant (presumed a lower being, like her) but the brown of her hands is scorned and bleeding from biting words.

'Oh, let me clean that for you...'

'No, let this old woman do the kitchen work. You go sit down dear.' Stilted words. An ill dismissal.

'Here, let me—' Esmeralda takes the cloth but it is knocked out of her hands.

'Don't touch anything with your filthy hands!'

Esmeralda later finds a charred cloth buried under decaying scraps and thrown out.

iv.

The dinner table was uncomfortably silent. The tinkering of cutlery grated against her nerves; she was too, too close to breaking.

The father, who sat at the front of the table, was a proud, stern man. It escaped her how Phoebus retained his humour and gentleness, but in a twisted way, she supposed, that was how he had survived. A father was a father, and Esmeralda could not see Phoebus rebelling against him.

'A gypsy, Phoebus? Have you lost your mind?'

'Father?' Phoebus feigns calm.

'She is a common thief! Captain of the Guard, and you do not see this?'

'All I see is a woman who deserves more than I can give.'

The two men are standing. Phoebus' head is raised in defiance.

'Then leave her for others who are able to offer what she wants! Do you intend to soil our good family name?'

'You would know much about offering and soiling wouldn't you, Father?'

A moment of suffocating silence falls heavily on the room.

Hand meets face and there is a sharp, loud crack.

v.

Guilt. Pain. Sadness. Esmeralda wondered if a mere street dancer was worth it all. She refused to meet the eyes of that taxing woman who lingered outside the door. Esmeralda would not be the first to extend a hand that day.

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry…' She's apologizing but he doesn't know why.

'I love you would be better.' There is a smile in that grimace.

Esmeralda soothes the stinging red on his cheek.

'I love you, I love you…'

Now. Now the tears begin to fall. But he kisses them and all is truly well.

vi.

There's something about kindness, Esmeralda now fully understood, that gives way to happier endings.

Esmeralda is outside angrily rubbing her tears away. She had been kicked out of the kitchen, cloth ripped out of hand, once more when all she had been wanting was to bake pastries for the family. A parting farewell to end the past tumultuous weeks. And yet, and yet… she's already found herself at the end.

She marches into the kitchen to let her anger fly, but the hotness fades when she finds the woman, a tired creature, fast asleep in her chair. The pastries are cooling and mounds of sweets are wrapped for a trip. Esmeralda smiles. Her trip, perhaps?

Quietly, a batter stained cloth sits folded on the table.