Whoo! The first chapter of my prequel! Now, unlike the...um...sequel?...this one isn't finished. I will TRY not to lose interest, I promise. But I have quite a bit down, anyway, so you shouldn't be worried. Here it is!

Another note: You may recognize some parts from the flashback in the original, and if you hate re-reading stuff like that, don't worry, I changed some of it a little bit. Just think of it as the details that weren't remembered.

A Tale of Devoted Vigilance
First

"Semmary, go get some bread!" Bartholomé Dufila called out to his only daughter, sticking his head out of the caravan window. "We're out again!"

Semmary sighed. "Can't you get it yourself?" she half-heartedly asked. "I'm busy here."

"You aren't," her father shouted at her. "Go get the bread!"

Semmary's mother was heard from inside the caravan. "Stop yelling at her, Bartholomé!" she was shrieking. "She's done nothing to you!"

"Well, Isadora, if she wasn't lying around all day like a lump on a log—!"

"Fine!" Semmary yelled. "I'll go get the bread!" With that, she stood up, abandoning her cloth coloring to fetch the bread. As she headed to the markets, she muttered, "Would you like it shoved down your throat or shoved up your—"

"Associate yourself with these beautiful jewels," a vendor called out to Semmary as she passed. She sighed.

"I have no money, sir," she muttered to him. "I'm only twelve."

She got to the bread shop and sighed again. Unfortunately, she was going to have to do what she really didn't like doing.

Semmary pressed her back to the wall inside an alley, looking around the corner to see if the baker had left his post at the window. When he did, she leapt into action, running to the window and snatching a loaf off of the sill. Thankfully no one saw her.

She had to be swift about getting home. She knew a way to get to her family's caravan quicker by cutting through Notre Dame. She had gotten safely inside, closing the giant doors behind her, and she was halfway through it when a man suddenly fell from what appeared to her to be the ceiling. He crouched in front of her.

"Aren't you going to claim Sanctuary?"

"Merde!" Semmary cried, dropping the bread and covering her mouth quickly.

The man had a peculiar purple mask on and a tattered blue hat with a feather the same color as the mask. He frowned, remaining in the crouched position.

"Or I suppose you could claim an expletive. Although why you chose that particular one…." He dusted his arms. "Aren't you a little young to be going around cursing like a Viking?" he asked mysteriously. "Let alone in a house of God?" He stood up straight, revealing himself to be several feet taller than little Semmary, and very slim in build. He was obviously an acrobat of some kind.

"I don't believe in God," Semmary hissed, picking the bread back up and glaring at the man. She wasn't about to reveal more until she knew who this man was. "Who are you and where did you come from?"

"I'm your worst nightmare and I came from my mother."

Semmary raised an eyebrow, remaining silent.

"Well, honestly," the man said dramatically, crossing his arms. "Not only did you insult God, but you insulted God in a house of God. You didn't really think I was going to tell you my name, did you?"

"I guess only the faithful deserve a name and only the faithful deserve to know it, huh?" Semmary snapped, pushing past him and continuing on her way.

The man was silent for a minute.

"You're very mature for your age, Semmary."

She stopped in her tracks and looked at the ground. It took her a few seconds to realize that he'd called her by her name…which she hadn't said at all. She slowly turned around.

"Who are you?" she asked again, this time with a softer voice. She still had caution, however.

He smiled and bowed, removing his hat. "Clopin Trouillefou."

"Oh, great," Semmary groaned. "I insulted the Gypsy King!"

"Ah, ah, ah!" Clopin hissed suddenly, raising his hands to hush her. "We'll keep this 'king' business between the gypsies, yes?" He sighed and went over to Semmary, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Judge Claude Frollo would not appreciate hearing there were gypsies in Notre Dame, let alone the king."

Semmary looked up, attempting to find where he'd been suspended or perched before he'd dropped down. There was nothing but a balcony, and that was too far away. "Where were you…I mean…how were you…?"

The Gypsy King laughed. "Ah, I can do many things, Semma." He frowned. "You don't mind if I call you Semma, do you?"

She shook her head.

"Well, anyways," Clopin continued as he and Semmary walked to the pews, "you're probably wondering why I risked coming here." He stopped walking, as did Semmary, and he stared in horror in front of him. "Behind the pews, now," he hissed.

Semmary dove behind a pew, preparing to cover her head. She gazed out of a space between the bottom of the pew and the floor, and she nearly gasped when she recognized the haughty, conservative gait that a certain Claude Frollo possessed. He passed her with an upturned nose, not even noticing her. When Semmary was sure he was gone, she came out from behind the pew.

"That was close." She turned…but Clopin wasn't anywhere. She sighed. "Figures."

What'd you think, eh? You like it so far?