Hello? Is anyone even here anymore? XD I am so, so sorry for the long wait. I literally have no excuse for this, only that this chapter did not want to get written. That's all. I would sit for hours and try for something to come out and... it didn't work.
Claudine was such a difficult character for me to write. I've said it before, I do not share her religion, which would not have been a problem except for the fact that this young lady took fanaticism to an extreme. And I don't blame her, because it's her father who drilled those ideas into her head, but it was incredibly hard to get those words out of me because I simply didn't feel them. I had thought that Claudine's chapters would be something like an experiment to me, a challenge. And I challenge it was, just not the fun type.
Don't get me wrong, I love this girl to bits, but the main reason it took me so long to post this chapter was that my protagonist was unwilling to cooperate with me. That's it. Another important reason for the delay is that school sucks. Majorly.
Anyways, moving on, there are some mentions of abuse, although it's not graphic at all. It should be noted that Claudine does not consider it abuse in any way. Em... there's some cursing, I believe. Honestly, though, if you're still here after that first chapter I think some curse words are the least of your worries. They sure are the least of my mine.
I think that's all form me, i'll leave you with Geminalupus:
"Geminalupus here, so anyone who was mad at the long wait, the blame rests fully on my shoulders. It took me a month to return this chapter to Karen and bless her heart she didn't yell at me once. We hope you enjoy the next part to the story and good luck to everyone (like us) who has to face school starting up again!"
PD: Karen again, don't listen to what my beta says. It took her a month to send the chapter back, but it took me three to get it written, so, honestly, it's all my fault and she's just wants to make me feel better.
A Test of Patience
Claudine Frollo was a modest person. She knew near to nothing about greed —it was hard to, with the fact that everything in the Isle were hand-me-downs— and little about envy—she was thankful for what she had and didn't wish for anything that was not her right to receive.
On the contrary, Claudine Frollo knew that the scarcities she had to endure in her terrestrial life would be reciprocated beyond her expectations once she entered the Lord's domains. She accepted her fate silently, with a bowed-down head and docile eyes, for He knew better.
She also liked to think that she was hardworking—she was up at the crack of dawn, by 4:30 she had already taken a bath, icy water still dripping from her hair, and started fixing a frugal breakfast for her father. That she had little to cook with was an understatement, but what was worse was that even fewer of the things that arrived to the Isle were worthy of her father, so mornings were always a matter of creativity and imagination.
It was a good thing that there was always coffee available at the Isle, even if it was bitter and tasteless. Her father had never really praised her for her work or said he'd liked anything. On the contrary, he always complained that it was in need of more salt or that it was burnt, that it was insipid. Claudine could only do so much, but she didn't reply with anything. Her father was the Minister of Justice, and for that he deserved the best that could be managed at the Isle. He did seem less prone to throwing the food in Claudine's direction when he'd had coffee first, therefore she was always careful to have it boiling and ready when her father walked out of his room.
Claudine never ate breakfast with her father. She rarely ate breakfast altogether.
Once her father's food had been taken care of, Claudine moved to the side chapel of the cathedral and began scrubbing the floors. The benches she cleaned only on Mondays, or if by any chance someone had decided to visit the old cathedral. She then returned to the small dining room and began tidying up the place. First, she washed and dried the dishes so she could store them away. With that done, she got on her way to Dragon Hall.
Truth be told, her father had never been very supportive of her attending the Isle's school, for several reasons. First of all, there was the fact that it was full of commoners. Then, of course, there were the wronged ideas that were taught as the undeniable truth.
Dragon Hall was not a Christian school, of course not. They taught Biology and Physics and Chemistry, as if the Lord's greater scheme was something that could be explained merely by numbers and equations. Fools, that's what they were.
Regardless, it was mandatory that every child under 18 years of age attended school, even at the Isle. Sure, King Adam couldn't afford to send spices, but he threatened to punish the parents that didn't comply. As if, Claudine thought, Auradon cared what happened to them.
Supposedly, Yen Sid was the one in charge of checking that they were all enrolled and attended their schools semi-regularly. No one really knew what would happen if someone didn't, but most of the parents paid no mind to what their children did.
Still, her father had never been someone who defied the law, therefore he had agreed to have her attend. He had put some conditions. First of all, Claudine was not to slack in her chores with the excuse of schoolwork. And, of course, he'd been adamant that she did not set one foot on the Witch School. Of course, that went without saying—Claudine had no magic.
Unlike Maire, Madame Mim's daughter, or Morgana's children, Claudine did not possess an ounce of magic in her blood. And while magic was not necessarily something hereditary, she was not interested in learning it either. First of all, it was pointless—why did they have not only a class, but a whole school dedicated solely to teaching the use of something that none of them had ever seen? More importantly, why would she even want to learn about magic, when her father had restlessly combated the proliferation of such low creatures as magicians and scammers?
Decidedly, magic did not exist, especially not in the Isle. What did exist, however, were liars, charlatans and swindlers, people capable of making you doubt yourself and your senses. Her father, too close to the Lord's teachings to be fooled, had always been able to see through the gypsies' deceit and tricks, and for that he had been punished, exiled along with miscreants that would surely be damned on the Day of Judgment.
