The feeling of guilt and cowardice, exacerbated by the stares of the stable master finally drove Esmeralda back up to visit Frollo. No one was about. No servants ventured beyond the work areas save for Elsie, whom Esmeralda was not to interact with anyway. The small girl was nowhere to be found, just like the rest.
She forced herself up the stairs, turned, and opened the door… into a room she'd never seen, let alone expected in the Palace of Justice.
The room was nothing but contrasts, sharp pieces that refused to fit together. The air was stifling and smelled stale and the room obviously abandoned for ages, yet cleaning had been done constantly and everything was bright; someone had tried to keep everything in this room looking new.
The pale orange rays of the sun shone through expensive glass panes in large curtained windows. The curtains were soft and almost glittering, made of expensive imported silk, but the light shining through was bland and disheartening and the gossamer fabric was frayed and attached to a framed of hard, sharp lines that threatened to cut at the touch.
The room was obviously once owned by Frollo. Although the shock of the room was still there, and Esmeralda had forgotten even why she had come in, it was obviously his room. His touch was obvious in the portrait on the wall, and subtle in the tiny, yet simplistic cross and lack of most decoration, not to mention the color scheme.
She began to explore the room in a clockwise direction, barely noticing anything that wasn't in front of her.
Unlike the room Frollo now occupied, there was a grand fireplace, taller than he was, just like in the grand hall. Save for the charred grate and the blackened tile, though, all evidence of its use had been removed.
After that was the sad-looking window. Beyond that was a small wardrobe with intricate carvings. Eager to see what lay beyond, Esmeralda quietly opened the doors. Her curiosity was rewarded with several beautiful dresses, the colors having faded in the ages, leaving only dreams of what they were like behind.
Esmeralda plucked one from its place and held it up to herself, only for her vision of herself as nobility replaced with a feeling of being too big and too wide, much like the nobles themselves who let their appetites turn them into figures resembling blobs of melting lard.
She held the dress away, shocked at its offensiveness, only to realize, the true size of the dress. It had been made for someone much shorter, with barely any endowment to the chest, no hips and barely any defined waist.
Esmeralda set the dress back, suddenly wondering why Frollo would have colorful dresses made for a large child. The question remained as she walked a spade that obviously once contained his large bed, how it had been moved she had no idea or longing to know the boring details of. There was a small table with a stool. On the table were boxes of makeup, perfume, expensive soaps and oils, and jewelry, each just like the other, dark and faded in color and scent. Not even the mirror standing on the table hinted at any answers to the questions she had now.
What answered too many questions, and left too many more were the last two things she found. The first, which she'd assumed was a linen basket or bench, turned out to be the most horrifying thing she's ever though could be in the vicinity of the Palace of Justice and something she could never dream could exist within it: a cradle. Esmeralda had always had some pity for the minister; he was friendless, he was unhappy, and the only way he could become close to that was in hurting others. But she had never thought it possible for her heart to ache for such a man.
She held her hand to her mouth and stifled back tears as her hand gently touched the cushioned floor of the cradle. There had never been a body to dent the pillow and the sheets had always remained cold throughout their existence.
As her fingers touched the pillow under the headboard, they felt something solid underneath. She pulled out the strange object—which turned out to be two—and held them in her hand: wedding rings. Esmeralda stared and contemplated the rings for a long time, one thing and boring, the other thin and finely decorated with etchings and smaller than her own pinky, a man's and woman's respectively.
Something colorful caught her eye and she looked up. The only thing that had not faded in time was an old painting. At first she had thought Frollo to be arrogant enough to have a painting of himself on a wall, but it turned out to contain another figure: the woman who owned the tiny dresses. Tiny, thin, and very blond, the girl who was just barely growing into womanhood chastely held the future minister's hand.
He wore an old houpeland that was outdated even by the time the painting could have been made, likely something he had just inherited. Esmeralda almost laughed, seeing Frollo at a time that his hair was still black. She noticed the girl seemed more confident than he, and there was something missing form his eyes that he owned now. No cunning, no drive, no malice… whatever it was, she did not know.
Esmeralda placed the rings back and quietly slipped out the door. She had forgotten what she was going to do, save for seeing him.