A/N Thank you all those that wanted me to update. Sorry to say this chapter is a little shorter than most of them but I haven't had a lot of time to write lately. I really appreciate all your favorites and reviews, and honestly, I don't think I would've continued this or my other works otherwise! Enjoy!


So many times, she lamented looking out at the expanse of Paris from the South tower of Notre Dame, her ginger locks spilling in the breeze and the pale light of the moon. So many times she'd looked into the streets and watched a happy pair grow throughout the years. She'd watch them shout and scold, she'd watch them scorn and jeer, but every so often there was a pang of jealousy in her deformed body as she longed to experience that same feeling she'd never put thought into or payed any mind to until now.

Until Esmerald had kissed her.

She was a demon's spawn, cursed by God to look this way when there was nothing she could improve upon or do to change it. She was doomed for some kind of sin her mother had partaken in when she was in the womb. Before she'd held ire in her heart, blamed either herself or her gypsy mother for her troubles. But now she felt at peace for once. Not because she'd changed her mind, but because as much as her mother had abandoned her, she couldn't wished a burden like being a hunchback on a child. Nobody could've. Quasimoda just didn't think there was enough bad in the world that someone would want to deform a baby, the most cherished, loved, and innocent thing in the world. But she was no longer a baby, and that meant she could be hurt and more than often was.

But now someone had shown the ultimate symbol of affection short of things she wouldn't voice out loud. Someone out there loved her. And he was so perfect, she couldn't even begin to describe what she wanted now. She'd gone from desire to dizziness to terror to regret and back to terror again before finally reaching a new feeling she'd never honestly experienced in the way she did.

Growing up she had many girl crushes on boys that wandered around Paris, but these quickly fizzled out under Frollo's watch, warning her time and time again they could never reciprocate. Eventually she'd come to believe it herself. She wasn't meant for such luck when she was needed to ring the bells.

"Speak of the devil."

She sighed and looked at the small clock that was pegged into one of the columns by Frollo after she'd noticed one too many times a younger hunchback was behind on time when she was supposed to be ringing the bells. The carving she'd been immersed in paid dearly for her mistake and as far as she knew was still in the square today, the judge having tossed it from the rafters in anger. The clock was still five minutes to seven.

Given her skills, Quasimoda let a small grin cross her face. She could at least start something in five minutes. Pushing herself from the rail of the rafter, she ignored the chatting of the gargoyles in the next room as she set to work on a piece that she'd need to hide later.

Taking a block and her carving knife from the table, she blew any stray shavings away and slid the blade along the wood, repeating the motion as the clock ticked down. Slowly but surely, a torso and head began to form. Eyes focused on the crown of its head, she used the tip to whittle dunes of hair that shrouded the figure. Its chest was form fitting and arms were thick, like the mighty pillars carved from entire tree trunks. She finished the outline when an absurd little chime sounded right in the middle of her hobby, making her grind the tip of the knife along the wooden figures left arm. She didn't curse, but she groaned and threw the figure down.

The bells pealed and echoed in the tower as the hunchback marveled in her clumsiness. The real Esmerald didn't have a gaping scar on his left arm and it irritated her to no end. This sort of thing had happened before, and like all those other times she continued to whittle the block anyway, seeing no point in tossing the nearly complete figure.

The gargoyles marveled in her creation as she began to paint it to reflect the true man who'd shown her so much, her face contorted in concentration as she swirled the purples and pale greens until they became the shade she could use. His eyes seemed to sparkle in the light, the gold leaf she'd used sparingly going all to the gypsy boy and his golden adornments. Like any god, he needed to be treated carefully.

Through this, she found herself humming a tune as a smile worked its way along her face, her little statuette nearing completion as she strolled to the rafters edge, a moonlit Seine dancing it's reflective waters across the multistory homes and apartments.

"So many times out there, I've watched a happy pair, of lovers walking in the night," She soft voice echoed in the tower as she stroked a royal purple into his pants.

"They had a sort of glow around them, it almost looked like Heaven's Light." The hunchback set little Esmerald down on the edge and went over to her table realizing in that moment she'd had so many couples in her little Paris. It was the city of love, after all.