So Claudine attended Dragon Hall daily, listening to lectures about Science with skeptic ears and a stoic demeanor. Although her father had never cared much about her performance at the sewer of a school, she didn't have bad grades. She was above average, though barely, and had only ever failed Vanity 101.
She didn't necessarily enjoy her time spent in Dragon Hall, but it was a welcome break from her chores. What she did take pleasure in was the view she had from the bell tower. The school didn't need a bell-ringer, not in actuality. However, this was a position that her father seemed to despise with a passion, and accepting it was as far as Claudine was willing to go when it came to challenging him.
Besides, the view was breathtaking. The only places higher than Dragon Hall were probably Notre Dame and Bargain Castle, so not only could one see the whole length of the Isle of the Lost when standing there; one could even see a little more clearly the golden castles of Auradon.
Claudine didn't wish to leave the Isle so she could stay at one of those marbled constructions. She knew that her immortal home would be richer and more prosperous than anything the Auradonian sinners who had put her father in the Isle could ever dream of. The sight was awe-striking still, and though Claudine wouldn't have said it aloud, she was not about to deny that when she stood above it all she wondered what it was to be free, to be truly free instead of being subjected to petty barriers and human laws.
On her boldest days, she even dared wonder if this was what the Lord felt like every day—looking down upon them as they lead their terrestrial lives. Maybe He even found their pains and hazards... preposterous, insignificant, for He knew His plan and He had placed each of them where they were in the construction of a greater scheme.
No, Claudine Frollo dared not argue she didn't deserve the life she'd lived until then. She knew her earthly pains were nothing but a small sacrifice she had to pay in advance for the eternal salvation of her soul. After all, the Lord had sent His own son, blood of His blood, to Earth and sacrificed him for humanity's redemption. Wasn't that the biggest oblation, in comparison to her merely fasting or making sure that the only church in the Isle was spotless?
Claudine thought so, therefore she had always accepted her fate with a bowed-down head and shut lips. She would bear her sacrifice, endure the weight the Lord had placed upon her shoulders so that she could take her part in the great scheme.
She was, however, having a hard time believing this was part of the Lord's plan and not something orchestrated by the Devil.
She shouldn't have listened to Ginny. She should have stayed at the cathedral, with her father. She should have obeyed. What was she thinking, following the advice of a harlot like her? Crimson lips in a provoking dress, it was only natural that a person of her breed would harbor discord.
Yet, there she was, standing in the wooden stairs of a wharf she had never seen. Never from up close, at least. There she was, the plastic bag Ginny had practically forced her to pack in her left hand and sheets of paper she had no use for in her right.
There she was, away from the cathedral and her father, away from everything she knew and so close to the flawless, impeccable little world she'd despised her whole life. So close to the sinning that had been masked as perfectness, to these people who lead a life of vanity and luxury.
Perhaps, had the situation been any different, Claudine would have thought that her mission was to share the Lord's teachings with these sinners. However, not only had she been uprooted from the Isle and sent to Auradon, someone, presumably Maleficent's spawn, another witch that would burn in hellfire, had decided that she was to live with Esmeralda de Châteaupers*.
It was disgusting enough that they thought she —the daughter of the Minister of Justice— could be send to live with a commoner altogether. But to send her with a gypsy? To have her live shoulder to shoulder with a filthy witch like Esmeralda?
That harlot was the reason her father had been dismissed in the first place. She had tricked her father, manipulating his perception of reality until he'd fallen in love with a Devil's spawn of her kind.
How could anyone bend something as pure as the love the Lord graced them with and turn it into the plain lust that creatures like the gypsies felt was beyond Claudine. She wasn't even sure that she could call 'love' to what her father had felt towards that witch. After all, he'd been under a spell, no doubt.
"Claudine? Is that you?" a black-haired woman questioned, waving like a possessed at the end of the stairs. Claudine's fingers bawled into fists.
"And I suppose you're Esmeralda," she replied hoarsely. Claudine had half a mind to stuff the papers she'd been given into her plastic bag, mainly so that her left hand was free and she could apply pressure on her right side.
"Yes, indeed," the newcomer smiled. "I'm so glad to finally meet you."
Clearly, Claudine didn't share the sentiment. With pursed lips and an unimpressed stare, she weighed her options. Trying to run away would only backfire—the gypsy would think that the power of God trembled before her dark magic, and Claudine would not allow something like that to happen.
Furthermore, Claudine could not 'run away', not figuratively, much less literally. Her right hip was painfully bruised purple and green. It had been more than three weeks since the... incident with her father, but the hematomas had barely faded. The worst was when she tried to stand straight, dividing her weight correspondingly between her legs.
The excruciating pain had lessened the previous days, until it was more an inconvenience than anything else. Something that didn't go away but that she had grown almost used to by then. However, as soon as Claudine tried to walk or even when she turned around too carelessly... then a sharp severe ache would pierce through her, from the tip of her toes until it reached her hip.
Regrettably, she could not only praise her arguable recovery in her own body, created in the image and likeness of God, but in a very human remedy. Out of all the Islanders, the Tremaine family were part of the scant group that visited the cathedral somewhat regularly. Lady Tremaine and Anastasia assisted every Sunday without fail. Most of times, two of Drizella's daughters and Anastasia's own son, Anthony, accompanied them. As for Drizella herself, not many kind things could be said about her. She was obviously a harlot, a follower of Jezebel who had sired five daughters out of wedlock and had never been concerned with the salvation of her soul.
