A young girl is told frightening stories about the Bell Ringer of Notre Dame. All her life she has known him as a Monster, but something she can't explain tells her that the Monster that frightens Paris is nothing more than a young boy looking for a friend and open arms. One day, she finds herself in a dangerous situation and the one to save her is none other than the one the world has told her to fear.
Hello everyone! Lady of Myth and Legends here! This is a story that I wrote about a year ago when I was having a Hunchback of Notre Dame obsession and this is the product of said obsession! I also reviewed the story again and found many mistakes. So I went back it and fixed all the bugs and issues.
Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING!
IMPORTANT NOTICE: I'm trying my hand at a sequel again. I reviewed this story once more and it's reviews have helped me see that I had to continue. Thank you very much for reviewing and having faith in this story. The sequel is called The Light Within Us. Check it out!
Thank you for your kind words and you encouragement to keep writing! :)
Heaven's Light Shines Upon You
My Mama and Papa frequently told me stories of the Bell Ringer of Notre Dame. They said he was evil; a monster that would come a snatch children from their beds if they were naughty. That he made meat pies out of the bad little boys and girls and that I better behave or I would meet the same fate. I, however, never believed my parents or the stories about the Bell Ringer.
I was ten when I met the Bell Ringer of Notre Dame for the first time. Mama had come to pray and give alms on a Friday evening and I, being a child, wanted to see Notre Dame up close. I had heard how magnificent the cathedral was and wanted to see its beauty for my own eyes. Not that I doubted for an instant, just that I wanted to see it. So, as Mama and I crossed the square, I stopped and stared up at the great cathedral. Notre Dame. The air filled with the chiming and tolling of the bells. So many sounds those bells made! Statues were carved into eaves of the stone walls and the giant Rose Window flashed iridescent colors in the sunlight, causing them to shine across the cobblestones beneath my feet.
"Sophia? Sophia, come along."
I tore my gaze from the beauty of the church and back to my mother. She smiled at me and gestured for me to follow.
"Yes, Mama." I said, hurrying after her as she ascended the steps.
As we entered the church, Mama took my hand in hers and gave a loving squeeze. The inside of the giant cathedral was just as wondrous and breathtaking, if not more so, than the outside. Light shown through he stained-glass windows, throwing their reflective images of the originals onto the opposite walls and onto the black and white checkered floor. Candles lined the walls and in between the giant stone pillars that supported the high vaulted ceiling above. Light and shadow danced together in an unending dance. A wide grin of wonder and awe spread across my face as I turned every which way, trying to take it all in. It practically, and almost literally, stole my breath away.
"Sophia." Mama knelt down beside me, a smile of her own playing across her features.
Mama was very pretty herself, even for a french woman. Her long, blonde hair curled at the ends as it hung about her shoulder, her blue eyes sparkled with light, happiness, and a hint of mischievousness of her own. She was tall and thin, curves in all the right places. Papa often said that he was the luckiest man in Paris to have Mama as his wife. But, he also told me something else. Something he wanted me to always remember: Even if Mama was the ugliest woman in all of Paris, he would have married her still.
When I asked why, he told me this:
"Because Sophie," that was his pet name for me. "Your mama has a kind heart. She shows compassion for the less fortunate and the poor, I'd like to see a woman out due her in the kitchen, she had a certain way with words, she can love a person for all their faults as well. There is more to your Mama than just her looks. That's very important, Sophie; always remember that."
I thought it funny that Papa said that about Mama and other people, but not when it came to the Bell Ringer. I often wondered, what was he really like? Was he the monster that my parents said he was? Did he really make mince meat pies out of children? Instead of being repulsed by the stories, I grew more and more eager to meet the Bell Ringer of Notre Dame. A part of me wanted to find out more about him and who he was. Who he really was, not just some story about him. I wanted to know him. Truly know him.
"Sophia." My mother's clear, sweet voice brought me back from my daze.
"Yes Mama?" I asked quietly, not wanting to disturb those who had come to pray.
"Why don't you have a look around Notre Dame? It is said to be Paris' finest work. Besides you, being the curious little thing you are, would run off anyway. Just be sure to stay on the ground floor and stay away from the staircases. You are NOT to go above the Sanctuary. Is that clear?" Asked my mother sternly.
