Beta by LazyChestnut!
My cries echo my stone cloister, my prayers go unanswered as I pray fervently to God to save my soul and my husband's from eternal damnation – basking in Hell's light as Clopin married us in front of the other gypsies in his Court of Miracles and not in a Church. God would decree my husband and I sinners. Sinners!
I lived through the attack of Notre Dame that was to save our sister gypsy La Esmeralda from the clutches of the Court of Parliament. Those who went were slaughtered by the deformed bell ringing devil who threw down stone and wood beams and showering us with melted lead – the raindrops of Hell! The women and children fought like savage cats upon the horses and the men in the king's troops with such brutality that I had ever witnessed.
I watched Clopin himself fight with a scythe, cutting the legs of the horses in a frightful rage and leaving a bloody and horrid trail of blood and severed limbs as he sang a ditty at the top of his voice. I did not see his death, but I saw a man with an arquebus fire at him before I was nearly trampled by a stampeding horse.
I know not of who else lived. Every beggar who had managed to survive fled in all sorts of directions as we were overwhelmed by the troops and the musket fire. Many were trampled if they tripped, their heads crushed by feet and hooves; others were shot by the arquebuses or made their way to the Court safely. La Esmeralda surely lived and did not get into the Parliament's clutches! She is too lovely to die by the hangman's noose.
I am Nicolette de Marchand – noblewoman, wife of a gypsy (he was too absorbed with his dead first wife and his music to care for me) and a nun at the Abbey of Saint-Antoine des Champs – witness all of my downfalls before I wither away and dwell in where ever God dare chooses, if He listened to my prayers or not.
Author's Note: An arquebus is an early muzzle-loaded firearm from the 15th century.
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