"I knew I'd never know," She sang and pressed two large beefy arms on the table. "That warm and loving loving glow, and though I wish with all my might…" With two people near, she nudged them into one another until the woman was leaning on the man, their little smiles making her feel weak once more as she looked across the little square to herself.

"No face as hideous, as my face," Her hand gently lifted the figure to the light of the night's sky. Was ever meant for Heaven's Light," With a sad gaze she pulled her self portrait down from the warm light of the sky, knowing someone like her couldn't have that same experience.

And yet, she looked back at the rail where Esmerald stood near complete. He was still there. He was a true friend to someone so ugly. His smile was there, joyful and snarky like his true form. "But suddenly an angel has smiled at me, and kissed my cheek without a hint of fright." Before she could realize it, her hand was closed around the figure as she carried to its new home and placed it on the bridge.

"My cold dark tower seems so bright," She reached for her own figure and removed it from the square, sliding it onto the bridge beside the gypsy boy he so adored. "I swear it must be Heaven's Light!"

A smile shone in the light as she climbed up the steps to do something she hadn't done in a long time. She had an hour before she was needed again. She spent that hour as she pleased, up on the roof of her tower, looking up at the stars and heavens above, pride coursing through her bones with someone she cared about in her life. For once, she truly felt at peace. It only lasted a moment before a loud crash came from downstairs, and the hunchback sighed before choosing not to ignore it and investigate. It was her home, after all.

Her hands dug into the wooden rafters as she took the scenic route through the bell tower, swinging from beam to beam and waiting with baited breath for the maker of the sound to reveal itself. It could've been anything. A pigeon, or Leon, perhaps. Instead, she got a fair bit of surprise when a blinding flash of gold hit her vision, the smouldering torch the soldier's hand casting a long, buff shadow across the walls of the tower. She released a low growl and allowed herself to slink down the columns until her shoes brushed the worn wooden planks.

That peace was gone, and of course it had to be someone else, a soldier, no less, coming into her and everyone's sanctuary to mess everything up. Of course, Esmerald was most likely out of harm's way for the moment, but they couldn't have noticed his absence that quickly… could they?

With a tough choice between being courageous or groveling and begging for forgiveness, Quasimoda narrowed her gaze as the golden soldier seemed even more familiar. The shock of straw blond hair only served to remind her that this wasn't just any old man of Frollo's guard. It was - Pheobus? Phebre? Something like that anyhow, - the captain of the guard and highest authority aside from her mistress herself. In two decades Quasimoda had seen more captains than Christmases. So far this girl was only the third female of that rank under the judge's command, and the other two had fallen pregnant and were ousted before their first year. This girl didn't seem as promising as the others, and with that in mind, the hunchback hid in the shadows of the columns, waiting for the perfect moment to surprise her.

She was a foot behind the captain before she apparently realized the ginger was there, and whirled around to face her, sword safely in her home per the archdeacon's orders. It was a ruse with some truth to it. She'd come into the cathedral under the guise of coming to pray. Sneaking up those winding steps and finding a way to do it quietly was practically impossible, but it was still done with no suspicion on the holy man's part as his eyes were shut for the beginning of Confiteor, his incense filled thurible swinging lightly as if guided by a gentle breeze.

She'd had things to confess that night, but not to God.

"What is your name?" The deformed woman questioned with an accusatory growl as Phoebe's gauntlet closed around the empty space of air where her sword should've been. She'd had no intentions of using it, but it would've been nice to have some security.

"Phoebe." She answered. "Captain Phoebe." She took a step back as the hunchback took a step forward.

A sickened feeling was swelling in her stomach, but it was a thrilling rush of adrenaline as she bored deep into the gold plated trophy of her mistress, a fine example of everything Quasimoda herself wasn't.

"Well, Captain Phoebe," She flaunted the title with as little jealousy as she could allow enter her tone. Something about this girl left a sour taste in her mouth, and she didn't like it. "I saw you get led out of this church by the archdeacon. Your kind aren't welcome in the church; much less up here!"

"But your kind are." Phoebe shot back before immediately regretting her choice of words.

"My kind?!" She shouted.

