A/N: And from here, things will continue to pick up as the villain's plot progresses to try to keep our main characters from getting their HEA...Enjoy! This chapter features more original characters of my own creation, like Alice, Jeanne, Darius, and Sophia. I'm not quite sure where I want to take Darius and Sophia yet, but I have a few ideas in mind for their friendship. Darius again, is modeled after Colin O' Donoghue, and Sophia I've decided is modeled after Rachel McAdams.

Madellaine blearily awoke to the frigid cold of an unfamiliar cloister cell. She woke up before Jehan could kill her. But she could still feel the presence of the chilling knife around her throat, digging deeper into her. Its sharp edges running around her smooth skin, ready to pierce her unblemished flesh. She could hear her heavy breathing and the sweat from her brow formed in beads. It was only a nightmare, but she had never quite recalled her dreams being this…this vivid.

The young woman woke as if it were an emergency, as if sleeping had become a dangerous thing. Her heat beat fast and there was a strange buzzing in her brain and a ringing in her ears. She knew without even having to look at the mirror's reflection hanging across the other side of the room that the day would pass as if she were hungover, not from drink, but from her nightmares that demanded a solution. The young woman let out a low whimper and moaned. "Jehan…" Her nightmare had ended so abruptly, as she was shaken back into the horrible reality of her situation. Her gray eyes opened, her eyelashes faintly batting against her lids when she blinked.

She was laying on a hard, unfamiliar cot, debating whether it would be wise of her to try to sit up. Her muscles felt weak and the muscles and bones in her fingers where Jehan had so cruelly broken her finger and then snapped the bones back into place screamed and begged for relief from this pain. Madellaine let out a tiny groan as she struggled to sit up, a half-choked sob of anguish escaping her lips, whimpering as she struggled to sit up and against the pillows behind her. What time was it? How long had she been asleep? Did she have clothes on? A quick glance down confirmed she was still in her green dress from the other night. All these confusion questions swirled around in her exhausted mind, demanding answers. Slowly and reluctantly, she opened her eyes further.

She blinked, closed her eyes, blinked again, rubbing the sleep from the corners of her eyelids. Streaks of sunlight penetrated the dismal little barred window of the cloister cell and blinded her. Jehan's threats of what he would do to her today if she failed to meet him in the marketplace this afternoon flitted through her mind, and Madellaine bolted upright, perhaps faster than she ought to have, and as she did so, she knew she had made a grave mistake indeed. Her stomach churned violently, and the nausea clawed at her throat. She tried to force down the bile, but it was too late. Madellaine was hardly aware of someone shoving a blue basin underneath her, and for that, she was grateful. Her stomach kept on contracting violently, forcing everything up and out. Her face was white as the pungent stench invaded her nostrils and she heaved again.

"Easy, just get it out. That's it," someone was saying to her—was it Alice? Madellaine gave a tiny nod, wanting to speak, but couldn't. She retched loud and hard into the basin until it was only clear liquid that was coming up. Her throat felt sore from the stomach acid that was layering it and her mouth tasted of bile. The stomach acid stench of vomit filled her nostrils as she surveyed the mess in the basin with watery, red-rimmed eyes.

Her stomach dry-heaved again but she fought it back, collapsing back against the pillows, feeling the sheen of sweat form along her brow, and her skin began to feel hot, feverish.

"Finally," breathed the other woman's voice. Madellaine blearily tried to focus her vision a few feet in front of herself.

She quickly realized it was Sister Alice, and she felt a little guilty as the pretty nun was looking at her rather expectantly.

Madellaine swallowed back the acidic bile in her throat and hesitantly reached for the goblet of water perched on the bedside table that looked like it needed two of its legs needing repairing soon. She cringed as the taste of vomit was washed from her mouth as she drank. Setting down the goblet back in its place, she winced as she looked towards the nun. "It's you. Alice...When…when did you get here?" she whispered hoarsely.

The beautiful nun had discarded her coif and habit and had opted instead of a pair of simple brown robes with a braided rope belt tied at the waist, her gray locks flowing loose and free in gentle layered waves to her shoulders. She snorted and regarded the young blonde over the rim of her wine goblet. Sister Alice crossed her legs and folded her arms across her chest. "Not very long ago. About an hour or two, I would guess," she clarified, chuckling a little at the young woman's dazed expression. Noticing Madellaine's brow furrow into a frown and the sheen of cold sweat developing there, she instinctively reached for the basin again. "How are you feeling? Are you still feeling sick?" she questioned cautiously.

Madellaine shook her head no, clutching the thick woolen blanket tighter around herself. Now that her stomach had stopped lurching, she merely felt bruised inside, and empty.

