What Makes a Monster

by HeadIntheCloudsForever

Years after Claude Frollo's death, Jehan seeks revenge, & Madellaine Barreau is forced to claim sanctuary inside Notre Dame, where she meets the elusive bell ringer of Notre Dame, Quasimodo, and begins to develop feelings for him. Broken hearts have a way of finding each other when needed most. Loosely based off the Disney films. Darker tone, new characters. Rated T for teens.

34. Making Amends

Madellaine felt the sting of her tears come and she let them fall. Her despair was a heady blackness, the ways forward she had thought possible have vanished to blackness, not blocked, but like they were never there at all. The notion of hope is meaningless. If her mind should linger on such ideas they start to feel like cruel tricks, as cruel as a desert mirage when you're dying of thirst. The bonds she had with her husband, Darius, with Sophia, Alice, Jeanne, the gargoyles—the ones that kept her heart beating, felt so thin and even they were a terrible weight. Her husband hated her now, and it was all her fault. She was alone with no one. To love is to care for their futures and for them to care for hers—yet what is to come will bring no comfort to any, least of all, to her family that has to watch her suffer through her terrors like this while she's pregnant with her and Quasi's child. Madellaine sat on the balcony that has become her world; the only decorations were her own nail marks on the walls she could not scale. Though she knew there was light at the top, it felt a million miles away and, were it not for her husband being down here with her, she wouldn't even try.

Every time she reached out to love someone at the top, she hoped someone would throw her a rope, but instead, the floor sinks a little lower, jolting her body as it stops—crushing her with a new pain, another abandonment. First it had been her parents. Now, her husband. Perhaps now was the time for Madellaine to realize it wasn't her she was supposed to get out, it was Quasi. And so, she let her eyes become accustomed to the darkness he has dwelled in all those years prior to meeting her. She can see that intermingled with the marks of her own fingernails are his too, older, though, the blood long dried. And she knew, he gave up because there was nothing else for him to do, and that the best day of his life was when she followed him to his tower and fell in there with him, their tears running together. But perhaps that's how it should be. She'll get him out, if it's the last thing on this earth that she does.

Because that's how she knows she can love like she was born to, that she could put another first, even when her winter is at its darkest. This is how she knows who she is, and so even in this despairing pain she feels at their fight, it came to her as a gift, a chance to know what she's made of—to earn her own respect. Madellaine sighed as she ground up the herbs the prostitute from the brothel had given her and mixed it into her tea. She prayed it would help.

God knew she needed decent sleep, and soon. Her insomnia haunted her nights, 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 their bed, her mind lights up with new possibilities, new sources of disaster and danger that plague her nights. She wants to let them go, to be able to allow herself to relax, but soon her ghosts are telling her what can go wrong in the morning because of some avoidable blunder she made tonight. When she finally does sleep, she wakes after only a few restless hours and wake as if an entire night has passed, but it hasn't. She wished she could be one of those people who roll over and doze off, but she can't. She either lies in bed watching the beams of moonlight stream into their tower loft, gently reflecting against the walls, waiting for the dawn chorus, or she can get up. Madellaine's insomnia was the companion that won't quit. Time had taken on a different form, more plentiful than it ever was before, more quiet moments to think, though the oblivion of sleep would be kinder. He was her safety, her harbor, a place to call home no matter where they were. In all those wakeful hours, he was the fading specter and beneath it all was a shock she couldn't quite let to the surface, because every time it came, her nightmare solidified, her hope faded, and the sick feeling returned. She felt her eyelids grow heavy and begin to drift and before she could protest what was happening, she lost herself to the darkness of her own mind, to drift into an uneasy sleep. If she listened carefully and strained to hear, she could faintly hear the voices of Laverne and Darius talking to her, trying to reach her through her semi-conscious state as she only half-heartedly slept. The young woman dreamed of an old coin she found in the mud, old and covered in dirt, the engravings worn, and the head of the king so tarnished as to be stolen from her view. She held it in silence in her left hand, watching the mud dirty her inner palm. What is this? She wondered, curiously reaching up to wipe at the coin with the edge of her dress sleeve.

Oh my God, that's blood. The aroma and stains of stale blood. In awe, she turned to her right hand and in this hand was a new spring leaf, crowned by a perfect sphere of dew, reflecting an image of her pale face, soft and relaxed.