"That's not what I meant-"

"Get out! Out!" Quasimoda grabbed the torch from the captain with a beefy hand and waved at it at her as if she were attempting to ward away a wicked spirit.

"Please, I don't want any trouble, I just wanted to see Esmerald!" She dodged the burning club as she was being led out of the tower by force.

"He is no concern of yours!" The deformed woman growled as they reached the spiral staircase. "Sanctuary! You should know what that means, seeing as you trapped him here!"

"I knew what it meant!" The captain snapped. "But I wasn't trying to trap him here, I was trying protect him! I mean him no harm!"

Her eyes narrowed with a vicious hate that the captain didn't know was possible before that night, a feeling of protection gleaming in the young hunchbacks eyes. It was almost as if she cared for him.

"Get out!" She screamed and got the torch within an inch of the blondes face before Phoebe recalled her dirk, impaling the wooden torch with the shining silver blade and stopping the adopted hunchback from doing anything more before she hurt her.

Well, with the torch, at least. Her other hand was clasped around the cobalt blue of the captains coarse cape. Despite this, however, Phoebe wasn't the least bit afraid. She'd subdued her for the moment, and would use that moment to make her statement in a way that the possibly feeble minded hunchback could understand.

"Tell him from me, Quasimoda," She used the name that fit Frollo's vague description. "That I'm sorry. I didn't have any other choice. I may have trapped him here, but it was the only way I could keep him safe from Frollo and her goons."

"Your goons." The hunchback reminded her in a low, hushed voice, the gleam of hostility replaced with a healthy green hazel that reflected only innocence for a moment before hardening like cement.

"My goons, fine." She corrected herself with the tiniest of groans. "But I'm telling the truth. I don't want him locked away and at her mercy. Can you tell him that, from me?"

The ginger haired hunchback scowled at her, consideration visible on every inch of her face as her bottom lip curled under her bucked front teeth. "Her mercy." She echoed. "You're talking about Mistress?"

Phoebe stifled a chuckle. "Well who else did you have in mind?"

"But you're captain of the guard." She argued. "Since when do you disobey her?"

"Since when do you?" The blonde countered as the realization of what she'd done set in on Quasimoda. She'd cavorted with the most hated gypsy in all of Paris, and helped him escape her mistress's clutches. She'd aided a criminal. It wasn't so bad, though. After all, Mistress could only kill her once.

Phoebe seemed to notice the forlorn look of disappointment on her face. "So he's touched you too?" She felt herself nodding without even realizing it. "Can you just tell him what I said?"

The ginger huffed, her gaze falling to the floor. "Only if you go."

"I will." Phoebe answered, looking at the ground beneath her, the intricate swirl of the gray marble reflected the narrowed look in her amber brown pupils. "But first, could you put me down?"

As if just noticing her bicep had lifted the grown woman clear from the ground, Quasimoda glanced between Phoebe and the floor before relinquishing her grip, noticing she was a full head shorter at the slope of the stairs. It hardly surprised her she could lift that much. The bells easily weighed fifty times what the captain did. Her dirk slid back into her heel, and the blonde took a deep breath as if being beaten by the bell ringer was a blow to her pride (and it actually was, but not by much). She smoothed out the cobalt blue cape before starting down the steps quickly, the chants of the alter boys growing closer with each passing second.

But suddenly, she turned around and looked at the hunchback. "Also," She started. "Tell Esmerald he's quite lucky."

"What for?" Quasimoda blinked, the torch still against the stone wall as if the dirk hadn't moved. Phoebe grinned slyly.

"To have someone like you to protect him. You're an invaluable friend, Quasimoda." With that, the gilded guard hurried down the steps and out of her sight, much to her relief. Phoebe seemed decent enough, but there was always that uneasy feeling.


Frollo stood in the bathing light of the full moon, the darkness of the night and the world only kept away by the fireplace that crackled, glowed, and provided enough warmth for the entire Palace of Justice. At least, the parts that mattered. Her vast apartment within these walls was a tradition, the place to be occupied by the head judge of the facility, and since she assumed power nearly four decades ago, little had changed since when she first stepped into the hall and imagined the possibilities this place could have with a woman's touch.