Sister Alice gave a curt nod, setting the basin back down by her feet, crinkling her nose in disgust at the smell, but she would dispose of that later. Right now, however, she wanted answers. Her and Sisters Jeanne and Maria had found the poor child passed out at the front of the nave early this morning, and one of her fingers looked as though it had been broken and then lazily and carelessly snapped back into place, and the girl would have quite the welt on the back of her head from her fall.

Madellaine, with the help of Sister Jeanne, who had joined them silently, looking immensely relieved to see their young charge awake, sat up gingerly, propped up against her pillows. She could see her reflection in the mirror on the opposite side of the room that she looked a right mess. Battered, they called it. Such a simple word for a simple idea. But this wasn't simple. Her sense of self, once a high and proud feeling of one destined for good things, now felt as bruised as her abdomen and as broken as the mirror she was glancing into across the way. She wiped the dried blood from her pallid skin, and when she reached down to study both her hands, she could see that they had been heavily bandaged and were trembling violently. Madellaine barely recognized herself. Who was that in there now and why did she stay? By agreeing to go along with Jehan's plan, she was putting not only herself in danger, but Quasi as well, and that was something she just could not do.

She gazed around the spare cloister cell at the broken and strewn possessions. Did I do this? She wondered. If so, when? And were they any different to herself? She stifled a sob with the scuffed palm of her hand and collapsed against the pillows. The sound of Sister Alice coughing to clear her throat jolted poor Madellaine out of her thoughts.

"Well?" she demanded hotly, keeping her arms folded across her chest as she sank into her set of robes for warmth as best she could. "Am I talking to myself or are you going to tell Jeanne and I what happened last night, girl? We found you passed out dead to the world on the nave floor, with two bones in your forefinger on your right hand broken. And it was bleeding something awful. We thought you were dead, so imagine our surprise when you started talking in your sleep. Easy now," the well-known nun cautioned, her tone softening slightly as she helped her sit up.

"Thank you," Madellaine managed to croak out hoarsely, gingerly rubbing her bandaged hand. "For everything."

"Are you going to tell us what happened?" demanded Sister Jeanne, folding her arms across her chest. "We know you could not have done such a thing to yourself. Who did this to you?"

Madellaine visibly winced, hating that it had come to this.

"I—I can't," she whispered, turning her head away sharply.

"We can help you," Alice offered. "This place is your sanctuary, but only if you allow it. We can protect you here, but we must know who did this to you. What's his name?"

Madellaine cringed, taking a deep breath to steel her nerves. He was going to kill her anyways, most likely, so she might as well tell them. "His name is… Jehan," she managed at last, her voice barely above a whisper. "Jehan Frollo." Here it comes.

"WHAT?" bellowed Alice, in a fit of anger accidentally overturning the table. Madellaine quickly shielded herself with the thick woolen blanket as the red wine in the wineskin the nun had been holding splashed over the floor and towards her.

"You didn't think that information would be worth divulging?" asked Jeanne, looking incredibly hurt and offended. "Why not? I didn't even know Claude had a brother!" The nun looked towards Alice for confirmation.

Madellaine nodded weakly. "He does. I'm his…sister."

"Oh, God!" cried Sister Jeanne, rubbing her temples. "This is bad, very bad. Al, what do we do?" she moaned in despair.

"I couldn't tell anybody because I knew this is the reaction I would get," protested Madellaine, keeping her eyes closed as much as to avoid the nuns' pained reactions as much to prevent the tears that were welling in her eyes from spilling over. "Claude and Jehan were my brothers. Are. Jehan is still alive, and he's going just the same way as Claude. He's insane!"

"What did he do, child, to drive you here to sanctuary?" asked Sister Jeanne, pouring a fresh flagon of wine and handing it to her. "Here. Drink that. It'll numb at least a little of the pain."

Madellaine reached out a trembling hand and took a shaky sip. "Thank you," she murmured gratefully. "He…" But she couldn't finish that thought. It was far too horrible to think it.

"Did he touch you?" demanded Alice, her normally kind blue eyes turning glacier cold, a trait she'd no doubt learned from Darius. "Has he ever…?" Madellaine knew what she was thinking. If he'd ever raped her.

"No," she replied immediately, shaking her head. "I'd never let him touch me that way. I—I'd kill myself if he ever did."

Jeanne shuddered as she took a sip of wine. "Ugh. Brothers and sisters, that's one stain that's incredibly hard to wash out."

"Did he do this to you?" asked Alice, reaching out a tender hand and turning over Madellaine's palm in her own, inspecting the bandages with a trained eye. "Answer us."

Madellaine let out a weary sigh. There's no point in lying.

