A week after Jehan's assault, Madellaine would smell the sweat and the scent of his seed with source of either. The scent would be as strong as it had been on that fateful September afternoon. Her heart rate would accelerate, and she would attempt to control her breathing rate. Always, she would check her nails for dirt. After his attack, they had been ripped, broken, and bleeding from clawing at the mud to escape.

For that reason, she always now checked her nails and kept them pristine and clean. Seeing was believing. Otherwise, she would be dragged back into a full-scale assault of the senses, checking herself for the blood that had run down her legs from the rips, seeing the face of her brother, her attacker, on every man, every parishioner that came through the cathedral doors.

She was lost in her own psychosis, fighting her torturer off again and again. But clean nails could stop this vicious cycle. If her mind ever manufactured the dirt like it did for the smell, she would be lost in that horrible nightmare again, reliving, re-fighting, hurting, and terrified all over again. Madellaine felt hollow inside and didn't know how to cope with it. There was so much more to survival than the persistence of the flesh. Long after her tears had dried and her abrasions had healed, her sense of self remained in tatters. She felt like a distortion of what she once was, unable to find her way back. Each day was a thing in it of itself; she did not dwell in the past nor look to the future. Both Quasi and Father Darius wanted her back. They wanted the same woman they loved before, the young beautiful woman who brought a smile to their faces. How could she even begin to tell them that it was just not there anymore? That she herself was barely there.

Darius and Brother Giovanni listened to her during confession, and had all the right words, and although at the time she could not see it, Darius too had been fighting back his own tears at his guilt on the other side of the confessional screen when she had gone to him earlier a few days, to tell the man everything, for what had happened to her. If he had gone, he would have been able to protect her from Jehan.

Madellaine had to accept that she would be a different person from here on in. That person would be more cautious, less trusting of strangers, more fearful. Still, she clung to God and prayed to Him every night, if He was even there listening to her cries and pleas for help. She had to believe God loved her, and He would show her the way back to love and happiness. Perhaps one day, she would find a way to be a voice for the broken, but not yet. Not yet.

She couldn't, the wound was still fresh and raw. Frustrated, she tossed and turned on her meager cot, willing her mind to relax and her muscles to also calm down, but they wouldn't. Her nightmares and insomnia haunted her nights following her attack, fatigue ruling her days. When she needed to be lucid and clear, her brain begged for unconsciousness, for sleep to come to her at any price. But come the hours of darkness in the comfort of her own bed, her mind would always light up with new possibilities, new sources of disaster and danger, the latest of which was this party Jehan claimed to be throwing for her name day in a week.

She wanted to let them go, to just relax, but the voices inside her head were telling her what could go wrong tomorrow because of some avoidable blunder she made earlier today when awake. When she finally slept, she woke after only a couple of fitful hours and she awoke as if a whole night had passed, but it hadn't. Madellaine wished she could be one of those people who had the ability to roll over and doze off, but she couldn't. She could either lie in the spare cot Darius had moved up to the south bell tower at Quasi's insistence, despite the fact that they were not married, he had been vehement on her being closer, now that he was courting her, he could keep an eye on her, monitor her for any changes. Darius had done so eagerly.

Madellaine watched the colors slowly seep back into the walls, waiting for the dawn's first rays to stream into the south tower's loft, or she could get up and try to clear her mind. She let out a heavy sigh and sat up, frustrated. If I'm going to die from never sleeping enough, I figure I should make the most of my time. Maybe a walk will help calm me down, put things into perspective, she thought sadly as she dressed. Dressing quickly in a beautiful dark navy blue velvet gown with flared tow sleeves, one of Jehan's favorites on her, and also one of the warmest garments she owned, now that the cold month of October was almost upon them, another few days or so, she slipped into her boots and headed downstairs. The silence of the cathedral made Madellaine's blood as cold as the chilly autumnal air that crept in through an open window. Bereft of any wind, the leaves outside hung limp until they fell of their own accord. There was no whispering noise or rustling. It was as if nature conspired to keep her in the dark, not daring to whisper the reassurance she craved. The squeak of a door brought her heart racing as fast as an arrow flying out of a crossbow. Her head snapped in an instant from gazing out up at the beautiful stained-glass artwork with unfocused eyes to the front door where the noise originated.