When she turned back to the coin, however, the king had freed himself and journeyed over to the leaf, igniting the growth of strong roots and new foliage that reached for the sunlight. Glancing down at the ground beneath her boots, she was dismayed to see it vanish underneath her feet, swirls of black mist and a horrible fog forming around her. "What is this?" she whispered to no one in particular. "Where am I?" Madellaine glanced down and saw that she was now barefoot, her shoes had somehow magically disappeared and the dress she was wearing was unfamiliar, a simple forest green cotehardie that did not belong to her. This isn't mine, she thought wildly. Where am I?

"Are you going to cross or not?" growled Jehan's voice in her right earlobe. His seductive voice startled the young woman out of her dazed stare at the gold coin with the king in her palm. His dark eyes scintillated with a mischievous glint that was unfortunately, all too like the man himself.

"Cross what?" she whispered, her voice coming out in a low breathy squeak.

Then she saw it. The two of them were standing between two cliffs, a rope attached between two rocks on a cliff a rope attached between two rocks on each cliff. If she squinted her eyes, she could see her husband feebly attempting to climb the ledge to get to her. At the top of the cliff across the way, massive gates loomed in front of them, towering over everything else in sight. Behind the gate, screams could be heard. And her husband was walking straight towards it. A horrible, grating scream pierced the air and she winced.

In that empty scream was the pain of the different, of a monster, a demon, which sold its soul for ease and instead found hell. It can wrap itself in beautiful skin or the rancid hide of the decaying creatures of the abyss, yet she was able to see it regardless of its disguise. Whatever it was, it was going to head straight for her husband once he reached the top. Three rows of teeth, each sharp as a dagger, a nose the size of a potato, dripping with gelatinous yellow-streaked snot, its skin a sallow green, flaking around the eyes and nose.

The thing had four protruding, bulbous eyes; the demon's nails like a tiger's, her fangs glinting over pale gums. Her ears were stalks, its stench of halitosis breath; she could smell from all the way over here, its thick stench of decay filling her nostrils. The monster's greying skin flaked and peeled, and when she opened her mouth and let out a guttural roar, it was like the sound of a thousand nightmarish ghouls, and she grinned menacingly and paced the Gates of Hell, waiting for Notre Dame's bell ringer to reach the top. "Save him!" she protested wildly to Jehan, though she knew he wouldn't. "Please, Jehan, don't do this."

"Cross it," he growled. "It's the only way to save him."

"But I—I can't," she cried, feeling tears well in the corners of her eyes. "Jehan, I can't cross, I—I'm afraid of heights," she said.

Yes, you can, her father's voice rang out harshly in her mind.

Papa! What do you mean?

The gateway to hell—this gateway in your nightmare—isn't a real place. There is no fire like the one you'd find in a hearth or raging through a tinder-dry forest. Hell is a place in the mind that for most is only open just enough to let the negativity in—the greed, the envy, and the sloth. For the unfortunate, it cracks open wider to talk or create alternative realties within the one the person is living in, bringing them into dysfunction. For the blessed, it's a place to slam the gate shut and return to a healthy mind. Heaven's gate, however, is always wide open. In this case, for you, daughter, your heaven is your home, back in Notre Dame with your husband, and eventually, your baby. All one needs to do to enter the gate is work and live with the power of love, meditate on love and be a force for bringing more love into the world. Do not fear hell's gate, my love, for this gate in your mind isn't real. Spit in the flames and turn your back on it, return to your home and be safe there.

You know about our baby?

Of course, I know, Madellaine. I'm your father. I've been watching you.

But Papa, how? I've missed you so much, when can I see you?

There will come a time for me to see you again. But now is not that time. Right now, you need to do as Jehan asks, and walk the tightrope. Listen to me, Lena. Heed my words; your life depends on it. This is all happening in your head, but that does not mean that it is not real. The gateway—that gateway over there that your husband is about to walk through once he reaches the top—it can only be forever shut by the power of love, it's the only key that will work. Your love for him will shut the door forever. Since hell's gate right now is just this place in your mind, it's also where the key lies. Every person is born with the power of love in their souls, a divine gift from God. Every person carries the medicine they need to be whole and well, yet when they falter, it's for others to pour love into them until they can access their own personal key and close their own personal hell's gate. There is no hell that love cannot overcome, so hold on strong, be brave in this moment, and know you are never forsaken.