"Yes." A thought suddenly crossed her mind and she bolted upright, her posture rigid. "Oh, God," she moaned. "Does Darius or Quasi know what happened to me last night?"

Alice and Jeanne shared a dark look. "No," they said in unison. "Neither of them knows a thing of what transpired."

Thank God, she inwardly thought. "Neither of them can know," she pleaded desperately. "Not yet. I need to tell them both. Privately. On my terms. I beg of you, say nothing."

"You're kidding, right? This is a joke?" Jeanne asked in disbelief, staring at the young blonde as though she had carrots growing out of her ears. "We cannot keep something like this a secret from those two. They deserve to know the truth, girl!"

"Especially not the boy," added Alice moodily. "I know you don't know of the history of what happened between him and Claude, but you need to understand that it's quite difficult—"

"I know enough," Madellaine interjected quickly.

"I'm sorry, child, but we have to tell them," Alice said somberly. Noticing the young blonde's crestfallen expression, she was quick to add, "But if you'd like our support, we'll be right behind you while you tell them both, every minute."

Madellaine breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Thank you. I will, I swear it," she reassured the pair of them, fumbling with her glass of water as she raised it to her lips. The cool water was refreshing, soothing her burning, aching throat as it went down. "You know, it's funny, but I never thought that I'd—"

But she did not get a chance to finish her thought as Father Darius entered the room, fumbling with his rosary and seeming to swim in his brown monk's habit that was much too big for him. His cheerful grin faltered as he noticed her pale face and bloodied bandages on her hands, how gaunt and hollow her cheekbones were. Her face was drawn, ill, almost like a corpse.

"My God. What happened?" he demanded, his tone harsh as he rushed towards Madellaine's bedside, ignoring Alice and Jeanne's playful smirks as he took her injured hand in his, looking over her wounds with a cautious eye. "Explain this."

"I…" Madellaine found she was unable to string together a cohesive thought that would make sense as she stared into their kind priest's brilliant blue eyes. He truly does have beautiful eyes, the blonde thought, momentarily forgetting herself.

"She cut herself on a broken wine glass, it was my fault!" chirped Alice, surprising Madellaine by covering for her. She winked at her and formed a morose expression on her face. "I should have been more careful, Darius. She'll heal fast."

He scoffed. "At least you admitted it this time, Alice."

"You're still on me about the ladder incident, Darius, how many times must I apologize?" the nun sighed in despair, though her blue eyes had regained an ounce of their playfulness. "I told you, that one wasn't my fault, either!"

The handsome priest grinned. "At least five more times."

Madellaine laughed, feeling a huge weight lift from her heart, as though the burden of carrying around the secret of her life living with the Frollo family had been lifted as she listened to the three banter back and forth. "It wasn't entirely their fault, Darius. I could have refused their plea for help, so I am partially to blame for that as well. Don't be so harsh on her."

"Listen to her, Father, the girl means well. Here, come sit." Alice kicked Jeanne out of the chair she was occupying, holding up a pair of shears. "Your hair's getting silly, dear, it needs a trim." Madellaine obliged, gratefully accepting Darius's hand as he helped her over towards the chair.

Her head was still swimming, black spots dancing in her vision and everything ached, every muscle and joint screamed for her to lay back down in her bed and sleep last night off. Madellaine remained silent, closing her eyes as the nun began to trim her hair, as was her new custom at the end of every week.

At first, Alice and Jeanne had been confused about her hair. Having hair as short as hers was uncommon in these parts, and was often viewed as punishment during the path of atonement, but once they learned her brother had cut it off during one of his rages and she preferred it this way ever since, it made sense to the women.

Lord knows what else he's done, Alice thought darkly as she worked swiftly and expertly, cutting her hair until not a stray wisp or strand was out of place, perfect and neat. Desperate to change the subject, Alice decided to ask the question that was burning on the tip of her tongue. "I still want details of how last night went. You've not said a word of that. What happened?" She ignored the bemused look Darius shot her as he took the empty chair next to Madellaine. She repressed her urge to roll her eyes. "How did he perform for you last night? You both were gone a long time. We didn't even hear you come in. I take it that it went well?"

"Alice!" chastised Darius, his tone warning her. "Lay off her."

"Did you get a good look at him?" Jeanne piped up, unable to resist her own curiosity any longer. "Is he…well-endowed? Oh, I love—"

"Jeanne!" shouted Father Darius, playfully swatting the nun on her arm. "Knock it off, won't you? To say these things in the house of the mother is an affront and a sin. Leave these two alone. God!"

Madellaine laughed, laying a reassuring hand on the priest's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. He looked surprised by the simple gesture but fell silent. "It's all right, Darius. It's fine."

Turning towards the sisters, she felt the beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. "What do you two want to know?"