Claudine had no doubt, her offspring would be quick to follow her footsteps, therefore she avoided them. Of course it helped that other than Desideria and the youngest, Dulcie, were the only ones who actually attended Notre Dame. The other three girls usually kept to their own devices. Except, of course, when they had an ulterior motive to arrive at the disregarded cathedral.
Which had been the case two weeks ago, when Desiree had approached her while she endeavored in polishing the Pieta sculpture at the altar. As rumors would have it, after Desiree's run in with Gaston and the loss of her leg, she had found a way to use her aunt's dried flowers to numb the pain. Claudine had no time to be a busybody, but it was an open secret that Desiree was willing to sell her product for the right price.
Claudine was not foolish enough to not admit that the injury in her hip was being… a little troublesome, but she would only do that to herself. Aloud, she knew better than to let on the piercing ache that climbed her leg whenever she moved too carelessly. It served her well, after all, a righteous punishment for her actions. She had learned not to ask for alleviation of her pain whenever her father disciplined her, for she knew the amercement her father placed upon her was well-deserved. This time was no different, albeit it was more painful than she was used to.
Somehow, Desiree had found out about Claudine's recent limp and had decided her services were needed. Usually, Claudine would have kicked her out, but in her current state she was not much more agile than Desiree in her prosthetic leg. Accordingly, Desiree had laughed at her, claimed she was as useless as she was now.
Claudine had to admit, the limp was a hitch in her chores. She hadn't been able to clean the bells, could barely even make it to the bell tower. She knew she deserved the pain she was in, but it would be no good that she slacked in her chores because of it. So she had accepted a deal with Desiree and traded a rose-shaped locket, the only item Claudine owned that held any value for a container of pills Desiree swore would ease the pain in her side.
And, to be fair, she had not been lying.
Conversely, and way less helpfully, Ginny had suggested that she use a cane, she had even offered to carve one. She practically lived in the woods now, after the incident with her mother and the Notre Dame fiasco. According to her, using rowan wood was good luck.
Naturally, Claudine had refused. Whatever a cheap whore like Genevieve suggested could only mean witchcraft and tricks. Genevieve's mother, at the very least, knew about magic, and she insisted that she could recover her shallow beauty with it.
Still, Ginny gifted her with a rowan cane. According to her, she felt responsible for what had happened to Claudine's leg, which was a euphemism to say she was a harlot who had attempted to bring her sinful ways into Notre Dame.
Claudine had accepted the present, and she admitted to have used it a few times. In honor of the truth, the item had proved quite useful, especially when she had needed to climb the stairs of Hell Hall. She had left it at the Isle all the same.
"Why don't we start moving?" Esmeralda suggested. "My husband is waiting for us a couple of blocks away."
"The traitor, you mean," Claudine offered, her voice tainted with disdain.
"My husband?" the woman inquired, no doubt taken aback by Claudine's words. For all answer Frollo's daughter crossed her arms over her chest and refrained a snort. It took her a moment, but finally, the corner of Esmeralda's moth twisted upward with something that vaguely resembled scorn. "Am I to assume, then, that your father talked to you about us?"
"Indeed," Claudine nodded, her lips pursed in disgust. "My father had reasons to feel proud for what he did for this city. Rightfully, he spoke to me of his valiant deeds."
Esmeralda blinked once, twice, trying to find words for what she wanted to say. Finally, she let out a sigh.
"I see how it's going to be," she decided at last, her teeth biting her lower lip. "Let's not have such a bad beginning. Follow me, please. I promise when we get home we will have time to talk about your father's deeds," she almost spat the last words, her chest going up and down rather raggedly.
Claudine knew she had no option other than to follow the gypsy. King Benjamin had assured her this would only be a temporary arrangement. She had to be patient, and trust the Lord's commands.
With pursed lips, Claudine accepted her fate and gathered enough resolution to walk over to the woman. Noticing her limp, she felt Esmeralda tilt her head in query, but the woman was decent enough not to mention it aloud.
"Like I was saying, my husband awaits for us in the carriage," Esmeralda continued, her voice almost flat, a mask of calmness in the midst of the turmoil of the wharf. "Unlike other families, we live only two hours away, in Paris. But I'm sure you already know that."
Claudine didn't answer, not as much out of spite as it was out of indifference. Her mind was busy, carefully inspecting the pavement so she could plan where to place her feet in each of her steps. Undeniably, it was easier to walk here than it was in the Isle. The street was perfectly even and spotless. Back home, even without a broken hip, one had to pay mind to where you stepped.
It was only a few minutes before they finally made it to the parking lot. Vehicles of all kinds aligned in the space, perfectly organized, like toys. There were several carriages, with muscular horses ready to pull them and cars that Claudine recognized only from having seen Cruella riding her own bright red car. So different were the means of transportation in front of them that their appearances clashed. Had it been at the Isle, something like that wouldn't have called Claudine's attention. Mismatched clothes were all one could get at the bazaar. Unrelated buildings, from distant countries and even disparate ages, were stacked, jumbled into the same tight space. In the Isle, this oddity was normality, but in Auradon… the discordance was impossible to ignore.