Madellaine could only watch in despair as Quasi almost reached the top.

If he makes it to the top, that—that thing is going to eat him! She glanced down at the tightrope that beckoned to her. Madellaine took a deep, shaky breath and willed her nerves to quell.

You can do this, Lena, her father's voice reassured her. I know it. She made the grave mistake of peering down over the cliff's ledge and her face paled at seeing the dark, foul, black mist surrounding the ocean.

One wrong step and she'd plummet to her death. The black mist swallowed the base of the cliff, covering the ocean's water and licking every surface it could find, coating it with its darkness.

Jehan noticed her growing fear and discomfort and sneered. "Your story was never meant to be a fairy tale, my lovely. Your story is anything but. You were never meant to experience happiness or joy. You've deluded yourself into thinking it was possible repeatedly with your pathetic fucking dreams of dancing gracefully across a tightrope," he laughed cruelly, his laughter haunting as it echoed. "You remember that, don't you?"

"Jehan, please, don't…" she begged, but it was no use.

Jehan quirked his brow in her direction and snorted. "You can't tell me you don't remember those fanciful dreams of yours, the times I'd catch you with your nose buried in one of Father's books. You told me once that if you had a choice rather than marry me, you'd have run off and joined some— some circus, I think it was," he mused. "Dear, sweet sister, you surely remember your sad excuse for a dream?" he challenged, smiling. "Don't make me remind you, dear." She felt her heart work its way up into her throat.

Imagine me walking a tightrope. Having such a dream is ironic, really, considering my fear of heights. But she knew as she stared into Jehan's dark eyes that she remembered the day she'd yelled at him. Glowering at Jehan, she defiantly lifted the hem of her skirts and gingerly balanced herself on the tightrope. "I'll do this for him, and I'll save him," she muttered through gritted teeth. Madellaine took a deep breath, steeling herself, balancing herself as she began to walk the tightrope, taking her time. Hang on. I—I'm going to save you, she thought desperately, not once looking away from her husband. He was almost to the top. Don't get there. Just stay there. There was something about being high, that even now, was enthralling to her, despite her fear of heights, even with her nerves rolling through her body each time she dared to take another step on the unsteady line between her life and death.

If my husband could see me now, he'd have a panic attack, she thought, smirking to herself slightly as she allowed herself to laugh. Her smile faltered at the thought of her husband. The day I knew I was in love with you, Quasi, that's the worst part of all of this, I think. Whatever good you saw in me that day disappeared the day Jehan raped me and told me I had to help him kill you was the day my heart broke, but still, I followed through with him because I was afraid of him and I almost got us both killed. Though I know it was wrong to walk that path, at the time, I had no choice. Then, there was no other choice for me but to obey Jehan's commands. Jehan hired all types—common thieves like me to do his dirty work for him, and others who were genuinely good people looking for a way to support their families. I'm not sure which group I fit into, my love. The choice I must make should be simple, but it isn't. It never is.

A startled shout broke her out of her reverie. Her husband was screaming, his arm caught in the monster's enormous jaws. Blood was pouring from his sleeve, and his face was rapidly growing more ashen the more blood he lost.

She was too late to save him. "Oh, God, no, no, just—just hang on!" she moaned, but she was too late to go after him. She could only watch, her mouth open in a silent scream as the demon dragged her husband's body back into the gates of hell, the doors slamming shut behind it, leaving nothing but a thick trail of blood in its wake, the thick, coppery scent of death and suffering filled her nostrils. Her vision blackened and blurred as she lost her balance. Madellaine opened her eyes in shock against her will, and she was falling. Her perception of time distorted, everything slowed down until there was nothing, only her and the black night sky above, the sky that swallowed her whole. Everything was a blur, a blur that swirled in and out of existence. Suspended in the air, Madellaine closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the infinite inky blackness above. The world continued to rush by in a blur, and she knew the pain was coming, the inevitable moment of impact when she would hit the rocks below and her body swept into the ocean, never to be seen again. Wake up, sweetheart. You need to wake up right now. Wake up…

Madellaine awoke blearily to the sound of voices hovering over her. She groaned and pulled the blanket over her, shielding her eyes from the harshest of the streaming beams of sunlight through the rafter beams. "Go away," she moaned through gritted teeth. She let out a tiny groan and burrowed deeper into the blankets, wanting nothing more than to sleep off this horrid tide.