"Hello?" she whispered, careful to keep her voice low.

Silence. She did not hear her brother sneak up behind her. She was too busy feeling her way along the darkened hallway, her fingertips grazing against the wall as she wandered aimlessly, the light from the candelabras flickering out, given the late hour of the night, no one else was up, so no need for the extra light. Finally, Madellaine felt, or at least she did, until a pair of strong hands pushed her against the wall behind her.

It stung and sent swells of pain through her body. A chin rested on her shoulder, and whoever it was breathed lowly into her, gently nipping her earlobe. But she knew who it was. "Jehan," she whisper-hissed through gritted teeth. She opened her mouth to speak further, when his lips clamped down on her ear. Madellaine squirmed against the wall, biting her lip hard enough that she felt the blood pooling on her bottom lip, stifling her cry of pain and outrage as she felt his hand find purchase in the back of her hair, pressing in softly.

The teeth then soon turned into a tongue, sliding over the rim of her ear and causing her to cry out, albeit softly. His two hands slid down her sides and landed on her waist, gripping almost painfully tight at her sides. Madellaine knew not what to do. She hoped this was just a cruel joke, another nightmare. Jehan's lips moved down her neck, nipping at the tender skin along the column of her throat, leaving marks she did not want, hard enough that they would eventually purple and bruise. Madellaine knew this was going to be bad. Her skin these days bruised so easily; she knew his teeth would leave marks. It seemed like her captor did too. Jehan's hand came up from behind her and wrapped around her throat, his grip tight. Tight enough not to strangle her, but hard enough to enforce his intended message. Don't scream, he silently warned. Don't scream or call for anyone to come save you, sister. You're mine.

In a blatant act of defiance against her brother, Madellaine opened to scream, not caring if he killed her for it, and was rendered speechless as none other than the bell ringer rounded the corner, having discovered her missing and had gone looking for her. He froze, rooted to his spot, a look of heartbreak and outrage forming on his face. She could not see his profile entirely, but the half of him that she could see, Madellaine was briefly afraid of the man that was her intended.

Red. Everything went red. His vision blurred as a flame curled up in the pit of his stomach. Quasi's brain went on overdrive as it picked over every minute, she'd spent away from him in his tower, and now this. This bastard was about to hurt her again, HIS heaven's light, and he could not stand by and let this man hurt Madellaine. The memories of his father, killing him, weighed down on him, but instead of breaking even more, his heart turned ice cold and slunk into the shadows as his brain took complete control of the situation. The flames in his stomach rose up to his chest and crawled through his veins, taking over the rest of his body. His fingers coiled into fists, his nails piercing through the brown fingerless gloves he wore over his hands to protect them from the bells' ropes and the cold, but he barely felt it. Waves of fury rolled off him as the blood rushed to his cheeks. The term anger barely even touched the tip of the volcano that he was so clearly was in that moment. "LET HER GO!" he bellowed.

"No," answered Jehan coldly, his hand drifting upwards from her waist and coming up to hold her throat in his iron grasp.

Madellaine silently pleaded with Quasi with her eyes for him to help her, but she knew Jehan had him cornered, her neck held at knifepoint before she could even register what was happening, it was all too fast for her to keep up with it all.

"One more step, boy," her brother warned, "and she dies."

Before Quasimodo could so much as take another step forward, threats or not, an ominous clap of thunder startled her out of her nightmare, jolting her awake. A bead of sweat formed on her brow, the blankets covering her on her cot a tangled heap. How can I call it a nightmare if it doesn't leave my presence when I'm awake? Madellaine thought, distraught.

Her heart rate accelerated as she mulled over her thoughts of her fears that she would never find a way to heal her spirit.

Madellaine lifted a trembling hand to check her fingernails for dirt. Seeing none, she breathed an audible sigh of relief.

She had been given wines and medicines by both Sophia and Sister Alice, but nothing helped. Her dreams these days always ended in the same nightmare. But unlike everyone else she knew, when she woke up, she remembered that her nightmare was both real and worse than the fragmented reenactment her brain offered. Instead of the relief that she hoped for upon waking, the trauma always came back to her, fresh and raw.

