Chapter 1

The Escape

"See my dear Coralie, how these beings from hell party and try to seduce and twist our minds."

"Oui oncle Claude," Coralie replied, resting her delicate hands on her lap.

Despite her uncle's reprehension towards the crew of dancing gypsies, Coralie found the way they danced and entertained Paris, a good way to celebrate life. She had a terrible urge to dance and jump all around with them, but she knew how furious her uncle would be if she mentioned that.

"You have to gather all your strengths to resist their witchcraft and mischievous ways, you hear me?" Frollo asked her with hate in his voice.

"Oui, oncle Claude," she said brushing a lock of hair away from her eyes.

He kept on showing his revulsion towards the gypsies, and each word he spoke was filled with venom. But she didn't care. She was seeing the colours and listening to the music that filled Paris' streets on that sixth of January.

A group of people was gathered around a woman whose dark hair floated and hopped along with her well trained body, while she was dancing. A goat danced alongside her holding a hat and greeting anyone who was kind enough to give them a coin.

Not far, a man entertained a group of children with a couple of puppets. She heard the children laugh, and felt her heart content. 'I should be there, listening to the story. Not here listening to him,' she thought. She had the sudden image of the storyteller shoving a puppet down Frollo's throat, and she laughed.

"What is it you find amusing, ma nièce?" Frollo asked her. Then he followed her gaze and looked reprovingly at her. "Didn't I tell t you not to fall for their evil ways, Coralie?"

"Yes uncle. I'm sorry. It won't happen again," she said. And all joy she felt went away with his words.

"You are a little devil, aren't you? No wonder your mother died early, my poor sister. Having to raise a rebel like you," he said sharply. "I'm glad I get to raise you now."

She clenched her hands on her dress, biting her tongue not to send Frollo to hell. She looked at him furiously, only to hear another wave of children laughter. She thought hard and finally decided to ask her uncle for a tiny little favour.

"Oncle Claude, may I ask you for something?" She said in her best smile.

"What?"

"I would like to go for a walk, and get to know Paris. Will you allow me?" She asked.

Frollo looked at her and his thin lips almost disappeared in what she thought was a smile.

"I can't see why not. But I will assign a body guard, for your own safety," Frollo said. "Tréville!" he called.

A fat man in a grey and black suit approached them. His fluffy moustache covered his top lip, and his equally fluffy eyebrows covered his eyes almost completely. Tréville paid continence to the Judge, and waited for orders.

"My niece would like to go for a stroll. I'm counting on you to keep an eye on her, and not letting her get hurt. Am I clear?" Frollo said.

"Oui, Monsieur," replied Tréville.

"You know what will happen if you fail, don't you?" Frollo said viciously, and Coralie felt sorry for the man, but she knew better then to interfere.

"Oui, Monsieur," Tréville said in a rough voice.

"Of you go," Frollo said.

"Merci, oncle" Coralie thanked him, kissing the emerald ring in his index finger.

While she walked away from the Judge's cabin, she felt an urge to run and dance with the gypsies. But before she did so, she had to create a diversion, and get rid of Monsieur Tréville.

As they walked to the crowded streets, the guard was telling her some stories and legends that happened here and there, laughing behind his moustache. When they turned to the main street, Coralie saw the perfect opportunity to run away. She slowly begun to pull her skirts up, and prepared to run, and never look back.

And so she went. Running wild and trying not to collide with anyone. Some looked amusingly to her, and some, mostly women, reproved the way she was running with her skirts pulled up like that. The guard could not spot her anywhere, but, just to be sure she really got him out of track, she shoved into a tight street, and made a couple of left turns and right turns next to those. After a few "Pardon" and "Excuse me, coming through!" she finally stopped.

She was panting hard, but laughing melodically, happy to have escaped both her horrible uncle and a guard in less than an hour. She let go of her skirts and started to dance happily around. Coralie could not believe she was free. Although it meant problems with Frollo when returning home. But she could always say she got lost. Anyways, she would enjoy these short hours of freedom, and dance like she used to with her mother.