The few things she never did change were the stone walls and floors, though she easily could've with one order. They were dark, they were cold, they were uncomfortable, but she never cared. She was always keeping the tender warmth of the hearth going whenever she was at the apartment and in some cases ordered guards to keeping the fire going should she leave at night for any reason in particular. The dreary atmosphere of the halls were brought up a bit by the many tapestries she'd hung on the wall from kingdoms conquered by her country many years ago, but it did little to change the feeling of darkness that many people said came not from the room, but from its sole occupant.

It bothered the judge every so often when she sat down by the fire, that feeling of darkness and unholy demons just waiting to do her in within the walls of her own home. But there was faith within the warmth of God, within the warmth of eternal bliss he promised to the pious. That warmth of the promise kept Frollo from ordering tons of white wood paneling to cover the rough stone, and at that moment with the tolling of the bells and the echoes of monks in the holy structure that sat merely a few streets away, Frollo wished she'd done away with the darkness in her home long ago.

Though it wasn't because she'd grown tired of it. In fact, on any off day the stone seemed to comfort her because even after all that went wrong, there was a likeness of herself within the stone she often felt mighty enough to compare herself to. Stone, like her, was strong. It was used in many great civilizations. It fueled the need for construction on nearly every continent. And most importantly, these stones, like herself, were weathered, old, but far from past their prime. They'd witnessed and experienced many men before her crumble and crack with age whilst she remained strong and hearty, and like her, she'd had past tribulations that would make most men quiver in their breeches before dropping dead from failure.

No, it wasn't because she grew tired of it. It was because she'd just learned to fear it.

In the judge's eyes fear was a strange little thing that never reared its head in her presence, remaining in her opinion quivering and moping on the ground, to be afraid of her. However on rare occasions like tonight, the darkness acted as fuel to the anxiety within her troubled thoughts and feelings. It was trying to beat her, force her to submit and crumble. She found solstice in the holy orange glow, but when confronting the one source of light that could vanquish that fear, like it always had…

Her fireplace apparently had different ideas.

Within the crackling fires that spiraled and burned within the ashy pit of the hearth, there were visions. There were vision forged not from Frollo's imagination, but from the most unholy of demons, the Devil himself. The flames whispered in the smoke that escaped the chimney, soft voices echoing in the vast hall as the grey haired woman stared in surprise and confusion, unsure what to do.

Claudia, they whispered, drawing her into examine the image before her. The voice was a soft tenor, a near singsong voice that was painfully familiar to her. She squeezed her eyes shut as the heat began to touch her skin, causing pinpricks of pain.

Claudia, it repeated, growing slightly as the embers began to swirl and dance. Frollo struggled as she fought to turn away, to ignore the vision she knew was trying to lull her.

Claudia. The voice became serious as a strong stinging came from her eyelids, begging her to give in, to sneak a glance when she knew she couldn't. The pain hurt like nothing she'd ever felt before, and it unsettled her to no end.

But in moments, her resolve crumbled. Her eyes twitched open as reflected her worst fear back at her. A choked scream emanated from her throat that she hushed, unable to take the chance of the echo carrying.

In the twisting flames she saw a figure that bore into her eyes, his composition twirling elegantly like he had that very morning to match the glow of the embers and ash that rose from the burning wood. His soulless, dark eyes peered at her, the whispers coming back to get her to come closer. To feel the warmth he could give her. To experience the feeling of comfort and love that he could provide.

It wasn't the gypsy. It couldn't be, she knew it couldn't be. It was a demon that took his form, and was beckoning her to fold, the give in to that feeling she'd never truly experienced even in near eighty years of celibacy.

Lust, one of the Seven Deadliest sins, and she was being tempted by it.

But it was the gypsy, he was calling her forth, and as much as it tore at her insides, Frollo admitted to herself she was actually being tempted, and she couldn't back away. She couldn't refuse those smouldering green eyes that sparkles like the crown jewels, like the spring green hills of the countryside. She couldn't refuse the toasted tawny skin, she couldn't refuse the deep black softness of his raven hair.

"Tell me Maria!" She shouted in the light. "Why do I see him dancing there?!" She very nearly broke. "Why do his smouldering eyes still scorch my soul?!"