"This one, to the right," Esmeralda called, cutting off the girl's musings. Calmly, the gypsy pointed to a simple wooden wagon, a single gray horse reined to it. The nag looked tired, but its owner was endeavored in brushing its mane. Claudine wasn't sure, though from the looks of it, they had also caught the man in the middle of an argument with his animal.
At the sound of Esmeralda's voice, he turned around. Under the afternoon sun, the armor that covered his body shimmered with golden rays. A blue cape rested on his shoulders, emphasizing the navy blue of his eyes. With a smile that rivaled the glimmer of his armor, he put away the brush and walked over to them.
"Claudine, allow me to introduce you to my husband, Captain Phoebus de Châteaupers," Esmeralda said, catching up with him so that she could take his hand.
"The traitor," the islander answered flatly.
"Pardon me, mademoiselle*?"
"And, Phoebus, this is Claudine. She's Frollo's daughter," the woman continued with a strained voice. "She will be staying with us."
At the mention of her surname, the smile in Phoebus' lips froze. As if a cloud had crossed his pristine sky, the captain's brow furrowed and his eyes darkened.
"Very well," he nodded, stepping back to clear the way for them. "Let's get home and hope things start making sense."
"Forgive the inconveniences, captain," Claudine hissed, her back straightened even though the movement sent an excruciating sting through her leg. "Nevertheless, I would have you know that I want for this to happen much less than you do."
"There will be time to discuss this long and hard once we get home," Esmeralda piped in. "Let's get out of this place before everyone has the same idea and the exit gets too crowded."
Swallowing a sigh, Phoebus returned his attention to the horse.
"You heard the lady, buddy, c'mon," he patted its neck and quickly jumped on the seat behind the animal.
"Take the covered seat," Esmeralda offered calmly. "I'll keep Phoebus and Achilles company," She stood still for a moment, her head tilted to the right. Expecting an answer, Claudine presumed. She gave her none.
Instead, Frollo's daughter raised an eyebrow at the woman, her shoulders pulled back contemptuously and her lips pressed together until they formed a tight line. Once it became clear that she had no intention of replying in any way, Esmeralda turned on her heels and walked the short distance that separated her from the cart. Left without any other option to do, Claudine settled for following her in silence.
"Let me help you," Esmeralda said, extending her left hand to Claudine, when they finally found themselves standing next to the wagon.
"I do not need the help of a filthy gypsy," she growled, not even turning to look at the hand Esmeralda was offering.
"I would not speak like that to the people who are offering me their house to stay at, kiddo," Phoebus advised from the front of the cart.
"Lamentably, neither of us were given options, were we?" she hissed. "Believe me when I say I would not be here otherwise." Without crossing another word with the Auradonians or even allowing her eyes to meet Esmeralda's, Claudine placed her left foot on the step of the wagon and leaned into one of the tubes that held the white bonnet in place. Not for the first time that day, she regretted her decision to not bring the rowan cane with her.
With a muffled sigh and a quick prayer, Claudine made herself step into the wagon. Her right leg hit the wooden floor limply. Immediately, a searing pain cut through her flesh, forcing her to bite the inside of her cheek in an attempt to swallow a scream. A small grunt escaped her lips nonetheless. She was vaguely conscious of Esmeralda's presence behind her, an unwelcomed reminder that she was only halfway done. She would rest in a moment, once she was out of the gypsy's inquisitorial sight.
'Oh Lord, you know how much I can endure. I submit my body before you and ask that Your will be done upon me,' she breathed out, a rushed murmur in her lips before she gathered the fortitude to apply her full weight on her right leg. She didn't allow herself to think before she numbly dragged herself to the wooden seat of the cart and dropped herself on it.
The effort had covered her forehead in a thin layer of sweat and her right side throbbed with a piercing ache. She knew her lips trembled, she could feel her ragged breathing thumping on her jugular. However, with the same clarity she felt Esmeralda's biting gaze on her. Unmoving. Waiting.
"Let's get going," the gypsy announced at last, closing the wagon's door with a loud slam. From inside the carriage, Claudine heard Esmeralda exchange a few fast phrases with her husband, before she, too, climbed on to the driver's seat. Finally on her own, Claudine's lips parted to let out a shaking sigh.
Regrettably, she was only granted a few minutes of peace before she stumbled into another mishap. Soon, the whistle of a whip cut through the air and the old nag started moving in a constant trot. Despite the horse's even pace, with each bump on the road, a searing pain hit her. Unable the handle the ceaseless burn, Claudine reached for the bag Genevieve had forcibly packed for her. After searching its contents for a few seconds, she managed to fish out the plastic bottle Desiree Tremaine had given her after the incident with her leg.
With trembling hands, she opened the lid and dug out two or three pills she chugged down without another thought. Soon, she would be too numb to feel the pebbles of the pavement, tiny in comparison to the ones of the Isle. In a matter of minutes, the calming effects of the medicine took possession of her body. Dazed and lethargic, she rested her head on the timbered seat and allowed herself to close her eyes.
She woke up probably an hour later to the still moving wagon, disoriented and nearly unfeeling. Raising a hand, she massaged her temple and groaned. There was no use in laying down, as she knew she would be unable to fall asleep again. Esmeralda had said they were only a couple of hours away from Paris, and although Claudine did not trust her, she hoped that the gypsy hadn't mislead her and that they would arrive before the effects of her medicine wore off.