"Everything," came Sister Alice's answer. "Did he kiss you?"

She grinned. "As a matter of fact, I kissed him. I knew he wasn't going to take initiative, so…I just did it. It was…magic," she whispered, instinctively clutching the blanket tighter around herself for warmth, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks as she recollected the way his lips had connected with hers, how passionate it had been. For a moment, her smile faltered as she wondered if they'd heard the commotion caused last night when he'd accidently overturned the chair, so caught up in their embrace, not caring if he made noise.

Alice noticed her growing look of embarrassment and snorted.

"You were alone with him up in his tower, there were no candles lit up there, we heard a noise around midnight, it had to have been. Did you sleep with him, finally? God knows he needs, Christ Almighty."

The nun set down her shears and stepped back to admire her handiwork, giving a quick nod of approval at the girl's haircut. "Much better. And don't try to deflect and change the subject."

"I—I didn't," she mumbled, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. Her conscience had resumed taunting her again. You know you want it more than anything, but he had resisted against it. But…you know he wanted it too. Madellaine's momentary stunned silence confirmed all three of their suspicions. Alice was the first to speak and break the tension.

"Oh, don't worry, child, there's no harm in showing an interest in someone, let alone in our dear bell ringer. He's kind enough, when he's not making a fool of himself in front of a beautiful woman such as yourself," she chuckled, fondly remembering their argument over dinner during the young blonde's first night in the cathedral. "He's handsome enough, and he certainly has the ability to give you a good life here."

"He…he asked if he could court me," she whispered happily.

"What did you say?" asked Darius, his curiosity growing now.

She shot him a dark look. "Yes, of course!" she snapped, looking offended at the very idea that the concept of saying no had ever crossed her mind. "If it gets me away from my current family, then I will do it. More to the point, I want to do this."

Alice and Jeanne exchanged a brief look with Darius. Later, mouthed Alice. Over wine. Darius gave a curt nod, signaling he understood without ever having to say a word.

He never did with them. The priest gave a gentle nod and Madellaine watched, amused, as the young midwife, Sophia entered the room and took the empty seat next to Darius. His expression softened. "Soph," he murmured warmly. "It's so good to see you, love," he complimented. "Come join us."

The pretty brunette nodded, frowning a little at seeing the bandages on Madellaine's hands, noticing how ill the young woman looked. She quickly glanced to Darius for confirmation, who shook his head no and felt his hand drift to her lap and settle there. "Later," he whispered into the shell of her ear. He glanced back towards Madellaine and winked at her.

Madellaine's stunned silence confirmed their suspicions. Alice was the first to speak and break the tension. "Don't worry, girl, there's no shame in showing interest in someone, let alone in our bell ringer. He's certainly handsome enough, isn't he?" she teased, noticing how pink and flushed the young blonde was becoming.

"Lay off her, you two," Darius scolded, irate.

"What, you too, now, Darius?" sighed Jeanne.

"Well, spill it, girl," retorted Alice impatiently, tapping her foot as she sat in her chair, she was growing restless. "Our boy is handsome enough, he's kind, he's got a way with words like no one else we know. What happened?"

"I…he asked if he could…court me," she finished.

Alice, Jeanne, Sophia, and Darius all broke into wide grins.

"We knew it!" exclaimed Jeanne, breaking into delighted laughter, her face suddenly looking years younger than her actual age of fifty-one. "What did you say?"

"Yes, of course!" Madellaine answered, looking offended at the question. As if I'd even consider saying no to him.

Jeanne couldn't resist adding a quip of her own. "I'm surprised the man didn't break you last night, girl. If he'd been left alone any longer without the company of a good woman, I'd hate to think how he would get." She scoffed. "I can't imagine the amount of sexual frustration he must be going through. By God, more than ten years alone would be enough to drive any normal man insane," she cackled.

Madellaine was stunned, at a loss for words. "I…"

Darius was suddenly looking uncomfortable, as though he regretted entering the conversation when he did. Sophia smiled warmly and placed a gentle hand on his lap.

Alice pressed on regardless. "If you're a virgin, the feeling isn't going to last long," she snickered delightfully. "Come now, I can see it in your eyes, child. You're old enough to know about these things, surely you've experienced it for yourself, haven't you, as pretty of a thing as you are, I'm sure you had plenty of suitors growing up."

"Only one," she admitted, shooting the sister a dark look. Don't you dare mention Jehan in front of Darius?

"I take it our bell ringer is the first?" boasted Alice, looking suddenly prideful, a wistful look in her blue eyes. "Oh, I remember my first time, with my Lionel..."

"The love of a good man is always worth it," Sophia chirped, looking wistful as she shot Darius a knowing look. Their priest didn't miss a beat.

