"While your anger is justified, there was nothing you could've done to stop him."
Christine turned around swiftly, seeing the old woman standing behind her, her hood still covering her face.
Anger coursed through her. She couldn't feel the violent winds that were picking up, or the snow that was hitting her at a sharp angle. "Why?!" she demanded harshly against the wind. "I don't belong here! I don't want to be here! I'm more of an outcast here than in my own time!"
The cloaked woman said nothing, her black cloak whipping about as Christine's did.
"You!" Christine pointed a slim finger in the woman's direction. "You- stay away from me! Unless you're here to send me back, then don't bother coming here!"
"You don't know what you're aski-"
"I don't care! A family was killed because of me." Christine retorted, slicing the air with her hand. "Just. Leave."
With that, Christine brushed past the woman, who made no move to stop her.
"Before you turn your back on my completely, know that this is not just for you. I did not bring you here for your benefit. You are merely a pawn in my little game."
Christine turned her head to glance at the woman.
"I know the end result," the woman said, finally turning to look at Christine, "If you turn me away again, you will not make it and all of this will be for nothing."
Christine gasped, seeing that the woman's eyes were glowing white.
Suddenly, a powder was thrown in Christine's face and the woman was gone, leaving Christine in the cold, blistering wind and snow.
For a moment, Christine stared numbly at the spot the woman was previously occupying, before turning around and entering the church.
Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she was more aware of it when she entered the tower. She shook her cloak a bit, ridding it of the snow that clung to it and her boots.
She absentmindedly thought about the night's events, and she felt herself becoming more exhausted. She started to exit the tower and make her way to her room, but she was stopped in her tracks by the sound of a baby crying.
The baby!
She rushed over to the makeshift bed that held the child and picked him up, noticing that the wet nurse was nowhere to be found, cradling him in her arms, careful to not get the cold cloak on the child.
She started to gently bounce him as she made her way to the barely lit fire in the fireplace. She cooed at the baby as she prodded the fire with a poker, throwing a small log in and getting it settled, raising the temperature of the room.
After some time, the child became silent, gazing at her with his misshapen eyes. She noticed his innocence, marveling in his pureness.
"Who are you?"
Christine's heart sunk. She knew that voice.
Claude Frollo.
Luckily, her hood was still up, covering her face. "I beg pardon, Sir Judge," she said quietly, trying to remember how people address him. She turned her head to the right, keeping her face hidden by the stark shadow from the fire. "I help around in the cathedral. I was doing my rounds and I heard crying. He's stopped now that he's warm."
She turned slightly and raised her shoulder, indicating that she was holding the child.
Frollo stepped closer to investigate, and Christine dipped her head, the hood sliding lower on her head effectively hiding from him.
He stepped in front of her, barely a foot away, his heavy robe hem brushing her cloak. He reached a hand to her and she stilled, letting her breath out when she watched his hand brush the child's head, the rings on his long fingers glinting in the fire light.
"How can you look at him and not feel ill?" he asked solemnly. "Most of the wet nurses won't help him because of his… deformities." Christine could only guess that the wet nurse left in hysterics at the sight of the baby.
She was taken aback at his gentle touch, but said, "I do not judge, Sir, for only God can judge."
"But not everyone understands such things, so we of the church must guide them and punish them for their wickedness. The wicked shall not go unpunished," he replied.
Christine stayed silent, watching him closely.
After a few moments of silence, Frollo took the child from her. She started to step down the steps, but Frollo said, "You never told me who you are. As Judge, I need to know all who live here."
Christine held back a sigh. "I will tell you my name only. But no more. You may call me Christine." She figured since he was bound to ask the Archdeacon about her, there was no point in telling a lie.
"Take off your hood," Frollo demanded.
"No Sir. I am not presentable. Have a good evening." She bowed slightly and hurried down the wooden steps. When she returned to her room, she removed her cloak, hanging it up on a crude hook in the wall. She pulled her boots off, placing the knife back on the small, cramped table next to her small bed. She noticed a book on her pillow, and looked around the room. She turned her attention to the worn book, opening the cover slowly.
Inside, she noticed an entry.
Oh Lord. I beg for Your forgiveness.
I've done something terrible. I regret it.
It seems I've fallen for a witch most un-holy. Her dark skin permeates my inner eye. Her hair is like night.
I must rid the city of her. Per Your will, my Lord.
I pray that You forgive me of my wrongdoings.
I pray for mercy.
The entry ended there. Christine assumed she had Frollo's journal, but the date was nearly twenty years ahead of where she was currently. She snapped the book shut, throwing it on the small table and sitting back on the bed, rubbing her eyes.
A heavy sense of exhaustion filled her and she went to blow out the candle, only to notice the book was now gone, replaced with a single white feather.
/"I'll update in a couple of weeks" turned into "doesn't update for months." I'm so sorry guys. These filler chapters are killing my writing, and I'm afraid to make them too boring. Thank you for reading this chapter! Leave a thought for me in the reviews!