Ripensando ancora a me
E se ti servira lo mostri al mondo
Che non sa che vit c'e nel cuore che distratto sembre assente
Non sa che vita c'e in quello che soltanto il cuore sante
Non sa
He entered the large dining room, paying no attention to the maid as she put breakfast in front of him. He muttered an aloof and frigid "thanks" before she departed but once more, felt no desire to eat. He only did so because he wouldn't be able to concentrate when his stomach protested at the decision he made earlier that day. Claude didn't look at his food, taking small bites as he kept his gaze locked on the chair that's owner was elsewhere, displaced from where she should truly be.
She should be sitting across from him, striking up lively conversation, telling embarrassing stories from her childhood and forcing Claude to do the same to which he would take at least five minutes deliberately and attempting to find a moment in his stern, quiet, and strict childhood. He reluctantly told her, never truly enjoying revealing the stories but when she smiled and laughed, he couldn't care less. He would do anything to just see her smile, hear her laugh that was a sweet, sweet melody to his ears, knowing that he was the one that caused the cheerfulness. But she was gone, so was her light, her cheerfulness and therefore, his happiness, his joy. The conversations were gone and life returned to how it was before she had come into it.
Claude knew that his life was… stale, if that was the word. He knew that it always lacked something. It didn't lack a child, an object or anything that could easily be found. No, it was something he had to earn. It lacked someone to love and someone who loved him back. He knew that Quasimodo loved him in one shape, way, or form and he in return. He was his master, after all. But that wasn't it. No. He needed the love that Esmeralda gave him. He needed to see that twinkle of admiration in her stunning emerald eyes whenever she saw him, needed to feel that loved filled kiss against his lips, that comforting hold after a bad nightmare and words of love and reassurance to calm him. That was what he truly needed.
He no longer had anything to offer to this world. Everything he had was ripped away from him. She now owned it all and she kept it with her. The only thing that had remained was hope for her return and even then, it was slowly being torn away, bit by bit, second by second and he was oblivious on what to do if every little piece of the hope left, ripped from him, never to return, even if he got all the reassurance in the world.
Claude made his way to his office, glancing over at a room next to his where she could stay if not in town. The room held nothing now but it only had some shawls and a few tambourines ranging in sizes at the most. Sometimes, when he was working, he heard quiet music from the room next to him and found himself rather enjoying the soft jingles of the tambourines. They relaxed him, soothed him as he worked.
And then there was the goat that always remained by her side, trotting along and acting like her protector. He had to admit it himself, he did find that adorable and charming in many ways, even if he refused to reveal it. And as if Esmeralda knew about his secret admiration for the little pest, as he put it, she would tease him endlessly about it. He, in return, would deny it and continue on. Hell, even Djali seemed as if he was mocking Claude. The minister would reply with a light nudge and then leave, only for the both of them to follow him around. He would never admit it for he held too much pride and dignity. Why should he anyways? Besides, the loss of dignity, the loss of peace would come swiftly after.
Claude had even threatened to get rid of Djali if he continued to annoy him but the lack of authority behind the threat simply caused Esmeralda to roll her eyes and smile. He earned himself a small kiss as well. Maybe he should threaten her more often. Well, not burn down all of Paris threaten but threaten nonetheless.
Now, besides Esmeralda, all he could think about was that goat. He never could have suspected in his entire life to feel such sorrow for any annoying little goat who no longer bleated angrily at him or ate the flowers in his garden. Like the saying, God works in mysterious ways and how Claude's life had turned around from the Festival of Fools was nothing short of mysterious.