Well, well, well...As I read a lot of stories about Clopin Trouillefou, I decided that maybe, I could write one aswell. Here's the Prologue. Hope you'll like it.

PROLOGUE

Clopin Trouillefou was walking alone in the cold streets of Paris. Oh, he really liked that city, thinking about its natural beauty and mystery, but never he would have it as its favorite one. Clopin was a strange man. Tall and thin, his body attracted a lot of eyes on him, leaving him a bit of time before those same people change their amazed gaze on him to a disgusted one. Looking up at his face, everybody could see that he was a gypsy. Tanned skin, mid-long black hair and a nicely long goatee, his face wasn't ordinary for the Parisian people.

The fresh morning awoke him quickly as he kept on taking wide steps. Clopin didn't like when people saw him in his ordinary outfit. Indeed, he wanted to keep that as secret as he could. Of course, a few habitants saw him dressed like that, but he didn't want any children to see the real 'him'.

Why that? Because Clopin was a storyteller. And he just loved the way children could hang on every word that left his lips. He remembered the first time he did that job. Only like two or three kids were there, almost mocking his looks, but never he gave up, and now, he was really loved by those sweethearts.

Finally Clopin saw his caravan, his workplace. Sighing, he opened the door and wasted no time undressing to change into more joyful clothes. Soon enough, he was full of colors. Blue, different shades of purple and gold, the gypsy knew how much his young audience loved this outfit, a jester one.

Finally opening the curtain, Clopin looked down to see four children, grinning, he greeted them happily.

"Good morning little ones. What tale would you want to hear today?"

A great silence answered him, and his smile widened. Then, his beautiful voice of his started singing those lines:

"Morning in Paris, the city awakes to the bells of Notre Dame

The fisherman fishes, the baker man bakes to the bells of Notre Dame
To the big bells as loud as the thunder, to the little bells soft as a psalm
And some say the soul of the city's the toll of the bells…
The bells of Notre Dame…"

Immediately after that little song, Clopin had everybody's attention, and here the story began.

"Listen, they're beautiful, no?...So many colors of sound, so many changing mood. Because you know, they don't ring all by themselves!

-They don't? Said a little puppet that looked like him.

-No, silly boy. Up there, high, high in the dark bell tower lives the mysterious bell ringer."

At that time, Clopin didn't know that, but there wasn't only children listening to him. Hidden in the shadow, a young woman was clinging to every word he said…