"As you had with Paul?" he snapped, a note of jealousy in his voice. "Face it, Soph, you've never known true love. Not as long as you were married to him."

Sophia turned to stare at Darius, a stunned expression on her face. "And what do you know about true love, Dari? Hmm? You've refused to move on since Hanna, so who have you ever loved since she died?"

Darius opened his mouth to retort but fell silent, a morose expression overtaking his handsome features. "You," he whispered, low enough that Sophia missed it, but Madellaine caught it.

Madellaine nodded, picking at the fresh dressings on her hand, which had been bandaged since she passed out.

Jeanne slapped her hand away. "Don't pick at it!"

Madellaine shot her a reproachful look. "It hurts!"

"I know it does, but don't you pick at it. You'll only make it worse. Now leave it alone. Here, put this on," she snapped, tossing Madellaine's brown traveling robe to her.

"We need you to run to the marketplace today," Alice chimed in. "Our stocks are running low and we're out of bread, and we'll be needing more fruit. Someone," she added, chuckling in amusement, throwing a dirty look Darius's way, "keeps going through our stores and eating the grapes. I won't name names, but I'm looking at him!"

"Only because you two never eat them!" he protested, laughing, making a face at Alice. "I swear, half the food you two stash away, you never get to in time before it rots."

"Hold on a second, Al," Jeanne spoke up, turning back to Madellaine as she effortlessly slid her traveling robe over her dress. "You never answered our questions. Have you…"

"No," she answered firmly. "I don't return my master's affections," she growled darkly. "He's never…"

"He never took you? Not once? Not in any way?"

Her face blanched at the very thought. "No."

"Why not?" Alice asked, fully engaged in the gossip now, resting her chin in her hands. "You're a beautiful woman, why hasn't he taken you for himself then—oh, does he have…other types of nocturnal activities in mind? Oh, God," she whispered, a truly wicked grin on her face. "He's a sword swallower, isn't he? He is, and that's why he's never taken you—"

"ALICE!" roared Darius, unable to hold his temper again. He bolted so fast from his chair he overturned it. Their priest looked livid, the shadow of a warrior on his handsome face. "Enough!" he shouted, turning to Madellaine, extending his hand to help her up.

Madellaine burst into laughter, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes. The idea of Jehan with a man in his bed was ridiculous. He would never, she thought "No, no, he would never. Jehan is not that kind of a man. Excuse me," Madellaine replied courteously, still laughing. "I should—I should go take care of your errand before the rain comes, it's looking like it might," she said, peering out the large oak doors of the prayer.

A thick white mist blanketed the city of Paris this morning, showing no signs of lessening up anytime soon.

"Madellaine," Darius spoke up suddenly, his voice urgent. "Why don't I go with you? I don't like the idea of you wandering off on your own; it's not safe for you. I—"

"I will be fine," she reassured, placing a gentle hand on his arm and smiling, hoping it reached her eyes. I can't let anyone follow me. I need to go see what Jehan wants. I won't let them get hurt. I won't do this to him. "I can take care of myself." She opened her mouth to speak further but was interrupted by a flash of red out of the corner of her eye.

She grinned, turning to Notre Dame's bell ringer, who'd come down to visit her. Madellaine thought he looked dashing this cold September morning in a thick brown tunic and pants, his red hair tousled slightly from the breeze. His eyes were full to the brim of affection and love for her; at first, she didn't know what to make of it.

Alice and Jeanne shared a knowing look, but fell silent and waited for their boy to speak. We want details, damn it, thought Alice impatiently, fully intending to get the boy to spill it over a few glasses of wine. I don't care how long it takes, he's spilling the truth to Jeanne and me tonight.

Quasi noticed Madellaine's hand hovering on the door and the hood of her robe pulled up over her face. He shot her a quizzical look. "Going somewhere, love?" he asked, ignoring the delighted grins the nuns gave each other at the term of endearment he gave to the young blonde.

"The marketplace to run a quick errand for Alice and Jeanne. We're out of fruit and bread, so I volunteered to go, get some fresh air," she answered, frowning slightly as she looked over Quasi's shoulder at the look Alice was giving her. "I want to make it back before it rains, so I should go now," she said softly, suddenly growing nervous. You should tell him the truth. Tell him right now. No, no, that won't work. Stick to your original plan of telling him everything over dinner as you planned.