I nodded my head in agreement, Mama kissed my forehead, and I set out to explore to my heart's content. I looked into every nook and cranny of the Sanctuary, observed every statue, identified every saint, all in about forty-five minutes. Then, I did it again; this time in twenty. It was normal for Mama to strike up a conversation with a friend that happened to be here or even the Archdeacon himself, who proved to be a kind and caring soul. She loved to talk, a trait that I had inherited from her. The only problem? I had no one to talk to. I had very little friends except, Selena. A tall girl for the age of eleven, Selena has beautiful golden, brown skin, chocolate brown eyes, and rich brown hair that flowed like silk. However, she cared more for her appearance than anything else. She hated swimming in the river, playing in mud, dancing in the rain, and curling up with a good book. All things I loved to do. Unfortunately, I had no one to share them with.
I continued looking around, then I came upon a winding staircase that lead upwards towards the bell tower and the high balconies above. I knew that Mama would be furious with me if she found out that I went up there, but I couldn't help it. I started to climb. The staircase was dark, except for the few torches that lined the center pillar that the stairs curved around. As I reached the top, the sun shone with a brightness that blinded me for an instant. I covered my eyes with my hand, allowing my eyes to gently adjust to the change of light. When I had, I removed my hand from my face.
"Oh wow."
That was as much as my mouth could wrap around before being shocked into silence. I had come out onto the rose window balcony (so named because it was the balcony that was in front of the rose window). I walked over to the edge and looked over, taking in the square, people, and shops below me. It was a wonderful sight to see. A cool, summer breeze whipped about my short, curly, copper hair and I closed my eyes to take in the feel of it. I leaned back, keeping my hands on the balcony's edge, and gave a satisfied sigh.
"This is great. Wonderful! I wish I could stay up here forever!"
My next action was a foolish one; I leaned over and looked straight down. Instantly, my heart rose in my throat and I slowly backed away from the edge. I had no idea how high I really was and this wasn't even the highest point of the cathedral! I slumped against the wall, trying to calm my racing heart and shaking hands.
"Oh my! Don't look down . . . ever . . . again." I gave a deep sigh.
I looked about me, trying to focus my mind on something other than how high I was off the ground. To my my right I found another staircase, this one, from were I was, went higher into the cathedral. I got up, walked over to the stairs, and stared up into the slowly growing darkness. By now, I was sure I was pushing the limits. It would be bad enough if Mama found out I disobeyed and climbed a staircase, but to go all the way to the top of the cathedral?! She would murder me.
"I should go back." But, I felt a hint of longing to see what was up there.
Who knows? Maybe I would meet the Bell Ringer. However, the thought of facing Mama and her temper spurred me to turn around and descend the staircase that I climbed moments ago. Suddenly, I heard a shuffling sound behind me. At first, I thought it was some monk come to scold me for being up there without Mama. Then I noticed that the sound was soft and agile, too soft to be an adult's. I turned around just in time to see a flash of green tunic whip around the corner.
'A child! Maybe I can make friends with him!'
So I turned and gave chase, my thoughts racing.
'A new friend. Maybe, if Mama finds out I made a friend up here she won't be so angry. I wonder why their running so fast? Tag maybe? Don't they want to play with me?'
I almost caught up with him around the next corner, but when I turned he was gone. I took the time to bend over and catch my breath. When I looked up again, I was startled. I found myself in what must have been one of the bell-towers of Notre Dame! Beams crisscrossed above me, climbing higher and higher into the tower, bells of every shape and size hung from the beams, ropes dangled from them like snakes from tree branches. A set of wooden stairs led up to a space where curtains came together to form a sort of living space. I had no idea how I got there or how to get back to Mama down in the Sanctuary.
'Mama's going to kill me!'
"He-hello?" I called out timidly, my voice echoing off the bells and walls. I listened for a reply. No answer. So, I climbed the stairs to the curtained space. I reached a wooden ladder propped up against a platform that the living space rested on. I climbed up.