"Not a chance, my dear. It's late," muttered a soft voice. Laverne's.

The great stone cat let out a low growl in the back of her throat and pulled the blanket off Madellaine. She sat up and blearily opened her eyes, running a hand through her tousled hair. Glancing down, she was stunned to see she was still in her mother's green dress from the other night. She hadn't even bothered to change into her shift. Wonderful. Great. Was I that drunk last night that I couldn't even bother? "You need to go downstairs right now," ordered Laverne, smirking slightly at her dazed expression. "Sooner rather than later, Madellaine." The gargoyle paused for a moment, her yellow eyes like pinpricks glinting in the light as she stared into her son's wife's eyes. "Sophia's waiting so is your husband. You're late enough as it is."

Sensing the young woman's hesitation, the stone gargoyle frowned. "Is everything all right?" she asked, ignoring her companions as they too hobbled over to get a look at what was causing their boy's wife to be holed up like this.

"Hello, you two," Madellaine mumbled, giving a shy wave towards Victor and Hugo. They returned the gesture. Turning back to Laverne, she winced at the stony look, quite literally, in the female gargoyle's eyes. "I—no, we're not fine, I think," she explained, feeling tears well in her eyes. "Quasi and I got into a fight last night, and—and to self soothe, I—I drank a little wine. I know, I know," she groaned, seeing the briefest flashes of rage flit across the stone cat's eyes. "I know I'm not supposed to drink while pregnant, but it was only a small sip, Darius gave it to me to help me relax and to get to sleep, but I couldn't help it. I can't drink wine, why did I drink it in the first place, everything is a huge blur, and Laverne, oh my God, my hair hurts, how is that even possible?" she groaned, wincing as she ran a hand through her hair.

"You'll be fine," Laverne reassured, the corners of her mouth fighting back a soft smile as she resisted the urge to laugh at the young woman. "My son can't stay mad at you, you know. He loves you too much to hold a grudge."

Madellaine glanced around their bedroom briefly.

"Where is he?" she asked, rubbing her temples, cringing at her pounding headache. She clenched her eyes and gritted her teeth, willing her onset of nausea to pass her by without incident. "I—I should apologize to him."

"Downstairs with Alice," she snorted. "He'll be up soon."

"What—?" she started to ask, but was interrupted by the bustling of curtains as Darius entered her bedroom, his black shirt hung loosely open to reveal his muscular lean chest, and his dark hair wet and clinging to his face from having washed up at a basin. She let out a startled cry and jumped to her feet, flustered, running a hand through her hair and smoothing her skirts. Darius noticed her change in behavior and laughed.

"Settle, easy, it's only me," he grinned. "Relax, love."

Madellaine's gaze landed on his chest. "What—?"

He quirked his brow at her and smirked. "Sweetheart, you had a little too much to drink last night after your husband stormed out of here," he snorted, shaking his head at the memory of Notre Dame's bell ringer bursting into his study unannounced and raging despite Darius's insistence he calm down and keep quiet, lest he wake up the rest of the church in his anger.

"I don't remember what happened," she admitted.

"Laverne called me up here to come keep you company."

She found her gaze lingering on his muscular chest, ashamed at herself for being able to look away. He noticed and smirked. "I know what you're thinking," he teased.

"What happened between us, Darius?" she begged desperately.

He stared at her in amusement. "What happened between us, love, was watching the sunset on the balcony. And I read to you, our favorite, Tristan and Iseult, which you fell asleep in the middle of, by the way," he laughed, unable to help it.

"I did, that's right, I remember," she gasped, a hand over her mouth in shock. "But you—did we…" Madellaine turned away sharply, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.

Darius hesitated. "No," he answered softly. "We didn't."

Madellaine felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders. She let out a cry of relief and enveloped him in a tight hug. "Oh, thank you, God, for maintaining the integrity of my most beloved of friendships," she laughed, lifting her gaze to the blue sky above. "I promise, going forward, only water will cross these lips," she teased, not wanting to relinquish her hold on Darius as he returned her hug tightly, resting his chin atop her hair. Reluctantly, she pulled back. "What does a girl do when she has two amazing men in her life and loves them both?" she asked, feeling a soft smile tug at the corners of her lips.