Quasi, ever the sharp, attentive man that he was, noticed her sudden change in demeanor and placed a gentle hand on the small of her back. "Do you want me to go with you since you don't know your way around very well yet?" he offered kindly. "It's no trouble for me to—"

"NO!" Madellaine bellowed, flinching at the harsh bark to her tone. She winced as she noticed his hurt look. "I—I didn't mean to yell at you, Quasi, but I should go alone. You...you have work here to do, I can't pull you away from that. No, it's best if I go alone, love." If Jehan will really be there today, I can't have him hurting you, she thought, pained as she looked into his eyes, doing her best to communicate silently. I won't. Jehan is my burden to bear alone, she thought.

To ease his mind, Madellaine enveloped him in a tight hug, sinking into his warmth, so desperately wishing she could stay like this, and her life circumstances weren't so dire, but she would not allow Jehan to abuse her anymore. "You went out of your way last night to show me the Seine," she whispered, basking in the warmth he gave off.

"It was nothing," he replied, startled, resting his head on top of her head, his hands drifted to her waist and stayed there. "Think nothing of it, Madellaine. I meant it."

"I know," she said warmly, craning her neck up to look into his eyes. "But now it's my turn to do something for you. Let me go," she whispered. "I told you I'd see you later tonight, my love," she said, smiling shyly as he broke into a wide grin at her affection for him. "I'll be in your tower at six, like I promised you last night, Quasi. You have my word."

"Our tower," he corrected her quietly, reaching up and lowered the hood of her robe so he could give her a gentle kiss. "Your home is here now. With us. With me."

"That's the best you can do?" chirped Alice wickedly, her grin infectious. She playfully jabbed Jeanne in the elbow. "Jesus, kid, you didn't read all those books and poems for nothing, did you? Tell her how you really feel, why don't you? We know you're holding out on us! Darius, I know you've been teaching him, your lessons on how to woo and wile and beguile the ladies are being wasted!"

Quasi shot a dark look Alice's way but chose not to retort. His expression softened slightly as he turned back to Madellaine, who had bit her lip and was fighting down her laughter.

"Are you sure you don't want me to go with?" he persisted, trying again one more time. "I'm more than happy to go with you, I hope you know this."

She nodded, her smile almost stopping Quasi's heart. "I will be fine," she reassured, although her voice wavered. She swallowed, hoping nobody caught it. Madellaine leaned up and gently pressed her lips against his, feeling Notre Dame around them fade away until it was just the two of them left to wander the earth together. In his embrace, the entire world stopped. Nothing else mattered but the two of them. She broke apart at last reluctantly, a shy smile on her lips and her face flushed pink. She winked at him before opening the large oak doors of the prayer. "I'll see you soon," she promised, lifting the skirts of her robe as she pulled the robe's hood up over her face, concealing most of her face. The mist still hadn't let up, and soon she vanished into the thick white blanket as if she had never been there in the first place. It was an eerie sensation.

"I don't like this," Darius spoke up, sounding worried.

"Oh, Madellaine's going to be fine!" scoffed Jeanne, waving away both of their concerns with an airy wave of her hand. "The girl's got spunk, she can fend for herself."

The sisters chatted among themselves, not wanting to linger in the cold autumnal air any longer, and went back inside, leaving the two men alone outside.

Quasi stared out at the mist, choosing to sit on the steps of Notre Dame. He didn't like the idea of her wandering off on her own, especially not with her master still out there somewhere. Darius chose to sit next to him, groaning at the stiffness in his legs as he collapsed onto the step next to his brother.

"I take it by what we just witnessed that last night went well?" teased Darius, finally breaking the silence at last. The bell ringer nodded, not able to speak much. The priest glanced over at his brother, and one glance was more than enough. "What's ailing you, my brother? I can see it on your face that something troubles you. What is it? Surely, you're not still fretting over what she thinks?"

"No, I…last night couldn't have gone better," he admitted, running a hand through his red hair and absentmindedly picking at a loose string on one of his fingerless gloves. "But I can't shake the feeling there's something she isn't telling me. I know she's been abused."

If only you knew the half of it, Darius thought darkly, suddenly growing uncomfortable. He could tell no one of his encounter with Madellaine's master in the confessional.

"I—I love her, Darius," Quasi said, at last, his voice cracking slightly. He coughed once and turned away sharply, but Darius wasn't fooled. Not for an instant.

"That's a good thing, Quasi!" he laughed. "Why so upset, then? I can see it in her eyes she cares for you."

"I—I almost couldn't control myself last night, Darius! When she…when we kissed, I just...wanted to go further. I wanted to-"

"Well, I'd consider you a fool if you didn't," he teased. "It's only natural, these feelings, what you're going through. Euphoria. It's quite common."

"Does it ever go away?" he asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer. "I can't eat, I can't sleep. It hurts to breathe, but I—I don't care! What the hell do I do?"

