Sometimes, when he blew up like this, I wondered why I chose him.
Technically, I hadn't "chosen" him, but I hadn't denied him either. In reality, I thought he was better than my other option, public execution, which is debatable. Regardless, I still question my choice.
I suppose I should ask God for an answer, but I won't. For as long as I could remember, I hadn't needed to rely on faith to help pass the days, and if there was a God, I'm not so sure he knows I exist. Surely, such a divine force would have never allowed this to happen… right?
In a way, Claude Frollo, my husband of many years, is my God now. I do what he wants, praise when I think I should, and hope at night that he'll make things better for me. I have no other Gods above him. I remember one time he had a man arrested for simply looking at me… as if we'd already had an affair by simply exchanging glances.
So, when he decided to teach me how to write, I obliged him. I don't remember when exactly, but I knew it was yet another way to keep control of me. He decided I should learn how to write, and we could still talk to each other through letters when he left for work-related purposes. I still didn't understand why he couldn't have someone just write it for me, but, if I had to guess, I'd say he was ashamed of me. He was ashamed that he'd not only married a heathen gypsy, but an illiterate, "dumb" one as well. Actually, he hasn't gone on any trips for as long as we've been together. I don't know why, but something tells me the surprise return of a certain blonde-haired captain changed his plans. Again, why didn't he just have him exiled? I don't want to see Phoebus ever again. He was part of my old life, and that part of me had no place here.
There's something you need to understand with Frollo: he never simplifies anything. You'd think otherwise, but in reality, if that were true, he would've just kidnapped me and made me his wife as soon as he realized his "all-consuming" love for me. Instead, we played ring-around, and he sent me to prison, had me tortured, and then kidnapped me to be his wife. I still don't understand his constant need to complicate things. I guess I should probably tell you the entire story from start to finish, but I'm afraid of what will happen when I do.
Sometimes, I convince myself it's not even real. I told myself I didn't have a past. For a while, that was the only way to survive, especially when Phoebus came back to Paris. One day, though, during my daily prayers, I realized that there was no hiding from what happened to me. If I denied myself a past, I would be giving into my new life with Frollo. So, I decided, I'll write it down. I'll tell you everything that happened to me, and then maybe I'll find some solace in my life…maybe. Maybe I'll be able to move on, but I'm still not sure if I want to.
Although, I suppose it's not much of a story. I feel like stories should be told in grand halls with an audience. At least then, there's somebody to delight. I believe the same with dance and song: it's not the same if there's nobody there to enjoy it with you. I guess I should just get on with it and become satisfied that my audience is now a piece of paper.