He smirked. "She doesn't pour that glass of wine." Darius turned away for a moment to put on his brown habit. He briefly clutched the rosary in his hand before draping it over his neck. "How are you feeling this morning, love?"

"A bit of a headache," she admitted sheepishly, turning away to draw the curtain for privacy as she changed. It would be cold today as early December dragged on with graceful ease, the temperatures dropping, so for today, Madellaine decided on a light green off-the-shoulder green gown trimmed in delicate braiding. The dress's crushed velvet material would keep her warm, so would the long flowing sleeves in olive chiffon. A half-round hood draped elegantly over the back, truly a thing of beauty and it would keep her warm.

He grinned from the other side of the curtain. "Yes, that tends to happen when you drink too much. It will go away in time. Get Alice to give you something to help ease the pain. It'll get better soon. It will."

She laughed, pulling the curtain back and going over to the priest and clasping her hands over his gratefully. Darius gave her figure an appreciative once-over. "Green is a good color for you, milady," he said, smiling.

"I know," she admitted. "My husband's favorite color. I hope he'll—"

"He will. He loves you too much to stay mad at you."

"Walk me downstairs?" she asked, biting her lip. She would have to face her husband in a moment. What she would say to him, even she didn't know.

Madellaine could only hope he would forgive her.

"I've never seen him so upset," Darius spoke up quietly.

"Was it bad?" she asked, clutching the sleeves of his robes tightly. "I—he and I both said some things. I didn't mean it."

"I know you didn't love," he said, glancing sideways at her. The look of heartbreak in her eyes and on her face was devastating. He hated to see her like this. He knew why his brother had been so upset last night. Her face was drawn, ill. The insomnia was getting to her, catching up to her. Madellaine's face was ashen, devoid of any color. The circles underneath her eyes only grew darker the more she stayed away and didn't allow herself to sleep.

She froze in her tracks when they reached the bottom of the stairs. Her husband had been casually sitting on top of a table conversing in low tones with Jeanne and Alice, but blanched when he saw his wife. Darius frowned at him and reluctantly let go of Madellaine's arm and joined Alice and Jeanne, giving them privacy, but close enough to intervene at the first sign of trouble. The three strained to listen, waiting in the shadows.

Darius shot the sisters a dark look and they quieted. "Keep quiet."

Alice glowered at him, her blue eyes twinkling playfully. "You really think I'd miss this? It's not often our boy loses his temper. He owes it to her to apologize. He's taking her out tonight to make up for his deplorable behavior last night. I've never seen him so upset. He came into my quarters and drank all of my red merlot in one sitting, I swear to God, I can't make this up."

"He was pretty upset," Jeanne commented. "Besides," the other nun smirked, "I want to hear this, what he has to say to his wife now that he's had time to think about how hard he messed up last night. This is a one in a million chance to witness something truly amazing," she laughed. "The look on our boy's face is just priceless. I've never seen someone like him so in love before, and he knows he royally fucked up last night. I want to hear this, so shush," she teased. "Oh no," whispered Alice mischievously, "look, she's giving him the adorable smile, the one no man, not even you, Darius can resist," she teased, jabbing him in the side with her elbow. "She's got him right where she wants him, I can tell. She's got you wrapped around her pinky."

Darius flinched and grew uncomfortable. "Hush," he commanded, but he couldn't resist smiling at her quip. "We should leave them be, let them talk."

"That moron!" commented Alice, narrowing her eyes as she waited for their bell ringer to say something. "What is he doing? Say something, you idiot!" she whispered. "Earth to Quasi, will you snap out of it!" she hissed, loud enough for him to hear her. He turned, startled, glaring at them but at a loss for words. "The longer you stand there like an imbecile not saying anything, the worse the situation becomes for all of us! If you don't apologize and take her out tonight to celebrate Christmas Eve the proper way, she's going to eventually leave you and who knows, maybe Frederic will spot his chance, and she'll spend the rest of her life as a soldier's widow when he dies in battle one day!" she shouted, ignoring Madellaine's flushed face of outrage.