Madellaine was forced to see her brother screaming at her repeatedly, the pure unbridled rage and hatred in his dark eyes.

Unable to stand it any further, she dressed quickly, in the same dress that she had worn in her nightmares, hating it, but it was the warmest one she owned for the colder months, so she had no other choice and bolted down the stairwell to the nave. "You can't sleep either?" piped up a quiet voice from behind her, startling her and causing her to whirl around.

Her eyes flashing, mouth slightly agape as she prepared to let out a scream, thinking it was Jehan again, she felt her shoulders sag as she found herself face-to-face with Father Darius himself.

Darius was looking a little haggard and worse for wear. Stubble graced his chin, suggesting he had not shaved for a day or two, his dark hair had needed a trim yesterday, and if the circles underneath his eyes were anything for Madellaine to go off of, the priest wasn't sleeping much these days either.

One look was more than enough for her. She knew Darius, like Quasimodo, blamed himself for what had happened to her.

"No," she whispered, hating how her voice cracked and broke as she wrung her hands together painfully, staring up at the statue of the Virgin Mary, surrounded by other angels.

"Join me then. Can I get you some water, something to eat?" was all he asked, motioning for Madellaine to follow him with a wave of his arm, gesturing towards the front of the pew.

She nodded wordlessly, not realizing how thirsty she was until it felt as though her throat was on fire as it constricted and grew tight as she fought back a fresh onset of bitter, briny tears. She wouldn't cry in front of her friend. Not in front of Darius. Sensing that she needed a moment, Darius nodded grimly and headed off towards the kitchens in search of water. Madellaine let out a heavy sigh, folding her arms across her chest and restlessly tapping her foot as she crossed her legs, willing the visions of that soldier she'd killed all those years ago to depart from her mind, but she knew that he would not. The guilt sat not on her chest, but inside her brain. What she had done to that man, however violent he may have been towards her, she could never un-do. She could make amends in subtle ways, but confession was out of the question, even to Darius. Only in her silent prayers could Madellaine speak her heart to God and beg for His mercy and forgiveness.

She did not feel like she deserved this endless torment for all the deception, the lies, but she clung to it and hung the shreds of her sanity on the simple nothing that she might yet be forgiven. Madellaine prayed that one day she would feel removed from her sin, washed clean of it, but the guilt was a stain on her, an ugly scar. She had to believe in redemption. Madellaine made a conscious decision that she could no longer remain in the cathedral, feeling as though the statues, every one of them, were somehow silently judging her. Without waiting for Darius to return, she quietly slipped outside, caring not if Jehan would be waiting for her, lurking in the shadows. At this point, what more could he do to me?

Quasimodo was a stubborn man, stuck in his ways and she knew there was very little anybody around him could do. Which was why she had immense respect for Darius, Jeanne and Alice, all of whom seemed to hold out hope for the man and their evolving relationship. As Madellaine continued to ruminate, she felt her hand drift to the pocket of her favorite brown linen robe, a gift from her mother. Amazed, she pulled out a crumpled but still beautiful lily.

The ache of losing her mother so suddenly over the last week had not healed. Madellaine began to wonder if it ever would. Touched that the flower had somehow survived this long, she stared at the simple flower in her hand, her eyes drifting to another bunch of lilies near an unmarked grave. Sighing, she gingerly placed the flower near the tomb. No doubt, the grave had once belonged to a woman, she could tell by the arrangement of flowers. As she continued to ruminate, she was reminded of the story of Tristan and Iseult she had just finished. "'Apart the lovers could neither live nor die, for it was life and death together,'" she whispered, eyeing the small bundle of lilies at the foot of the grave. 'When King Mark heard of the death of these two lovers, he crossed the sea and came into Brittany; and he had two coffins hewn, for Tristan and Iseult, one of chalcedony for Iseult, and one of beryl for Tristan. And he took their beloved bodies away with him upon his ship to Tintagel, and by a chantry to the left and right of the apse he had their tombs built round. But in one night there sprang from the tomb of Tristan a green leafy briar, strong in branches and in the scent of its flowers. It climbed the chantry and fell to root again by Iseult's tomb. Thrice did the peasants cut it down, but thrice it grew again as flowered and as strong. They told the marvel to King Mark, and he forbade them to cut the briar anymore.'" She paused, letting the lily fall to the ground at her feet.

