Esmeralda was not in tune with her emotional mien. When the gypsy was happy, she was happy, sure. When she felt sad, she felt it. Those were trivial.

But where love became a concern, the gypsy maiden knew not what to do, or what to do with it. She was still so young and vital, she'd traveled miles, cultivated even. But still, love was not a journey she had trekked, a foreign path with shadows and cobwebs and dangers.

Now it would be a perpetual mystery, for the incipient affection she had just begun nursing to life, was lost to time, and in it's stead, a narcissistic meathead would take the reins and steer her like drones of cattle to the butcher.

"What?" She whispered. Her hand released the door while her knees began to quake. She sank to the floor, clutching her midsection for fear she would fall apart. "What?" She pressed more vehemently as the warm tears drowned her vision.

Phoebus had stopped his flippant game and now stood motionless before the foot of his bed. He almost appeared too wary of Esmeralda, and would not approach her. His silence, on the other hand, was what she desired. She did not want to hear his voice, utter his name, or banter anymore on his behalf.

She needed out of the Palace of Justice, away from the shades of burgundy, the smell of parchment paper, thick ink and quills, and the wine that permeated from every surface of Frollo's bedroom.

Books upon books, yellowing papers, and the many weeping candles, these things were no longer oasis' to her mind or beacons of light.

"I have to get out of here." Esmeralda choked as she staggered to her feet. She wiped her eyes and stepped out into the corridor. She knew her way back to the balcony, she would take the same trellis down and be homeward before sunrise, she hoped.

But as she moved silently down the hallway, as the tears flowed with no restriction, she could no longer will the next step. Esmeralda came to one side of the hallway where she pressed her back against the surface and slid down to the floor. Her legs went out while her hands remained limp in her lap. The forlorning tears rolled their path's down Esmeralda's soft skin. She lasted there until Phoebus arrived.

He squatted down alongside the gypsy dancer and waited for the storm to pass. When her breathy pants turned into deep respires, he spoke. "Forgive me for mocking you, Esmeralda."

He took her hand into his which she immediately retracted. She shifted her torso away until her peripheral's could no longer see him.

Phoebus cleared his throat while his mind assembled his next choice of words.

"I did not kill Claude Frollo," he whispered. "Neither did the king." He watched as Esmeralda took heed of this. She glanced over her shoulder with knitted brows.

"Then what happened?" She asked as she sat back and looked to the sun god. Her eyes were puffy and red, her face streaked with drying tears. The front of her red tunic had collected all the falling drops, turning it from a rose red to a smoldering crimson.

"He took his own life." Phoebus explained. "When the king stripped him of his power, he felt ruined. He didn't see a reason to continue." As the words drifted from his lips, Phoebus watched Esmeralda meticulously.

First denial.

Her trembling lips pursed together as she fought against another wave of anguish, thus the tears returned in full heartbreak. She weeped before the ex-captain by drawing her knees inward and resting her forehead against them. Her arms enveloped around her shins while she kept her body close as the tears rattled her tiny frame. She wasn't a boisterous weeper, Phoebus noticed, she barely made a sound. If he hadn't previously known she had been crying, he might have mistaken her simply as a lost child inside the palace, waiting for the sun to rise, hiding within herself until her rescue.

Phoebus knew his impending words would either coax the maiden into recognizing her dilemma, or she would fight it with everything under the sun. He had to be careful if he wanted to keep the gypsy girl at his side.

"Esmeralda," he began. She didn't appear to have heard him, or gave him notice that she was listening, so he continued. "I told you the king knew your face, that which is no mistake. I fear that if you do not stay within hiding as long as he resides in Paris, you could be putting yourself, as well as the other Romani, in danger."

Once again, she paid him no mind, and was still lost within her own dolor.

"Stay with me," he whispered. "I can protect you."

She sniffed and lifted her head, "From what?"

"The king!" He urged, "I can keep you safe until he leaves Paris. Did you not hear what I just said?"

"No, I did." She mewled. Esmeralda dropped her head back against the wall and stared towards the ceiling. "I just don't want to believe you."

"You are more than welcomed to find out for yourself." Phoebus suggested. "The king will be awakening soon, I'm sure he has quite the earful for you. That is, if you live through it to see it's absolute conclusion."

Through jaded eyes, she looked to Phoebus. "How long will I stay?"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

A soft rapping sounded at the door causing Esmeralda to turn away from the fire. It'd only been a few weeks during Esmeralda's somewhat incarceration, though Phoebus claimed it only to be for her protection from the king. She was starting to wonder if that were true at all.

Before she could respond to the knock, the door creaked open.

"Good morning, Esmeralda." Phoebus said with a grin. He pushed his head through the opening, but stepped no further in.

"Good day to you," the gypsy maiden replied solemnly.

"I have someone to see you." He added with cheer.

"Do what?" Now he had her attention. Before she could stop herself, her mind played the faces she wished to see the most. Djali! Her mind squealed. Clopin! It exclaimed again.

She wasn't expecting to see Quasimodo come through the door.

Though her mind dared not mention his name, just seeing his adopted son come through the entryway made her heart swell and the air from her lungs squeeze out.

"Hello, Esmeralda." Quasimodo said almost shyly.

Esmeralda got to her feet then and raced across the room. She threw her arms around Quasimodo and held on tight. His arms came around her as she stilled against him. When he noticed the subtle quake to her frame, he reached back and grabbed a hold of the door.

"Thank you," he told Phoebus as he shut the door in the Captain's face. When the door closed, he returned his arm around Esmeralda, coddling her as she wept against him.

"It's okay," he cooed, "Everything will be alright."

Esmeralda jerked away from him, glowering. "It will not be alright. Do you have any idea what's going on?"