Silence greeted her empty cries for answers. "I feel him, I see him!" She sang as she struggled to back away. "The sun caught in his raven hair, it's blazing in me out of all control!"

The realization slammed into her like the distant ringing of the evening bells, the visions of a fiery pit igniting as she watched the dancing fires whisper her name over and over again. It was like fire. But not just any sort of fire, the flames that never ceased to burn and refused to die; the whispers of temptation constantly there to guide willing away from the light of heaven and God's good grace.

"Like fire!" Her voice cracked as her eyes widened with angered fear, her porcelain white teeth gritted as she felt a surge of strength within her. "Hellfire!"

The crackling flames seemed to leap from the hearth as if they understood her curse, her realization. The warmth became sinister, almost painful as lustful pricks at her skin multiplied, completely unstoppable in the face of her wrath like the gypsy himself.

"This fire in my skin; this burning," Her fingers twisted around the lilac chiffon as she rubbed to her cheek, the soft caresses reminding her of the gypsy's sweet attraction to her. "Desire," She identified with a hushed tone as if to not admit it to anyone other than herself and God. "It's turning me to sin!"

She whirled away to the crackling fire as the voices of many filled the dark hall, the faceless red hoods chanting one phrase that haunted her deep within her elderly bones. "Mea Culpa!" The millions chanted in unison as the judge screamed in agony, regaining her composure only slightly in order to face her accusers like she faced all the others: with pride and more importantly, reason.

"It's not my fault!" Frollo's yells echoed in the vast rafters as the hooded figures only repeated their message. "I'm not to blame!" She countered, a bit stronger as her feet began to move.

"It t'was the gypsy boy, the witch who set this flame!" Frollo cried as she ran through the crowd, clawing at her gray locks in agony as their voices choruses in harmony.

"It's not my fault!" Her voice suddenly strained as she stopped running and turned to face them all, outnumbered as she was. "It's not my fault if in God's plan," The hooded figures seemed to deflate and topple into the garments they were. "He made the devil so much stronger than I am!"

Her arm stretched out as the red clothes swirled and danced around her, glowing with heat at the orange flames of hell enveloping her; pulling her forth into the fiery cauldron of sin and eternal damnation. Her will was near its breaking point as she felt her feet nearly lift free from the floor, the powers of the unholiest demon of all showing her she was quite close to becoming a hellcat; too close.

But a force seemed to keep her on the ground, just beyond the reach of the fire. Frollo realized it was none other than Maria, answering her prayers and saving her from her lust, pulling her back for one more chance.

A realization came over her as she stared into the fire, a newfound rage boiling in the pit of her stomach before rising to her head. It wasn't her fault. The enchanter had used some form of magic to make her feel these desires, to make her weak in the face of two warring and powerful adversaries. She was straying from good and turning to the hellish warmth of evil. All because of Monsieur Esmerald.

"Protect me, Maria! Don't let the incubus take me, don't let his fire sear my flesh and bone!" The judge's eyes narrowed in terror as the gypsy boy continued the dance before her, the distant call of her name weakening as the jangle of a tambourine echoed in the crackling of the dying embers. Her hand held the length of purple chiffon, the goldenrod moons and stars twinkling in the light of darkness that had nearly taken her captive.

Her voice boomed in the vast hall as she gave a strong request. "Destroy Esmerald, and let him taste the fires of hell!" As if on cue, the boy within the flames went still as his smouldering eyes looked to the twirling flames he was created from. They grew wide in fear as the fire spread across his body as what they were, the effigy echoing an agonized yell that sent chills through Claudia's spine.

There was suddenly a feeling of sympathy for the creature, the incubus that Frollo knew she couldn't have with the trust of the all powerful protector of virgins saving her from the damnation of hell. She couldn't watch him die without that feeling of lust overcoming her, raging within her like a storm of the harshest winters night.

"Or else let him be mine," The dying fires released a blast of whispering smoke, the heat comforting as the gypsy boy left the fires, left the world of damnation, reached out for her. Asking for her help, for her mercy. For her dominance. "and mine alone…" Tears pricked her eyelids as the handsome apparition pressed a kiss to her nose. The lust was gone, it was gone because he chose her over the fire. She reached out to pull him close, to make him hers.