"That they did. What are you doing here?" accused a man.

Madellaine let out a scream and turned around, accidentally twisting her hand and hitting it against the railing of the gate as she clutched onto it for support, causing her to wince and cry out in pain. As she looked up, her eyes widened in fear. Notre Dame's bell ringer was glaring down at her through the darkness, his dark cape billowing in the wind as he glowered at her angrily. Now she was really in a serious spot of trouble.

She had never appreciated the use of the word ''monster' to describe the man she was one day going to marry, and a man she considered the love of her life. It seemed far too ridiculous a word to use for someone who was the kindest, gentlest soul she had ever met, and was fortunate enough to have one of the warmest smiles around, and one who now sought for peace and prosperity above all else. His old life was behind him, naught but a distant memory these days.

Staring at him now, however, with his dark silhouette towering over her against the moonlight streaming down his back, she could think of no better word for the young man. "Have you gone deaf? I asked you a question!" Madellaine shirked away from his touch as he fumed in his anger pacing the graveyard, not out of fear, but because she was still recovering from his sudden appearance and was ill prepared to respond. Without giving an immediate answer, she hastily began to pull her trapped wrist through the black railing, wincing at the throbbing pain and the scraped skin on the top of her palm. "I—I was just…" stammered Madellaine as she got up, but he interjected immediately. Judging by his tone, it was out of impatience and anger at seeing her out here. "I—I swear, it's not what it looks like."

"Trying to run away from me? Why?" he snarled through gritted teeth, folding his arms across his chest, glaring at her. Her movements stilled as she looked up in astonishment. His eyes glinted in the dark, his voice almost dull and lifeless in nature. Although she could not see his face, she sensed that Quasimodo was not angry with her, but instead bitter. But at what? She wondered. Stepping forward in the hopes of rectifying the situation, Madellaine opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a creature not far away, howling in the night air. Its haunting voice echoed across the thicket as the breeze picked up speed and grew an ominous voice of its own.

"Oh no," whispered Madellaine hoarsely. "I know that sound. Dogs, and not the good kind," she groaned, her eyes alert as she looked beyond the border of the graveyard, just barely hidden. "I know those hounds. Jehan's," she whispered, keeping her voice low enough so he couldn't hear her. Madellaine let out a moan, clutching the bars of the iron gate tightly. I should have killed my brother when I had the chance, but…Quasi wouldn't want you to, her voice inside her head finished.

She opened her mouth to retort, but didn't get a chance as an ear piercing whistle, one she knew belonged to Jehan, shattered the silence of the night, following a howl from some creature, most likely a wolf or a hound bred for one thing and one thing only: hunting their prey. A blur of white flashed in the sides of her peripherals and suddenly, another figure melted into the darkness. She could not see what was happening around them, it was all too fast, but the dogs had cornered the bell ringer and one had bitten his arm. He'd killed them all. But at what cost? Her voice taunted her. His own life? And then what happens? "Oh, no," she whispered, raising a hand to her mouth as she assessed the severity of the man's wounds. The ripped flesh was grotesque, his arm bleeding, but he would most assuredly life, if she could get help. "Here, help me, can you walk?" she whispered, draping his arm over her shoulder and hoisting them both to their feet. "Help me, Quasi, walk with me. I can't get us back on my own, you need to help me. Please, love, I'm begging you. Walk."

So, he did.

Poor Madellaine and Quasi had to endure the wrath of Sister Alice when they returned, who shot the pair dirty looks as she helped Sophia bring up buckets of hot water to one of the spare cloister cells, of which she had scooped out from the cauldron. The girl had startled her and Sister Maria while they had been preparing dinner, chopping up leeks and salted beef for a makeshift stew when the midwife had burst in through the doors, heaving and trying to catch her breath, begging for help. Occasionally, Alice would shoot the pair of them a seething look, muttering under her breath, things like "…Don't know what you were thinking of. You two were lucky you weren't killed! Both of you, you'd think you didn't have brains!"