Carefully, she arose, feeling the beginning of a headache in the back of her skull. A minor inconvenience, worsened by the brightness of the sun that entered through the small opening in the bonnet, a sort of makeshift window above the wooden door.
There was not much to see, only the vast extension of what Claudine assumed were plantations of wheat and a solitary tree every few miles. And the sun, proud and more radiant than what Claudine had ever seen in the Isle. The wind hit her face, freeing strands of hair from her bun. Despite the minor annoyance the breeze represented, the air was clean, polluted only by the dust that arose from the road, a luxury that would have been unimaginable at the Isle.
Every once in a while, they would cross paths with another carriage, sometimes even a car that, unlike the automobiles Claudine had seen back at the Isle, was more than a jalopy and followed the road without leaving a cloud of gray smoke behind. Claudine sighed, reminding herself that this whole ordeal was nothing more than a proof of her loyalty to the Lord and her father. She needed none of the extravagances and sumptuousness Auradon had to offer. Notre Dame back at the Isle was more than she could ask for, and she was fortunate to call the House of God her own home.
This was a test the Lord had sent her way, an opportunity for Claudine to prove her obedience to His teachings. Every luxury she would encounter in the Fairy-Tale-Land, every smile Auradonians gave her, were nothing but the Devil's temptations. It would be very easy to become dazzled by the material things, by the pomposity of the palaces and the spotlessness of the roadways.
Her father had taught her better. Like the serpent had seduced Eve, making her feeble resolution crumble and ignore God's warnings, the faultlessness of a place created by the hand of the men attempted to appear equally as tempting to her. Such was the Devil's scheme.
It mattered not, as Claudine knew his intentions. She would wait, expectantly, and when the Devil tried to catch up with her, she would be ready to reject his offers. After all, a person's possessions in the earthly life were worthless. One could not take a castle to the grave, the puffed out dresses would not fit in a casket. It was only one's actions, one's devotedness to the Lord that held any meaning.
Soon, she prayed, once the Lord was pleased with her performance, she would be back home, at the Isle. Until then, she would focus on strengthening her own determination. With a deep intake of breath, she pressed her hands together and closed her eyes. In the name of God I go on this journey. May God the Father be with me, God the Son protect me, and God the Holy Ghost be by my side. Amen, escaped her dry lips.
Soon, she would be back home.
Around an hour later, they finally left behind the road to enter a city. Claudine supposed the totality of the Isle could fit just in this place. Even from this distance, an imposing bridge called her attention. The cerulean waters of the river sparkled under the sun's rays. It must have been around six o'clock, and the sapphire sky had been tainted with tangerine and punch rose. There were people swimming in streamflows, laughing. For the first time, Claudine leaned closer to the window, trying to get a better look of the view.
It had to be the Seine. This had to be the river her father was always gloating about, the river in which her father's men had come close to killing Phoebus after his betrayal. And if this was the river, then… Frantically, her eyes scanned the landscape, until she found the dignified construction she had been raised in. Taller than any of the other buildings, the Cathedral of Notre Dame stood partially concealed by the arches of Pont Neuf. A gasp escaped her mouth at the sight. It wasn't that for the smallest fraction of a split second she believed she was back at the Isle, it wasn't that this ordeal had turned out to be nothing more than a delusion that had ended soon enough.
No, it was still too early for her to feel homesick. However, Auradon's Notre Dame had a different aura to it than the one in the Isle. So dissimilar in fact were the two constructions that they almost did not seem like the same edifice. This couldn't be the building she cleaned after, those ivory towers could not be the ones which steps she climbed daily to ring the bells.
In a way, Claudine supposed that they weren't the same. The church she'd grown up was nothing more than a carbon-copy of the one currently before her. A sketch that had deteriorated rapidly away from Paris, absorbing the foul smells of the bazaar, and trading the alabaster of its walls for a cloudy gray.
This cathedral held something undeniably regal. It wasn't merely another disregarded residence surrounded by piles of rubble. This was a building meant to make one realize its diminutiveness, the brevity of life itself when compared to the ubiquity of the Lord. It was a sight meant to take your breath away, a place to be admired and worshiped. Instead, the Notre Dame of the Isle had been tossed away, the shadow of magnificence still ghosting upon it.
Like her father, she thought to herself. The people at the Isle knew nothing of the awe-inspiring building they passed by every day. Likewise, France had not understood the greatness of her father's sacrifice and work. The day would come when they both realized their mistakes, she knew it. Until then, endurance.
It took them less than fifteen minutes to reach their final destination, a small pastel-blue house with a half-timbered façade. Claudine had to admit, this was not the kind of place she had pictured someone like Esmeralda living in.
As calmly as the horse had trotted during the whole ride, Achilles came to a halt as they reached the strip of grass in front of the door. Not long after the cart had stopped, she heard Esmeralda and Phoebus descend from the driver's seat.
"Here we are!" Esmeralda announced proudly as she opened the door of the wagon. "Welcome, Claudine."
On his side, Phoebus had started tending to the old nag, freeing it from the bridle. Apathetically, Claudine heard the captain start talking to the animal.
"I'll take him to the stables and meet you inside," he declared.