"No," Darius answered softly, growing quiet. "Not if you…not if you truly love her. The feeling stays. Always." Darius sighed, looking out into the mist, desperately wishing she had allowed him to go with her. "As for what to do about it…well, that's easy. You have to tell her how you feel. Don't wait until it's too late. I'd tell her, and soon before you regret it."

"But how could I?" he despaired, anguished.

"I think you already did last night," he grinned. "Am I wrong?" he joked, noticing how flushed the younger man was getting. "Or did I misinterpret the signals back there? I can see it in Madellaine's eyes that she loves you, maybe even more than she loves herself. So, what's stopping you from telling her?"

Quasi fell silent for a moment, thinking, not looking at the man he considered an older brother. "I've already made up my mind I want to marry her, Darius. I've known for quite a while now, a few weeks. I just…I don't know how to—how to ask her. Or where I'll get her ring, it's not like I can just walk into the town square and buy her one. You've seen how people react to me, I can't go through that again," he admitted, looking pained, clenching his eyes as visions of his time out during the Feast of Fools flashed through his mind, the villagers and soldiers pelting rotten food at him, nearly strangling him to death on the pillory, making an utter mockery of him. "What should I do?"

Darius sat there, stunned and at a loss. What do I say to this? I—I should be happy for my brother, so why is it I feel myself growing so insanely jealous? This isn't like you. I'm not her lover; I have no right to be so protective of Madellaine. Get it together, Darius. She was never yours, and never will be.

"I think I can help you with that," he said, at last, smiling at his brother and hoping it was genuine.

"How?" he asked incredulously. "It's not like I know—"

But he fell silent as Darius rummaged in the pockets of his black monk's habit and procured two beautiful rings. The bands were plain yellow gold, simple, clean and elegant. Perfect for us, Quasi thought, mulling over the thought as he shifted them in his hand, feeling their weight. Quasi quirked his brow at Darius, waiting for an explanation. "These are beautiful, Darius, but you've been carrying these around for how long? And why?"

Darius's face went ashen, devoid of any color. "I…" Should you tell your brother the truth? Doesn't he deserve to know, after all this time? He does. Of course, he does, you know that. Tell him soon. But I—I can't. Not yet. "Clopin gave these to me," he lied, doing his best to keep his tone neutral and his face impassive, hoping his eyes didn't betray him. "An old couple in his court passed away and he thought I could find a better use for them. I've held onto them ever since." Quasi said nothing as Darius placed the rings in his palm and curled his fist over them. "Take them," he urged kindly. "I'm serious. I meant what I said when I told you that you shouldn't wait to tell her how you feel. If you truly love her and want to go through with this, I'll be here for you every step of the way. When are you going to ask her?" he asked, unable to quell his curiosity and barely succeeding in hiding his distress from him.

"I don't know yet," he admitted, carefully pocketing the rings. "In a week or two, I think. I want to wait until the moment's right, and when she won't be expecting it. I want it to be a surprise for her. I need to do it right." He stretched and stifled a yawn. "Madellaine's twenty-eighth name day is coming up next week, last week of September. I'd like to ask her then."

Darius grinned, clapping his brother on the shoulder.

"Let me know how it goes!" he encouraged. "I think you'll be surprised by what she says. I have hope for you."

Quasi sighed, growing agitated and worried. "Me too."

Both men stared as the morning fog enveloped the entire city of Paris in its thick white blanket, obscuring their vision, making it impossible to see two feet in front of them. The bell ringer grew worried. "I never should have let her go out in this alone! What the hell was I thinking…"

Darius agreed but didn't want to voice it.

"If something happens to her, I'd never forgive myself!" he despaired, weaving his knuckles in between his fingers. "I don't like the idea of her wandering off alone by herself."

You and me both, the priest thought darkly. The two men didn't speak much after that, but both of them refused to budge from their places on the steps of Notre Dame. They would wait for Madellaine to come back. They needed her. By God, they needed her.

I love her, thought Quasi and Darius at the same time.

Watching was what he did best. That's why he had given himself the name of The Watcher. Day in and day out, he just...watched. And he liked it, he was good at it. The beautiful woman, his new target, one who could be easily distinguished from the crowd, wandered by, heading towards the magnificent Lady of Peace herself, Notre Dame. Her delicate footsteps making almost no noise on the wet cobblestone streets of the marketplace in Paris after a fresh rainfall.