Quasimodo wiped her tears with a gentle thumb and sighed, "Phoebus told me he was holding you here until the king left France."

"Yes," she grumbled, "But that's not all. I can't leave the palace and visit the Court of Miracles either. I can't even go outside!" The tears had finally ceased and in it's stead, anger rose.

"That's why I'm here," Quasimodo smiled.

When Esmeralda looked to him and noted the soft smile and the kindness that came with his eyes, she respired to herself. As the anger slowly dissipated, the only thing that managed to stave off the perpetual sadness, Esmeralda fought the tears again.

"Frollo's dead." She whispered into her chest as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She felt Quasi touch her shoulder, pulling her into a second embrace. She fell against him, clutching at his garments. They remained in this position for awhile, until Quasi spoke softly.

"I came here not only to provide the comfort you evidently need, but I was sent also to offer you lessons."

Esmeralda stepped away, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Lessons? What do you mean?"

Quasi looked about the room, searching for something, until he discovered the desk across the room. "There we are!" He limped to the desk where the books and parchment paper resided. Esmeralda perked a brow as he rummaged through the draws contents. As he did this, he began stacking parchment paper atop of the desk. He grabbed the onyx ink calligraphy and a feather quill for writing and set it next to the paper. When he turned back towards the gypsy dancer, she was perplexed.

"I'm going to teach you how to read and write." He said tangible fondness.

This continued for another few weeks.

Quasimodo came during the evenings when most citizens of Paris were retiring to their beds. He no longer needed Phoebus to escort him and he made sure the king never saw him coming and going. The sight of the bell tower ringer would raise more questions and the king would only delve further into the matter and probably stay longer in Paris. That, they certainly did not want to happen.

He knew she couldn't run the streets of Paris like she used to, not until the king left, so he came to her instead. She loved the visits, as well as the lessons that came in tow.

On a raining evening, the two sat before the fire. Parchment paper was scattered about the floor with scratches of writing. Some smooth and swifting along the paper, other's gnarled and misshapen.

Quasimodo was hunkered over his work, writing with deep swoops and curves along the paper. His back was towards Esmeralda so that she couldn't see what he was conjuring.

"It's a surprise." He exclaimed with permeated excitement.

So the gypsy waited patiently.

When he was finished, he turned towards her and smiled. "Close your eyes and hold out your hands."

Esmeralda obeyed without hesitation. Shutting her green pools behind thick lashes, she extended her arms out with her palms facing up. Immediately she felt the tickle of the paper brushing her skin, but she heeded when it came to opening her eyes, anticipating the moment he would say so.

"Okay," Quasimodo said, "You can open them now."

She glanced down at the paper forthwith and examined the scripture before her. The swoops and spirals were beautiful to her eyes, but she still had trouble deciphering the alphabet, much less reading it in it's entirety. Her finger traced the ribbons of black ink across the surface, following every arc, loop, and trajectory as if her motion alone brought the shapes to life.

"What is it?" She glanced up from the writing towards Quasimodo. "What does it say?"

Quasi smiled as he leaned in to coach her, "It's your name, see?" He pointed to the first letter which reminded Esmeralda of a broken comb. "Es-mer-al-da." With each sound he pointed to the corresponding portion of her name.

"That's my name?" She smiled.

"It is," Quasi responded, watching the admiration scour her features. "You have a very pretty name."

"Thank you," Esmeralda smiled even wider. She even felt pretty after hearing his words. "How did you know how to spell my name?"

"Fro-" Quasimodo began to say, until catching himself. He clamped his mouth shut and cleared his throat. "Someone taught me." He tried again, but it was far too late, the gypsy knew what he meant to say.

She dropped her arms, still clutching the paper between her fingers, into her lap, and stared unwaveringly at the bell ringer. He appeared to withdrawal under her harsh stare, though she did not mean to come off menacing. She simply didn't want him withholding anything from her in Frollo's regard.

"Frollo?" She pressed. "Frollo taught you how to spell my name? Why would he do that?"

Quasi wrung his hands nervously and refused to look directly into Esmeralda's eyes. "M-Master would some times go over alphabet with me." He took a slow deep breath as he collected himself. "One day, we were going over names, and he decided to write yours. He taught me." When the soft quivering sound of paper came to his attention, he glanced up towards the gypsy. She was looking down at the paper, shielding her face with a thick curtain of raven colored hair. Her fingers were pinching the parcel tightly her while her body trembled.

A choked sigh escaped her lips as she swallowed the knot that formed in her throat. Quasi quickly crawled to her side, drawing her into his chest. She crushed the paper against her bosom and leaned against the bell ringer.

"Help me," she whispered to the bell ringer. She sat up quickly to stare at Quasi with teary eyes. "Help me get back to the Court of Miracles, Quasimodo."

His brow knitted and a hopeless feeling came over him. "You know I can't, Esmeralda. You have to stay here. It's for your own good.

"No, it's not!" She shrieked, still clutching the paper to her chest. "I can't stay here any longer! Everywhere I turn, he's there! His smell! He's in my thoughts, my dreams, my words!" As Esmeralda grew frantic, the tighter she held onto the parcel Quasimodo had written on. His arms reached out and took her gently by the shoulders.

"Esmeralda," he said with tenderness. "We both know the king is looking for you. This is the last place he would look. Phoebus is right, you need to remain here until he is gone." He watched her bottom lip quiver as she suffered the undertow of her emotions once again.

"Okay," she said meekly. A moment passed while the gypsy collected herself. She sighed deeply and met the eyes of Quasimodo. "Will you teach me something?" She inquired.

"Of course! Anything! What is it that you wish to learn?" Quasimodo replied as he watched her finally remove the parcel from her bosom. She laid it into her lap, and began tracing the letters a second time.

"Teach me how to write his name."