"I know you're up here. I won't hurt you. Please, I'm lost, I don't know how to get back down to . . . the . . ." I trailed off as I reached the top of the ladder.
I slowly walked into the room in complete awe. A replica of Notre Dame, a few surrounding shops, homes, a bridge, and small carved figures of townspeople rested on a wooden table. I inched closer, wanting a better look. As I got closer, I saw that the table itself was makeshift. A board had been placed across the lower half of a broken statue and an upside-down barrel. A chandelier of spare or broken stained-glass hung over the table. It flickered light and colors all around the room, like rainbows. A box of carpenters tools sat beside a small stool in front of the table.
'Someone lives here! Here! Inside the bell tower of Notre Dame! This must be were the Bell Ringer lives. Then, the person I saw was . . .'
Suddenly, I felt very uneasy. As if I was invading someone's home. Well I was, but not the point. I took a step back, preparing to go. I was afraid, not of the Bell Ringer, but of my mother. If she found out that I climbed all the way to the bell tower, she would never let me out of her sight again!
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I'll . . I'll just . . go." I trailed off as I backed away, then . . . nothing.
What I mean is, I felt nothing beneath one of my feet. I had backed away too far and now only had one foot on solid ground. I panicked, and in my effort to right myself, I lost my balance and fell. I screamed, shutting my eyes so I couldn't see the impact. Mama would be even more furious with me now and the church officials would have to scrape my body off a beam or bell.
'What if they blamed the Bell Ringer?!'
"Hang on!" A voice; a boy's voice. A soft, sweet, musical sound. Bells; just like bells.
Then, I was in someone's arms. Not daring to open my eyes, I put my arms around the boy and held on to him with all my might. As I did, I felt a strange lump on his back. Then, with a soft *thump*, we landed.
'Landed? How?'
I cracked opened one eye, looked up, and saw the platform from where I had fallen. It must have been twenty feet.
'I fell from that high?'
"Are you hurt?" The twinkling of bells again; hesitant and almost fearful.
I turned in the boy's arms which help me tightly. We were both in shadow, so I couldn't see his face clearly.
"No. Thank you. I'm very sorry, I didn't mean to pry. I just . . ." I looked away, feeling ashamed at myself for falling and having to have this boy catch me.
He lowered me to the ground; dropping his hands from my waist. He dropped his gaze and shuffled his feet and it was at this point I noticed he was trying to avoid eye contact with me.
"It's alright." Still remaining in shadow, he turned and began to walk away. "As long as you are not hurt."
"Wait!"
I reached out and caught him by the arm. He flinched at my touch, ripping it out of my grasp with ease. I took a step back, surprised at his aggressive response, and turned my eyes to the wooden floor beneath my feet.
"Sorry. I- . . . What is your name?" I mumbled, not daring to look up at him.
When he didn't answer for several seconds, I took a chance and met his eyes. He wore a sad expression that filled his eyes with unhappiness and remorse, or one of them anyway. It seemed the other eye was obstructed, only a small gleam could be seen, even in the darkness. Those eyes! They were a pale blue, pale as a summer sky. Sad, but gentle, and beautiful nonetheless. Friends of my parents often complimented on my own eyes, for they too were a light, sky blue. Telling my mother that they had never seen such a shade of blue before, especially since I had a dark indigo ring around my iris.
"The purest blue I have ever seen." An old man once told my mother.
"I'm . . ." He paused, then changed the subject. "Did . . . did I hurt you?" His voice shook, fear ringing in his soft tone.
I felt crestfallen at that point. I wanted to know his name, but he looked so afraid that I didn't push him so I shook my head.
"No, you didn't hurt me. Don't be afraid, I promise I won't hurt you. Why don't you come into the light so I can see you."
At this, the boy retreated deeper into the darkness, shaking his head rapidly and covering his face with his hands.
"No. Please!" He begged.
'Begged? Why, this boy is afraid of me! Well, I know I'm not the most beautiful girl in Paris, but I didn't think I looked that bad! Wait a minute . . could it be . . ?'
My gaze followed to his back, remembering the strange hump that I felt there. Sure enough, through the darkness, I could barely make out a hump that protruded from his right side.