"Sure, we'll be there shortly," his wife nodded, barely tilting her head in Phoebus' direction before returning her full attention to Claudine. With a mask of calmness, she extended her hand in Claudine's direction, much like she had before their departure from Auradon City.
Indifferent to the gypsy's open demeanor, Claudine took her time rising to her feet. Nearly dragging her right leg behind her, she walked to the entrance of the cart and descended from it in the same way she had entered—refusing to accept or even acknowledge Esmeralda's assistance. Carefully, she leaned into the bonnet's tube and tried to minimize the impact of her leg when it hit the ground.
"Claudine, don't do this," the woman let out. "Please, let us start over. Let me show you that things are not how you've been told they are."
"Are you calling my father a liar?"
"No," Esmeralda replied heavily. "I can see you are very close to Frollo, I don't intend to come between you two. What I am saying is that he was not an open-minded person, and people with narrow mentalities condemn those who are different from them."
"I have nothing to discuss with you," the islander replied flatly, not even deigning herself to look at her interlocutor.
"Fine, let's do it your way," the gypsy concluded, turning on her heels to face her home. "Please follow me."
Unfortunately, there were no many other options to choose from, and Claudine forced herself to comply. In utter silence, they crossed the distance that separated them from the entrance. Before entering, Esmeralda turned one last time to face her guest.
"Claudine, regardless of what you may think of me… of us, I want you to know that Phoebus and I welcome you wholeheartedly to our home, humble as it is," she began to say, fiddling with her skirt until she found her pocket and pulled out a set of keys. "You've made it clear that you do not have a good impression of us. Of me, in particular, I fear, but I believe this is an experience we can both learn from, if we allow ourselves to—"
"There will be no need to do such a thing," Claudine cut her off. "In a week, I shall be gone."
Unable to fill the silence with another word, and knowing far more than she would have liked that saying anything would only make the situation worse, Esmeralda focused on opening the door for them.
"Go ahead," she offered, stepping to the side so the entrance was clear enough for Claudine to step inside first.
"And give you my back? I don't think so," Frollo's daughter sneered. Esmeralda's eyes narrowed.
"As you wish," she shrugged, turning to be the first one to enter. Briefly afterwards, she turned on a few switches and illuminated the insides, revealing a white-walled living room. A colorful rug covered part of the wooden floor, and mismatched loveseats of various colors surrounded the mat in a strange circle. At the back, Claudine saw an unlit chimney.
It was strange, she thought. The house seemed tidy enough to not belong to a gypsy. From what her father had told her, a part of her had been expecting to arrive to a shack at the least, a camp of tents. This appeared to be a perfectly normal house.
Once she stepped inside, Claudine was able to see the hallway that opened up to reveal a simple yet polished dining room set. Separating both rooms, she caught a glance of the wooden stairs that lead to the second floor.
Giving her guest a brief last glance, Esmeralda headed to what Claudine assumed was the kitchen, as she crossed the dining room in rapid strides and entered another room. Her absence gave Frollo's daughter enough privacy to get a closer look at the ornamentation of the rooms. From the half-timbered walls hung several portraits, most of them, paintings. For the second time that day, Claudine got to see the Cathedral of Notre Dame as it was meant to be admired—in all the magnificence it held, its towers raising high enough that they approached the sky, an alabaster staircase to Heaven.
Between the stairs and the passage to the dining room, a small bureau called her attention. Neatly placed on top of it, several picture frames gave testimony of the life that Phoebus had lead. A treasonist, who'd betrayed everything her father had fought so hard for, bewitched by the spell of a disgusting gypsy.
In one of the photographs, Esmeralda was laughing, her head thrown back and her eyes closed, completely carefree. Next to her, a blonde man who couldn't be older than twenty-two smiled at her. Her son, Claudine supposed. Her father had not lived to see the product of the sinful union that had brought his downfall, but he knew from Sarousch that Esmeralda had borne a son, Sapphire, she believed, or something equally as nauseating. It served him well, with the cerulean eyes and golden hair he had.
According to Sarousch, his own adopted daughter, and ungrateful thief, had also betrayed him to elope with Quasimodo. It was outrageous, scandalous, what the Devil's magic could do.
Her musings were interrupted when the front door was opened again, giving way to Phoebus. Before the captain could step into his house, a flash of gray cut his way and hurried to the kitchen. With her back turned to the door, Claudine only heard the hooves of a small animal race on the wooden floor.
"Djali, I've told you. You can't come in here!" she heard Esmeralda scold the newcomer; in spite of her words, laughter was obvious in her voice. "Phoebus, you were supposed to keep him out!"
"I've been trying to do that for the last twenty-five years, what makes you think it will work now?"
"That's not an excuse," the gypsy said, emerging from the kitchen with a gray-furred goat in her arms. She wasted no time in dropping the animal into her husband's arms. Now that it had greeted its owner, Djali finally turned to give a curious look to Claudine. Its interest, however, died quickly, and the goat turned back to nibble on Phoebus' cape.
"Really?" he huffed, rearranging his hold on the animal so it head was as far from him as humanly possible.
"Honey, why don't you take our guest to her room," Esmeralda suggested. "I'll work my way in the kitchen and call you in a moment."
"As you wish."