But as realistic as it was, the smoking gypsy dissipated into nothingness as she touched him, revealing it was only an illusion. He'd rejected her advances, and she was angered once again. Years of experience taught people nobody wanted her angry.

Suddenly, the door to the hall opened, the massive wooden door clanging on the cold stone wall as the vague shadow of a guard stood in the light of the moon, his shadow stretching along the infinitely long room. Frollo whirled around to face him, neither being able to see one another very well from the distance, for which she was more than thankful. In her state the last thing she wanted was someone seeing her; in her weakest moment. Nothing he could say could make her feel worse.

"Mistress," He said solemnly. "The gypsy has escaped."

Except that.

"What?!" Her voice was hushed but it carried across the cavernous room just as well.

"He's," The armoured man gulped. "he's nowhere in the cathedral, ma'am. He's just…" He trailed off, obviously terrified of her wrath. "Gone."

Immediately, she felt the world begin to spin, a wrinkled hand brought to steady her vision. It couldn't be possible. That gypsy was completely surrounded at every door, window, crevice and cranny. There should've been no possible way of escaping with nearly every soldier in Paris standing less than ten feet from the cathedral in every possible place.

"How?" She demanded harshly despite the sudden bout of lightheadedness.

The guard shuffled in his spot, his gaze falling to the ground. He remained silent in the face of her order.

She stamped her foot on the ground, the tin plated buffoon jumping at the echo his mistress had grown used to over the decades. "How?!" Her shrill voice boomed.

"We don't know, your honor. The archdeacon came out of the church less than ten minutes earlier saying he couldn't find the gypsy anywhere. He checked every alter, every room, he even had Quasimoda's account and she couldn't offer anything useful."

"That figures," The judge huffed beneath audibility. Her adopted daughter could hardly indulge in learning the alphabet. How could she suspect she'd see anything worth seeing?

"We're readily awaiting orders, mistress." The guard cleared his throat.

"Get out you imbecile. You are to await orders tomorrow morning. Until then you and your men will leave me to myself. Am I clear?" She snapped.

"Yes ma'am." The guard nodded feebly and closed the door, leaving her alone once more with the Virgin Maria. She turned tail from the door and marched back to the fire, her dull eyes sparking with anger.

"I will find him. I'll find him if I have to burn down this entire city and leave ashes in its wake!" She yelled into the fireplace as the length of chiffon was crushed in her vise-like grip.

"Hellfire, dark fire!" She sang into the cavernous fireplace, the vision of the gypsy gone. "Now gypsy it's your turn!" Her bony finger clutched the soft fabric as if she held her tempters heart in her hand, ready to crush it into nothingness; into cold, bigoting ash. "Choose me or, your pyre,"

Her arm swung to the dancing orange flames, throwing the sparkling fabric into the heat as if she held the power within her to sentence Esmerald to hell. "Be mine or you will burn!"

Purple flames licked around the purple fabric, igniting and turning it to ash in only seconds. But instead of fabric, Frollo only saw the gypsy, a morose feeling replacing her sadness as she saw that shadows of judgement rising to her again, their willowy black shadows rising on the stone wall as she back towards it, hand clutched to her heart as it rocketed around her chest.

"God have mercy on him," She said as her hands touched the warm wall and she jerked away, a feeling of weakness overcoming her once again. "God have mercy on me," Her eyes sparkled with silent tears in her failure.

But resolve returned quickly. She knew she could beat this, but only if she rid herself and the city of the boy who huanted even her trusted fireplace and tempted her beyond the will of God. And she would find him. She would give him his choice. And she hoped above all else he'd make the right one.

"But he will be mine, or he," Her hands left her chest as they drew towards the fireplace, the dancing smoke refusing to leave the kindled flames and embers.

"Will," Her teeth gritted together as her knees began to buckle. "Burn!"

The shadows of the holy men covered her pale, elderly form in darkness as she fell to her knees, vowing to save herself and Esmerald. But only if he chose her over the fire. And he would, she knew he would. Or he would burn away in the fiery cauldron of hell like the demon he was. It was a forbidden lust, but it could be cured.

All she needed now, was Monsieur Esmerald.