"Oh. I see." I cocked my head to the side, as if trying to see him from a new angle.
I glanced at the door that I had first entered. The sun shone brightly through the doorway, casting a long line of light to our left. I had an idea. If I could not see him clearly, then surly he could not see me with the same ability. I started to take a small step into the light, but, as I moved, the boy grasped my small hand in his large calloused one, pulling me back into the shadows. For a hand so large, his touch was soft and gentle. Not trace of malice or aggression in his grip.
"It's alright. Watch." I told him, gently as I took my hand from his, and still facing him, I stepped into the light.
His eyes widen, or his one good eye, as he stared at me, taking in my features.
"You're . . ." But he stopped, wonder and awe shone in his eyes and his lips turned up into an awkward smile.
I however, became nervous, letting him see me. People might have complemented on my eyes, but the rest of me. . .I was not pretty by Paris standards. Plain. I was by no means ugly, but I was not beautiful either. I stood at a height of three foot five, a height that was short even for a girl of ten. I was broad chested, not slim, but had a great deal of muscle of my own. Instead of the standard long legs and small torso, I was reversed. Long torso, short legs. I had tiny hands and feet, my hand itself, fingers splayed, was a large as a boy's palm.
My fingers themselves were crooked and bent, not long and slender like Mama's. My face was oval shaped instead of heart. However, I had a few redeeming qualities. I had high cheek bones, full lips, beautiful blue eyes, and bright, curly cooper hair cut in a short style. These were my only redeeming features.
"Go on . . say it. I'm . . . ugly." I shut my eyes and bowed my head.
I did not dare look at him. The boys in town would always make fun of how I looked. They laughed and jeered at me, pulling my hair and at one point, pushed me into the mud. This boy here, I was sure, would be no different. Only my parents found me beautiful, saying once:
"Sophia, you are more beautiful than you know. One day, you will find the man who truly sees you. At least, you are not hideous like the Bell Ringer."
I remember how that broke my heart. That the Bell Ringer had no one to love him, to hold him, to speak kind words to him like my parents did for me, and to tell him that he mattered to someone.
"No." His musical voice echoed through the tower, bouncing off the bells, adding to the harmony.
My head shot up, shock crossed my face. I stood there puzzled and dumfounded.
"What?" My voice was so soft, for a moment I thought I hadn't spoken.
"You are not ugly. You are . . . beautiful."
Doubt filled me, this was the first boy to tell me this.
'Is he lying to me?'
"You're lying." I accused, crossing my arms.
This made the boy frown, shocked that I had questioned his word. That I had accused such a thing of him, he looked insulted.
"Why would I lie to you?! I've never met another child before! What good will it do to lie to the first one I met?" He said defensively.
I could hear the honesty ringing in his musical voice. I sighed, feeling foolish that I questioned him.
"I'm sorry. That was a cruel thing to say." Then I did a double take. "Wait! Wha . . ! You've never met another child before?! Never played before?!"
From the safety of his shadows, the boy shook his head, confirming my question.
"No. I've never been outside the cathedral. I'm not allowed to." His voice was barely a whisper, he hung his head in shame.
"Not allowed to. . . " I trailed off, my temper rising.
'Who wouldn't let a child run and play with others?! Who would keep him up here, all alone?! Never to see the sun, or at least, run about in the sun! It's as if someone's trying to hide him from the world! Not allowed to leave indeed!'
I stopped my rapid thoughts and back trailed. 'It's as if someone's trying to hide him from the world! But, what reason would someone have for hiding him? Surly this boy has committed no crime'
"You never told me your name?" I asked, trying to steady myself.
"Quasimodo." It was barely a whisper.
"Quasimodo? Why would someone name you. . . ?"
At that moment, Quasimodo timidly and very slowly, stepped into the light. I stared, taking in his features. I did not flinch, I didn't gasp, and I didn't even utter a single scream. His left eye was obstructed by a large wart, reducing his vision. You could barely make out a hint of blue that resided within the eye. He had coarse red hair that fell to the right side of his face, covering his good eye. His nose seemed to be shoved up as far as it could go and maintained a large, rounded shape.