The stranger had not anticipated running into the blonde woman here, but it was most convenient. He could get a better look at the girl's face from this distance. The hood of her simple but beautiful linen robe obscured most of her face, but what could see of her the closer he dared to get, he liked. Her blonde hair cropped short was a myriad of different shades of gold; her graceful cheekbones and elegant neck suggested she came from good breeding. Oh, yes, this one would be perfect for him. The killer's eyes narrowed as he assessed her figure carefully with a trained eye, as he had done several times over. This woman was quite a beauty; even he had to admit it. Flawless pale skin, a slender figure, and her robe looked practically brand new. Definitely not the attire of the street rats on the streets or in the slums of the cesspool of this city. The robe the fair-skinned woman wore on her trek to the marketplace was a beautiful long linen robe, a brown color the color of desert sand. The fabric was draped in rich architectural pleats, the waistline high, which only brought emphasis to her slim elongated silhouette. The sleeves of the garment were long and wide with turnbacks, not fit for work, suggesting she was someone of nobility. The hood draped elegantly over the back as the young blonde at last lowered her hood, giving off the appearance that this woman, Madellaine Barreau of the Frollo estate, or should I say formerly, he thought with a wicked sneer on his lips.

This girl could be anyone—a princess in exile, a woman of high degree who was undertaking a pilgrimage to sacred sites, even now, since Notre Dame de Paris was considered Holy Ground. On the other hand, perhaps she was a daughter of the desert wind following her way unknown to the mere mortals of the earth. Whoever she was, what she certainly had is a secret and a purpose unknown to him.

It troubled him not that he did not know this woman's ways and had never spoken to her. He would learn for himself soon enough. Oh, yes, he would. The contracted killer felt his breath catch in his throat as the girl's figure retreated into the doors of Notre Dame. As long as she remained on Holy Ground, he could not touch her there. The hooded man fell silent and surveyed the dark, deserted streets of Paris. There was nothing but silence.

He could not see where the path ended and where the path of dead bones and leaves began as he begrudgingly turned to head back the way he came, towards the woodland. It all just faded into twilight. As the man with no name continued forward, a glint of light caught his attention and what followed was a sickly caw. A bird with grievous eyes and ink stained wings, seemed to float over towards him with the swift movement of a wing. It landed on the branch in front of the killer, cawing once again. He walked forward stiffly, his posture rigid, trying to ignore the crow. The killer could feel the creature boring its eyes into his back as if it somehow knew that he would never leave this dark, festering place. In addition, the crow would be right in that regard. He was damned. The man knew what the crow symbolized to him.

Crows were creatures of Satan, of the Devil himself. The dark lord used the animals to do his dirty work. The crows fought for space, wings of blackest feathers beat the air and they cried out as the man dragged over his latest kill, one of the cathedral guards, a stupid babbling idiot by the name of Nathan de Marten, and the killer stood back and watched as the man's carcass became nothing but a mass of crows. The birds cried out again, a chilling sound that sent a shiver of pleasure down the man's spine, and one of fear as well. He did not shoo them away, he knew that their black beaks were tearing at the man's flesh, and what was underneath those frantic little black bodies would destroy his sanity, what little of it there was left. The man knew they ate carrion, but sometimes he though this measure too much. How could such simple creatures as these be the undoing of humanity? The killer, as he watched, transfixed, was rendered incapable of coherent thought or speech as he stared, watching his animals work. They had been sent to aid him in his task.

The man, who preferred to think of himself as The Watcher, mulled over his thoughts of the girl, his latest obsession. He slumped against the bough of an oak tree. It was cold but less so than the iron gates he was used to standing watch by. His eyes followed the puffs of his breath as they rose and dissipated into the night sky. Not long ago, well over a month ago, he'd been hired by that strange fellow in the Three Ravens Tavern. The killer had not once laid eyes on the man since then.

"Fitting name, wouldn't you say?" he called out jovially to the crows, still feasting away on the man's bones. Of course, he got no response. But then again, he did not expect to. The Watcher fell silent and returned his thoughts to that of the girl. His heart rate soared to a sickening rhythm and bile washed up his throat. He swallowed the urge to be sick and shook away the thoughts. This was what he collected his payments for. Years of boredom possibly leading to a sticky end. He shifted to scratch at an itch underneath his armor and rose to his feet, standing central in the woods. If he looked close enough, he could still make out the tips of the cathedral in the and buttresses, seemingly never ending, plunged upwards to the heavens. While the girl remained in her safe haven, her sanctuary, he could not touch her. It was made clear. "But if I can lure you away, you're all mine, my little beauty," he hissed. The Watcher could not quite explain the strange feeling in his chest, the way that he felt around the girl, the sudden warmth in his chest that spread throughout his entire body to the tips of his toes and his fingers, but she made him want to be a better man. Whenever he was around her, even if it was from a distance, he did not feel the instinctive, primal urge to kill.

He could not explain it, but nor did he really want to think of it.

"All I know," he said, talking mostly to himself and less the crows at this point, "is that you will be mine, my love. You'll see."