"And this time, make sure you keep Djali out of my workplace!" she ordered, turning on her heels to cross the dining room again. The action granted her a loud bleat from the goat, although it didn't try to escape Phoebus' grasp.
"'Keep him out of the kitchen', she says. As if it were that easy," Phoebus protested in a mumble before he returned his attention to Claudine. "Anyways, you've heard her," he shrugged. "I can see there are places you'd rather be. But for now, we have to make this work."
Uninterested, the daughter of Frollo merely stared ahead at him. It was clear she had heard his words, but she gave no indications of it, and she especially didn't seem keen on answering.
"Follow me," the traitor said, pointing to the stairs. The stairs, of course. For the first time since they had entered the house, Claudine's features tainted with something that was not revulsion. Instead, her lower lip trembled minutely and her fingers curled in apprehension.
It was just two floors, she told herself, there was no way that there were more stairs in this building than in Notre Dame. She had already climbed the stairs leading to the bell tower, therefore she had to be able to follow Phoebus' to the second floor. And with every step, with every throbbing pulse to her side, she would apologize for her wrong-doing. She would, with a lowered head, accept the earthly punishment for her mistakes.
"Are you alright?" Phoebus questioned, seeing her hesitancy to step closer. "Can I help you with something?"
"I don't need anything from you," Claudine answered flatly. That settled it, with a frown albeit without another word, Phoebus began ascending. Claudine followed him a few steps behind, her lips pressed tightly.
Each step caused a biting ache to escalate her flank. She stopped her mind from thinking of the treads that were yet to come, and instead she focused only on the one right in front of her. She would worry about the upcoming anguish once it came her time to face it.
By the time they finally reached the upper floor, her forehead was covered in sweat and her right hand was pressed against her hip, trying to minimize the pain. Blinking away dark spots from her sight, she noticed the stairs lead to a broad sitting room.
"The green door to the right is the bathroom," Phoebus declared right away, placing the goat on the floor. Immediately, the small beast raced downstairs, to meet Esmeralda in the kitchen, Claudine presumed. "That room at the end is where my wife and I sleep. We prepared the guest room for your arrival, turn to the left here."
Following his instructions Claudine entered a lilac-walled room. It was a simple yet tasteful chamber, she had to admit. Next to an extensive window stood a double bed with a white canopy held in place by four carved pillars. There was a small dressing table placed directly in front of the bed. A circular bureau with a table lamp also stood guard by the right side of the bed and a cream-colored armchair. Other than that, there was not much to see.
"I'll leave you now," the captain offered, still standing in the doorway. "Please meet us downstairs, I'm pretty sure Meera baked baeckeoffe*. You should try it. She's the best cook I've met."
"I don't want anything from you, much less from her," she nearly spat at him.
"Listen, kiddo, we may have started with the wrong foot here," he began to say, his hands raised in the most inoffensive manner he could muster. "I worked for your father, I—"
"I know you did. You're a treasonist."
"I wouldn't say that."
"You had the honor of working for the most courageous man Paris has ever seen. And you turned your back on this opportunity. For what? To lay with a prostitute who—"
"I will not let you speak like that of my wife," he cut her off. His features had gone from expectant to frigid. When Claudine raised her eyes to meet his, his nostrils flared and he´d taken a step forward.
"Or what?" she insisted. "I trust King Benjamin to be a man of his word. That is the only reason I am here tonight. In a week, I will be away from you and that witch."
"Kid, watch your tongue. You have no idea of what you're talking about. Your father was a killer who—"
"My father was an honorable man."
"Your father was a killer who showed no qualms in murdering innocents. I don't know what he told you, but that's why he wanted my head," Phoebus denied, taking another step towards her. His fingers had curled to become fists, and his lips trembled when he spoke. "He wanted me to be his goon, to stab my blade into the throats of children. Ask anyone in Paris. Your father was the man who was willing to burn our city to its foundations only because they would not bow before him."
"They should have obeyed, and their lives would have been pardoned," Claudine straightened her back, she even dared apply a portion of her weight on her right leg. "It was the filthy scum you chose over my father, the thieves and the prostitutes, who made this city as blameworthy as Sodom and Gomorrah, you—"
"That's enough!" the captain nearly spat. "Child, you don't know what you're talking about. I will be forgiving this one time, because you are tired and out of your element. I won't hold what you've just said against you, but let me tell you something—you have no idea of the amount of nonsense that has just poured out of your mouth. Though you will know, kid, you will. Paris has not forgotten. Paris will remember what your father did, and we will show you."
"Paris should be thankful."
"Listen, you'll stay for a week at the very least, forcibly, or however you want to call it," Phoebus tried once more, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "You may not want this to work, but Esmeralda and I do. And we're going to give it our all. It would be wise that at some point this week you tried shut your mouth up for a moment and learn something."
"What could I possibly aspire to learn from you?" she hissed.
"Some manners, perhaps," the captain suggested through gritted teeth. "All I'm saying is that you could afford to hear the other half of the story."
"I have no interest in the way you want to defamate my father," she sneered.
"Then you should see with your own eyes the people you are slandering before you open your mouth again," Phoebus advised, his face a mask of calmness that had his jaw set too tightly. "We will still be expecting you downstairs in case you want to join us."
Without another word, and without waiting for an answer either, the captain turned to leave the room. Before Claudine could come up with a reply, the white door had already been closed. Soon, she heard Phoebus' footfalls on the stairs.