"Yes, we do!" snapped Madellaine angrily, unable to help commenting.

Alice slammed down the bucket of hot water, almost spilling the water onto the tile in the process. "Then why don't you use them? How about trying not going out in the dead of night after curfew, and now that we know he's after you!"

The nun sniffed her disapproval, looking down her nose at the pair of them, but made no further comment, turning her back from them.

Madellaine hastily wrung out the wet rag she had dipped into a bucket of boiling water, courtesy of Alice as the nun assisted with whatever she could, helping the younger woman carry him to his tower and into his sleeping nook, gathering extra blankets. "Go on, Alice," she encouraged kindly, having eyes only for her friend, whose jaw remained rooted and hard, his eyes cold. "I can handle him."

"Are you sure, child?" she said, but she took one look at the man she considered like a son to her and knew better than to ask a second time. Casting an apprehensive glance back over her shoulder, she shot the young girl a worried look, but could not help but feel a sense of pride in Madellaine Barreau.

If anyone could handle their bell ringer's temper, it was her. "Yes. I will be fine, Alice. Thank you. And you," she added, turning towards Quasi and shooting him an angry glower. "Hold still," she commanded firmly to him once Alice left. "This might sting a little. Don't say I didn't warn you," she said, uncorking a wineskin of wine with her teeth and pouring it on his arm. "I'm sorry for this, but I have to treat it, Quasi."

He flinched and gritted his teeth, but it was no use. He screamed. "God!" he bellowed. "What you are doing is the opposite of help!" he shouted. "It hurts!"

Feeling her own temper swell deep within the pit of her stomach, she was unable to bite back her retort. "If you'd just hold still and let me tend it, it wouldn't hurt as much!" she shouted, tenderly wiping at his wounds, trying to stich his arm up to the best of her abilities. "Quasi, just…I need you to be calm. Please. Just let me see the wound. Please."

He shot her a withering look, wincing as she worked quickly with a needle and thread. "I don't need to explain to you why your behavior tonight was extremely foolish. You are intelligent enough to know that sneaking off after what happened to you was an incredibly stupid thing to do. Don't make it say it," he began, hesitating to form his thoughts. His voice was rough and coarse, which strangely put Madellaine at ease. It gave him a tangible sense of vulnerability, which had been otherwise absent when she had known him prior to the fire. He observed her precariously from his spot on his cot, little more than a few pillows and blankets on a makeshift mattress through the dim candlelight, as if she were some wild, unstable creature, the irony of which was not missed. "Why did you not alert the cathedral guards?" he demanded after a silence that lasted entirely too long. He cringed and reached for the flagon of wine, taking a swig to dull the burning pain as she worked.

She hesitated, wondering if she should tell him the full truth or not. "I was having trouble sleeping, which is why I went for a walk. It was the full moon, so the grounds were lit. I just…couldn't…"

"Then why in God's name didn't you take someone with you?" interrupted Quasi, his voice worn out and exasperated, as if he were talking to a child. "Or if you can't sleep, better yet, why did you not come get me, like I keep telling you? If you can't sleep, please come get me. I would much rather go with you and you be in a place where I can keep an eye on you, so I can protect you. I looked for you."

Madellaine would have immediately retorted back, but something about his countenance made her hesitate. He had spoken with a certain amount of defeatism, as if he could not be bothered to argue with her, but also strangely. Melancholic, even. He reached up his hand and pinched the bride of his nose, as if he were suffering from some excruciating migraine. Not knowing what to think of his sudden change in attitude, she did her best to ignore it and simply answer the man's question. "I needed some fresh air, love," she replied, horrified to hear the lack of conviction in her voice. "Believe it."

"Fresh air," repeated Quasi, as if he needed time to fully register her meaning. He remained silent otherwise. "You almost got yourself killed earlier. Were it not for me being there to fend off those wild dogs, you would have died. You don't know these men like your master like I do."

Madellaine bit back her retort, though her own temper was threatening to implode. "What makes you so sure?"

