A/N: This is just a little short I wrote the beginning of my sophomore year. It was originally about the cathedral in Washington D.C., but all I did was add Notre Dame and the last paragraph and the ending sentence.
Yeah, I know it's cheesy and over-the-top, but I love cheese, so whatever.
The silent cathedral of Notre Dame stood out of place in the bustling city of Paris. The ancient church seemed to stretch and pierce the sky with its pale towers. Gargoyles crouched upon the ledges with wings unsheathed as they scorned mortals who passed by. Their long claws grasped the shelf in a way that said the building belonged to them. The rough stone that formed the eerie cathedral were placed firmly together in a clean and cut manner, making it appear serious and sharp-edged. Contrasting with the straight-lined foundation, the arch that slithered its way around the looming dark doors curved in against the stone slabs and tapered to a dangerous point at the top.
Though the mystifying aura that enveloped the church was subdued by the bright light of the afternoon sun, the heart of that aura seemed to reside within the holy lair. The intricate ceiling was so high that its atmosphere seemed to hold its own darkness. Colorful light bled onto the stone floor from the stained glass windows, shards of reds, blues and other arrays of shades making it up. Polished pews aligned the main room, quietly waiting for service. They faced the pope's altar, which stood tall with large statues of biblical figures that loomed over with their cold delicate hands folded in prayer. What contributed heavily to the eerie atmosphere were the tombs that lay in the thick shadows of the cathedral. They were carved in with Latin phrases, a seemingly tedious procedure. It was slightly frightening to know that bodies lay underneath the lids, making it easy to imagine their dead brittle fingers reaching out from within and trying to catch a single thread of light that they missed from their previous living state.
Some people find the comfort of prayer in Notre Dame; others feel an unnerving sensation being in a place so close to both the Holy Father and the dead. But for one, one special soul, the cathedral is a playing card, like the ones the colorful gypsies use. One side is a safe haven: a blessing from darkness of the outside world. The other was a curse of being trapped, with the tall beacons of stone confining him from ever discovering what's out there. Someday, he will break free from Notre Dame's hold, from his master's as well. He will experience the busy streets, the markets, freedom; a life he has always wanted. And, perhaps, he might find friendship and, if he dared to hope, love. Someday he will find these things. Not today, not tomorrow, but someday.
For now, though, he will stay inside Notre Dame, along with its angels and demons. Dreaming.