Knowing she was on her own at last, Claudine let her plastic bag fall to the floor. If there was one truth in the words Phoebus had spoken, it was that she was tired. She knew she shouldn't let her guard down so fast, but her good leg was only minutes away from buckling under her weight.
Too weary to fight the exhaustion back, she decided she should get ready for bed. Forcing herself to walk to the door, Claudine made sure that it was closed and pressed the lock in the doorknob. She supposed Esmeralda and Phoebus had a key and could open the door, lock or not, but it was the best she could muster at the moment. She was too tired to try to push the dressing table or even the armchair to hold the door in place. To be completely honest, she didn't think she would be able of doing such a thing at the time, with the state her leg was in.
Resigned, she then turned to the dressing table and began to loosen her hairdo, releasing the tie and the barrette that held her bun in place. She massaged her scalp, feeling the back of her head throbbing. Another sigh escaped her dry lips as she began to unbutton her dress. She should have had the mind to at least bring a bottle of water with her, she mused.
It was no use now, she supposed. She could handle it. Perhaps, such was the surrender the Lord was asking from her. She could do that, overpass her own earthly needs in His name. Absently, she massaged her right hip, her fingers barely ghosting over the bruised skin. This was a nothing more than a test, she reminded herself as she slipped into her cotton nightgown.
It was her duty to prove herself worthy in the eyes of the Creator by complying to His desires. The Lord knew why He had sent her straight into the snakes' nest. It was a trial, a test of patience and perseverance, an opportunity to prove to Him how unshakeable her faith was. In the same way God had allowed the wealth and offspring of Job to slip between his fingers, she was being tempted to choose an easy life of luxury over one of hardships.
Perchance, she should have held her tongue better that afternoon, when speaking to Esmeralda and Phoebus. These people had suckled sin from their mother's breasts, they knew nothing of the righteous vision her father had held so dear. Instead of answering like she had, maybe she should have controlled her deserving fury and turned her other cheek, she reasoned, combing her fingers through blonde strands of hair to braid them. Through the way these people tried to slander her father, she should keep her indignation under control. She knew the truth, she understood her father's deeds. That was all that mattered.
This was a test of endurance, she repeated to herself once more. A test of patience she had to undergo, for God was full of compassion and mercy. Only He knew how this ordeal fit into His greater scheme.
Until then, she would wait.
Okay, here we go. Let's begin with the asterisks.
1*: de Châteaupers is Phoebus' last name in Victor Hugo's novel. I will admit that I have not read that book, although I wish to. Unlike other characters, like Ariel or Elsa, in which I am familiarized with the original stories and therefore I will try to add some things related to the books, this will not happen with Claudine's arc. I actually had held on to hope that I would manage to squeeze reading 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame' into my schedule while I worked with TOWW, but... now I don't think so. I did check some details and learned some things about the original story that surprised me and made me realize that trying to mix what I already have planned for this story with Victor Hugo's train of thought was not going to work. For example, I knew Quasimodo was deaf and blind in one-eye. I completely ignored Esmeralda was fourteen years old. So no, I will ignore the orginal story, I'm sorry.
2*: Although I'm pretty sure all of you know, madmoiselle is the French word for 'miss'.
3*: So... baeckeoffe... Right, another of the reasons as to why I think it took me so long to get this chapter written is that it required a lot of research that you guys don't really see reflected in the narrative. For example, the drugs ( which I'm pretty sure it's obvious what kind of drugs she's using, but I'm not supposed to give spoilers), the general construction of Paris in the 1800's, the food, the cathedral. You know something is wrong when the three paragraphs concerning the description of a church are the ones that flow more swiftly. Also, in case you were wondering, there are 37 bridges that cross the Seine, Pont Neuf (French for 'new bridge') is the oldest of them all.
Last time, while I was researching for Etta's chapter, I came across an interesting French dish that called my attention because of its history. Baeckoffe began because, back in the day when women used a full day to do laundry, they still had to cook dinner. So, what they did was that they sliced potatoes, and onions, beef and pork, and they marinated it overnight. Then, the next day, on their way to the river, they left it at the baker's place, so he would put it in his gradually cooling oven once he has done making bread for the day. Baeckoffe means 'baker's oven' in Alsatian dialect.
This was so fascinating to me, but it didn't fit into Etta's story. When I was writing Claudine's chapter, though, I knew I wanted this here. Only problem was I had lost the link and of course I hadn't learned the name of the dish. It took me forever to find it, but here it is now.
So... there's this.
Also, I want to give a huge, huge, huge shoutout to a close friend of mine, Victor. He was kind enough to hear me rambling all through this chapter and he was so supportive. I swear, had it not been for him, this chapter would probably not be here yet.
Emm... I think that's it, I have made you wait long enough. If you liked this chapter (if you didn't, I'm going to cry), please let me know in the comments. If you didn't, please let me know as well. To reiterate, nothing in this story is made with the intention of offending anyone, and Claudine's opinions do not necessarily represent mine.
Next chapter I have waited to write for so long, I'm so excited! Some of my favorite characters appear for the first time, and I am over the moon. Yes, I shouldn't pick favorites, but I am biased, I'm sorry.
Read you soon and have a wonderful day!