Coralie was dancing to a flautists tune when suddenly someone collided with her. She fell on her hands taking most of her weight and stopping her before her face met the stone floor. A piece of purple cloth flew over her to the floor in front of her.

"Mon Dieu, Mademoiselle!" a man said. "I'm so sorry! Are you alright? I didn't see you." he's voice was concerned.

"Obviously," she said, looking at his colourful vestments.

'Did I just collide with a rainbow?' she thought. But when looking at the man's face she smiled. He was the storyteller, the one with the puppets. He was wearing a pink mask, and his clothing was as colourful as a summer day. He held her hand and helped her stand up.

"Are you alright?" he repeated looking concernedly at her left arm. "You are bleeding," he said.

"I am?" She said picking the purple flying cloth from the floor. It was a hat, with two wonderful yellow feathers waving in the wind. "Here, Monsieur, your hat."

The man put on his hat and grabbed Coralie's arm.

"Clopin, dépêche-toi! We are going to perform in ten minutes!" a woman shouted at him, running with a goat by her side.

"Coming, chère! Let me just help this young lady. I'll be right there," he said with a smile, and behind the mask, his eyes smiled too.

Then he reached a purple and yellow silk handkerchief and involved Coralie's bloody arm.

"Once again, I'm sorry for my clumsiness," he said politely. "Will you come and see our performance?" he asked her. "La Esmeralda is the best dancer in Paris!"

"Sure, Monsieur, I will." she said with a smile. "And thank you for the bandage." She said.

He lifted his hat in a greeting and then disappeared in the crowd. Only then she had the instinct to look at her arm. It was bleeding alright. The sleeve of her dress was completely soaked wet in red liquid, and the colourful cloth was starting to add red to its beautiful purple and yellow tones.

'Oh! He was a gypsy!' she realized. 'And he definitely didn't harm me. Why does oncle Frollo hate them so much?' she asked to herself. 'He was kind to me. Not mischievous at all," she kept on, following the crowd to the main stage set near the majestic Notre Dame.

There they were, the man with the mask and the dancer. He was singing joyfully and she was dancing elegantly, showing everyone what gypsy's blood was made of: pure fire and bliss.

She had to agree with him, she must be the best dancer in Paris, or maybe in the world. There was nothing wrong in the way she moved. And they made a perfect team, coordinating the lyrics and the movements as the rhythm of two synchronized heartbeats. Once again she felt that jolt of joy and started to wave her body in an attempt to dance, but next to La Esmeralda, as the man called her, she was nothing but a joke.

When the performance ended, the crowd started to get excited, for next would be the election of the King of Fools. Coralie seemed quite excited about this Festival. Her mother used to tell her stories about the Feast of Fools. "I met your father during the festival, and we instantly fell in love for each other," she used to tell her with a bright, kind smile on her face.

Several men were pulled to the stage, but before Coralie could see what happened, she spotted a fat man in a grey and black suit.

"Oh, no! Tréville!" she mumbled quietly, and turning away, calculating an easy escape.

She saw the big oak doors to the mighty Cathedral and started to meander through the crowd.

"Pardon Madame," she said. "Excuse moi, Monsieur," she murmured, until she finally reached Notre Dame's entrance.

She reluctantly walked in the building, looking back over her shoulder to see if Monsieur Tréville wasn't following her. As she turned to face the insides of the Cathedral, she gasped in awe.

A/N: Oh, sweet pineapple pie. Right, so here's the first chapter of the first HoND i've written.

I should probably make some warnings here for bad English and even nastier French, since none of these are my native language. So if you spot any mistakes, please be gentle and mend me, 'kay?
Hope you guys like this and please...REVIEW :)

Music: Sky Stroll - Howl's moving Castle OST

*Bloo*