He bolted upright as a searing pain shot through his injured arm as she bandaged it. "Thank you," he muttered grudgingly. "You didn't have to do this," he said quietly, his tone changing from anger to one of purely defeat. "But were it not for you, I would…"

"Be suffering?" she finished dryly, wiping her hands on a rag and tossing it in the bucket. She fell silent for a moment, thinking. Quasimodo had saved her life, and she had, from his perspective, been attempting to sneak out of the cathedral and run away. "I wasn't trying to run away," she said quietly. He merely grunted in response, not impressed. "Quasi," she whispered, startling him as she used his nickname for her. "I had another reason for leaving today. I might have…found something in your tower near your carving table that I shouldn't have," she said softly, digging through the pockets of her robe, procuring the simple rings, handing them to him and watching his expression. He studied them silently, feeling their weight as he shifted them in his palms, examining them for flaws. "I know Darius gave them to you. Alice told me." A pause. Then, she asked the question that had been tormenting her. "Are you mad at me?" Her voice was soft and timid. Shy.

Now it was Quasi's turn to look pained. "How could I be mad at you? I could never stay mad at you, Madellaine. Are you sure you want this?" he asked, his voice sounding pained, as he dared to meet her gaze. Turning to look at her, Quasi felt something leap out of his chest as he found the enchanting creature looking at him, a rather nebulous expression on her face. Her delicate chin was tilted upwards, as if she wanted to ask a question. For she did not belong…

"Is it so wrong to care for someone?" she asked at last, feeling her voice go soft and quiet. Quasi's gaze turned to that of alarm as he stared at Madellaine, and he felt once more his heart pound into his chest, and something swell within him.

Hope. Yet again, it had happened, and this time he recognized it for what it was. That she had unmistakably, unwittingly perhaps, caught him again. He could do nothing but stare up at her from his spot on his cot stoically, trying to look at the source of his discomfort as passively as possible. Not such an easy feat when it came to Madellaine Renee Barreau.

She tried again, her gray eyes sparking with a new intensity. "Is it so inappropriate for you? I can see that in your eyes, in your own special way, there is a part of you that cares for me. You saved my life. That is no small feat. I do not believe you to be so cold like the other Parisians think of you. After all, you saved me from those dogs when you could have easily let me die and saved yourself. Yet here you lay, conversing with me, however angry you might be. You do care." She spoke the words so plainly, in such a conversation tone, that Quasimodo almost wondered whether she was playing trick on him. "But you will not let yourself feel it, Quasi."

"What do you think of me? Honestly?" His question caught Madellaine off guard and as she looked down at the redheaded bell ringer, she felt her heart hammering rapidly and without a swift response to offer to him as he stood, groaning at the pain in his arm. He recognized her discomfort and hastily rephrased his question, silently cursing himself as he picked at the bandage on his arm. This was going to scar for sure.

Frowning, she swatted his hand away. "Don't pick at it," she grumbled tersely. "You'll just make it worse." Madellaine pondered over his question, feeling rather uneasy. She turned away during this process of thinking and rested her head in her hand, glancing up at the rafters of the south tower loft, where, if she looked close enough, she could see the outline of something huge and skulking. Smiling to herself, she knew what it was. No doubt one of the cathedral's gargoyles. It was rumored the great stone creatures could come alive in the night, silent protectors of the massive cathedral.

People had assumed but had never openly asked her opinion of Notre Dame's reclusive bell ringer. Now the man himself was posing the question, and she felt rather perturbed.

Why he wanted to know the answer, she did not know, but he seemed to be asking out of a general curiosity. It did not speak to his character that he was asking for the unvarnished truth. Very few people could directly ask such a question, in fact. Perhaps it was because of this that she decided to respond honestly to her handsome priest, holding nothing back.

"You have saved my life twice now, Quasi," she said quietly, still looking up at the stars, the night of the fire emerging within her consciousness. "You have a lack of understanding of the world around you, but you care to a substantial degree. That alone is good enough for me."

Cradling her head in his hands, he leaned down and captured her mouth without warning, giving her no time to react or think. They fit so perfectly; he could not help but let out a content sigh. Her mouth was just as soft as he had imagined and as he lowered his hands down towards her neck and grazed past her collarbones, he felt her fingers grip hold of his shirt, her hands then splaying across his chest. He had never felt anything so sensual and it was as if everything suddenly became heightened, as if they were somewhere else. She felt so much, he could feel it, but with inexperience on both of their parts, she knew not what to do next, and this only caused him to want more of her, to finish what he had started yet again.