His mouth was shaped like a horseshoe, his teeth were slightly crooked, but they were not chipped or broken. His arms and hands resembled a giant's, but, as I said before, his touch was soft and gentle. He caught and held me as if I was china. A rather large hump covered his right shoulder blade, causing him to lean heavily to the left, upsetting his balance. His legs were thin, but strong. He, despite his whole appearance, had an air of agility and nimbleness to him.
To me, he was not Half-Formed as his name suggested. Rather, he had a aura of kindness and purity about him. After all, he had a musical voice, his touch was soft and kind, and he cared about whether or not I was hurt. Despite his looks, he seemed good-natured, kind, and had a certain something that I could not place about him. He was not hideous as my Mama and Papa protraded him, rather he was misunderstood. Like me. Then, I surprised him by giving him the widest smile I had ever given. I reached out, slowly as not to startle him, and took his rather large hand in my small one. I could only grasp a few of his fingers in my gentle grip.
"You are not Half-Formed you know." I whispered softly, staring at our joined hands.
He looked astonished. As if he had never met someone who had never told him that before. As if he was never looked at without someone screaming in terror or looked at with kindness.
"You're . . . you're not afraid of me?" Another musical twinkle, this time, filled with awe and wonder. Then, his expression turned doubtful, the same look I had given him moments ago.
"No."
Quasi opened his mouth as if to protest, but I cut him off.
"I'm not lying. You didn't lie to me, so I won't to you."
He gave me a soft smile, then proceeded to lead me around the bell tower that was his home. He showed me the gargoyles (which he stated were his only friends besides the birds), the balcony outside, (pointing out all the shops and businesses), and then, his favorite: The bells.
"That's Big Marie." He pointed to a huge bell that hung in front of us, then he swung himself onto a beam and proceeded to swing from rafter to rafter, pointing out a series of bells as he went.
"These are Jean-Marie, Anne-Marie, and Louise-Marie. Triplets you know."
He moved with such grace and agility, if you only saw him standing still one would have no idea of how flexible and malleable he could be. He swung with such ease, it was as if he was doing this his whole life. Who knows, with as long as he's been up here, he probably has.
"And who is this?" I asked, as I climbed a ladder and stood in front of the tower's smallest bell.
It was a rather tiny bell, still fairly large, but compared to the others, this one was at least five times smaller, had a dull bronze color, and looked rather old. Quasi swung over to me and dropped down beside me. He placed a hand on my thin shoulder and with the other, took my hand in his, and placed it on the side of the bell.
"This is Little Sophia. Listen."
I closed my eyes, trying to clear my mind so I could focus on the sound. Then, he took my hand off the bell, made his hand into a fist, and carefully gave the bell a gentle hit. A sound I never heard before nor knew could ever exist, filled the tower. A soft, sweet sound. Like gentle whispering. It reminded my very much of his musical tone. It sounded as if Quasi himself was speaking only to me. As if I was the only one who could understand.
"Little Sophia?" I asked in a hushed whisper, not really paying attention to what I was saying. "My name."
At this shocking information, Quasi stumbled and almost fell over.
"What?" He asked quietly, giving me an astonished look.
"My name; the bell's name. It's . . . Sophia." I said, still staring in awe at the bell in front of me.
He recovered, then said: "Then, she is yours. This shall be your bell."
Now it was my turn to be astonished. I whipped around to fully face him, shock clear on my face.
"My bell?!"
"Yes. You may not be able to take her out of the tower, but yes, I give her to you. She is yours . . . Sophia."
I, with all my strength, threw myself at him, wrapping him in a bone crushing embrace. He had said my name with such sweetness, with such a musical note that I couldn't describe it to you even if I tried. From that day forward, The Bell Ringer of Notre Dame and I, Sophia Chevalier, were friends.
The End
Well? How was it? This is my first HBND fic and I think it turned out pretty well. Well, I think it did anyway. Comments, Questions, Ideas? Let me know if there is a story that you want done and I'll take a crack at it. I DON'T do yaoi so that will have no place in my stories. I may do a lemon in the future, but no yaoi!
Please R and R.