By mere luck, a scuffle had ensued the moment Esmeralda set foot into the corridor. Two adult males from another cell began throwing themselves against the dirt and iron bars. Fellow cellmates were unable to separate the two and soon, it was up to the guards. It was at this time Esmeralda slipped passed her own bars and skirted the sides of the corridor like a shadow before making a dash for the exit.

By the time she reached the landing, her lungs burned cold and she was panting. At the top, only one door revealed itself and that led her to the palace's main vestibule, and thereafter, the large foyer, split evenly with marble stairs that traced the interior of the hall.

She had never been in the palace before today and had only briefly got a layout of the foyer when she arrived. Entering the chamber, much like a cathedral, the walls and windows lured her eyes heavenward. As if such a palace of torture and cruelty could be anything but harrow. The ceilings were steep and a mural depicted, from what she could tell in the dim light, a glimpse into the holy everlasting life. Esmeralda grimaced further, glaring at candelabras that surrounded her. Each revealed their assigned doorways and gave flickering glimpses of bookshelves that lined all the walls around her.

The judge lived here, this much she knew.

The thought alone was enough to spur her into action. Driven by this very hatred she rushed towards the stairs. The sun was far gone to offer a ray of shine through the windows, but that was alright. The tiny flames did what they could and Esmeralda's imagination did the rest.

Pausing mid step, a sound reached her ears. She looked down at the pale floor and back up into the thick shadows, tilting her head while she listened. Whatever it was, was too muffled to discern exactly what and where it derived. What guards remained for the late night watch either stood outside the palace in the cold or resided from whence she came. Anything within the stone walls was perhaps housekeeper or, even better, the judge himself.

Disregarding the sound, she took the cold steps two at a time until reaching the intermediate landing where a seated saint await her.

She made a right and mounted those stairs before coming to another short stop. She glanced over her shoulder. Either she had finally gone made or the statue breathing.

No, worse.

"Opheila," Emseralda hissed, turning completely to glare at the shadow creeping out from behind the carved marble. "What is it now?"

Emerging from her shadowy insert, the witch revealed herself.

"Oh, my dear." she croaked, carefully taking a few steps up the stairs to look into the gypsy's eyes. Even in the darkness, her eyes shined with mischief. "Wherever are you?"

Glowering, Esmeralda stepped back. "Enough of you!"

Narrowing her eyes, Ophelia leaned in. "Can you hear me? Are you in there?"

In the darkest recesses of her mind, she floated. She did a many other things, too.

She cried and screamed.

She bellowed and wailed with hysteria. But her anger and fret drifted to empty ears.

The longer she spent in this convoluted realm, the lesser and quieter she became. She was losing herself, slipping back into the mind where she watched things in horror as she incited scorn and hatred across the reel. One of the most important things she had failed to take into account was the fact that during such times, this sudden and rather impending transgression, was the memory of another. Not, in actuality, of her's in any degree.

This story belonged to someone else and she had been sucked into it.

This woman was much like Esmeralda, as wild and untamed as she was, had the reins. Where this being came from was unknown. Maybe Esmeralda suffered from multiple personalities? How else could she explain such a circumstance? Had her time with Phoebus really affected her to the point of dissociation?

And to make matters worse, she couldn't stop it. She had been swallowed whole and now her efforts were rendered naught and her pleas mute.

So she drifted.

The throes of this woman's agony and despair had such an undertow, it plagued even Esmeralda. The conviction was so strong, it was rather convincing why she abhorred the judge so. Often times, it almost seemed as if the hate was so strong it... stained.

So lost in her perpetual and endless gamut of thoughts, she hadn't heard the small voice slip through the darkness and reach her like a tender lover.

Still, she drifted.

Then it came again, this time Esmeralda noticed.

Shaking free of her trance, she looked outward, through the eyes of another and saw:

Ophelia emerge.

Aside from their uncanny resemblance, another favor they shared was their contempt for the aforementioned.

Externally, the woman was unsightly, however more so within, for both parties knew she was fickle and untrustworthy.

But something peculiar was happening as she took to the stairs, coming for the wild gypsy.

"Oh, my dear." The witch began, "Wherever are you?"

"Enough of you!" The gypsy spat, taking a retreating step.

Ophelia leaned in, almost looking passed the woman before her.

She's looking me. She realized quickly.

"Can you hear me? Are you in there?" Ophelia peered.

Yes! She soared, I'm here!

Blinking Esmeralda's bemusement turned into elation. What a peculiar time to be happy. Perhaps she knew the end of her story was near and that after tonight, the gypsies of Paris, the Court of Miracles and all thereafter would be free of this racist oppression. Esmeralda was no martyr. She was an unholy thing and from that alone, she was proud. If this is what God wanted, the eradication of gypsy, then he was no God to her.

"Stay of away from me," Esmeralda growled at the witch, taking the few remaining steps away and onto the landing.

Spinning on her bare heel, she raced down the corridor, keeping careful note to the sounds around her.

Only one thing could be heard in the entire castle and that, Esmeralda was certain, was the minister.

As faint as it was, and terribly so, she denoted it a floor, or several, above her. The Palace of Justice was mammoth in size and austerity, fear reminded her she could get lost, but a gypsy could always find a way to escape. Carpet laid across the stone floor, absorbing every foot fall she made until finding a concealed corridor.

Staring into its impenetrable depths with her curious green eyes, Esmeralda braved herself. She crossed the threshold and followed the melancholy sound.

The sadness and the shadows carried Esmeralda down the cold narrow hall until she was listening to the very provenance beyond a thick door.

Trying the handle while her heart leapt, it surrendered to her entry and she pushed passed the threshold into the dark secrets that awaited her.

A fire, wide and hearty, was ablaze before a man. His shoulders shook and his entire body trembled in tales of woe as he stared into the flame.

Minister Frollo.

Beneath her skirt she could feel the warm dagger press to her thigh like another limb she obtained since birth. It withstood well throughout the years of abuse and held its own scars like its master.

It appeared her arrival was undetected and she did her best to reign in her racing heart as she shut the heavy door.