Everything was real, the tiny moan he heard her give out was real, her lips against his was real, this part especially so, and he knew, when he felt the tip of her tongue touch as his and he slanted her head and deepened their kiss, that he had never felt anything as intense as this and probably never would again.

That was what she did. If he had thought he had known what true desire felt like before, he must have been dreaming. She lifted her hands to his neck, this time finding purchase in his hair, sending a tremor down his spine. Her movements were unpracticed and raw, it was clear they were both feeling by instinct, but she was everything he thought she would be and so much more. They had not had enough, and Quasi could sense it as he broke their kiss at last, and as he looked down into her gray eyes, he saw a flame there that had never be present before, which only ignited his baser desires even further. The heat from her skin was so overwhelming; he wanted nothing more than to be enveloped by it, if she would allow him. Her arms began to reach around his back and when he felt her press the entire length of her body towards his, he realized if they did not stop it now, it would inevitably lead to something much more dangerous and much more passionate.

But God, how he wanted it more than anything. Opening his eyes, the hazy thought entered his mind as he felt Madellaine shift against him and despite the thickness of her dress's skirts; her leg ran unknowingly against his aroused skin, which awakened something unknown with himself. Before he lost all his sanity, he tore his lips from her delicate neck and held her at arm's length, forcing her to relinquish her hold on him. As they both stared at each other, their lips parted, and only one single thought ran through his mind right now. For the first time in his life, he felt truly alive.

"You beautiful angel," he whispered incredulously, still unable to believe the turn of events the night had taken, bringing her closer towards him so she could hear him. "See what you do to me?" Her eyes widened, perhaps finally realizing internally what had just transpired regarding their admission of their true feelings and the release of his feelings.

Thanks to Madellaine, he now knew himself to be just a man. He was not a monster or a demon. To his surprise, though, she did not let him just walk away from her. She smiled, resting her head against his chest, feeling warm in his embrace against the bitter cold of this tower. She craned her neck upwards to look at him, a fire raging in her eyes. Her lips brushed against his again, not like a tease, but fiery, hot and demanding. She broke apart, pulling back to study his face. She could tell by the look in his eyes that they both seemed to want more. "Wait, wait, wait," she panted. "What about…Esmeralda?" Madellaine asked, biting her lip.

Quasimodo froze, not expecting she would have ever known about his old unrequited feelings for the Romani woman, but at that, he scoffed. She was around Jeanne and Alice all day, and those two were gossip hounds. He should have guessed it would have been only a matter of time before those two spilled every detail. He hesitated, unsure of how to express what he was feeling. He cupped her chin and tilted it upwards slightly, forcing the midwife to look at him. "You should try something new, Madellaine. It's called trust. I need you…to trust me. Can you do that, Lena? Trust me, love."

She nodded mutely. Quasi's gaze drifted to the bodice of her dress, at the line of her breasts, wanting nothing more than to move his hands underneath the layers of fabric and feel her perfect softness. It was a moment before he spoke again.

When he did, Madellaine had to lean forward and practically strain to hear him, his tenor-like voice was so quiet. "You asked me about Esmeralda. She would have wanted me to be happy. She would not have wanted me to be alone forever. And…she wasn't you," he whispered, his tone pained as he said it. That was good enough for her. He felt practically bowled over as she pressed her lips against his, her fingers drifting upwards and played with the ends of his hair, sending a tremor down his spine. As he leaned in again gently to kiss her, his hand buried in the back of her hair as she helped him to sit up on the bed, Madellaine was caught completely unprepared.

She would have thought that after all the hours she'd spent with him, watching him talk, laugh, and frown—that she would have known all there was to know about his lips. But she could not have imagined how warm they would feel pressed up against her own. Quasi's kiss stole the words she didn't need to say. In that silence, all their secrets were laid bare, all their passions and the spark of love that had existed between us. In that moment, in his love, Madellaine found her inner strength. One kiss and she knew.

She had the courage to do what needed to be done.