The bell ringer blanched and froze, startled. "No way," he whispered, growing angered. He bit his lip and took his wife's hands in his, bringing her hands to his lips for a gentle kiss. He had a pained look in his eyes. He regretted leaving her alone last night. He shouldn't have. "I am so sorry about last night, my love. I should not have stormed out like that. I hope that you can forgive me. I just…it scares me, what's happening to you, Madellaine." His voice cracked and he turned away for a moment to compose himself. He turned back to her and continued. "In my rage last night, I was blind to you, Lena, to what it was that you needed from me, beloved. I assumed I was right when I had no real reason to. The words you spoke in such well-intentioned purity triggered something in me that came from fear and I snapped. I guess it's the way we were both raised, coming from abusive masters."

Madellaine nodded, feeling tears well in her eyes. Quasi pulled in her close for a tight hug, resting his head on top of her hair, breathing in the pleasant scent of harvest and apples that calmed his frayed nerves. He loved her so much. He never should have yelled at her. "The words that calm you, they scare me…and the words that calm me scare you. So, there we were on opposite sides, suddenly blind to each other's good hearts and building barricades instead of bridges. Then I saw your soul in your eyes and knew in a moment that we, in very different ways, both want the same thing, but lost in how to get there, blind to the path, yet trying to see. It was only when I set aside my anger and let my love for you back into my heart that I saw a path for us…we both wanted to do what was best for ourselves, and you and I, we are destined to find the answer together and realize that with our love for one another, we gain a new kind of sight, an illumination. I love you, Madellaine, with all my heart. I don't want to lose you. I want what's best for you, for me, for our baby. Let me—let us—help you. I'm begging you. For our baby."

Madellaine nodded, pulling away from his hug. She swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat and coughed once to clear it and blink back her tears. "I shouldn't have ignored your fears and concerns the way I did. I'm sorry, my love. I acknowledge I can be doing more for my health, and I—I haven't. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He wrapped an arm around Madellaine's shoulders and pulled her close, gently rubbing her arm. Despite the heaviness in her stomach, it fluttered at the feeling of her body pressed against his. She sunk into the warmth of his side, appreciative of the simple gesture.

When she was in his arms, she knew she was safe. Always. "I thought perhaps tonight, we could go take a walk," he suggested playfully. "Maybe go by the Seine, relive old memories," he teased. "If—if you want," he stammered, tripping over his words. "It's Christmas Eve, after all. No point in spending the whole night in our tower, is there? If you want, that is."

She rested her forehead against his, enjoying the warmth he gave.

"I'd like that," she whispered, smiling at him in a way that made his heart almost stop. "More than you know, my love."

"This is all very touching. How wonderful for you both and how disgusting for the rest of us to have to put up with all of it!" piped up Jeanne, an evil look in her eyes as she smirked at the annoyed expression on both their faces at the interruption. Jeanne rolled her eyes and continued her tirade. "But we haven't all day, you know. Madellaine, get over here, we'll need your help in the kitchens and Alice needs your help going over our invoices, she can't do the math as well as you can."

Her husband rolled his eyes and snorted, turning away to venture back to the bell tower to ring for morning Mass. "I'll see you tonight," he promised, stooping down to give his wife a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Meet me by the entrance." "I wouldn't miss it," she said, waving shyly, watching him disappear back up to his tower, a soft smile on her lips.

Without another a word, Alice and Jeanne seized Madellaine by her arm and dragged her away, despite her vehement protests. "What's going on?" Madellaine cried desperately. "Wait! Where are you taking me? Where are we going? Hey, STOP THAT!" she bellowed at the top of her lungs when Alice pinched her shoulder, her way of telling her to keep quiet. Madellaine glowered at Alice as she shoved her down in a chair in the kitchens with more force than she let out. Wincing, she rubbed her arm gingerly and snapped at Alice. "What in the world, Alice? What was that? You didn't have to kidnap me! You could have just asked me to come with you, and I would have!"

"Oh, calm down, girl," barked Jeanne, annoyed at her outburst. "It's not often your husband willingly volunteers to leave his tower." Jeanne leaned in close to Madellaine, so her face was only inches from hers. Madellaine flinched and squirmed, uncomfortable at the closeness. "Besides," she smirked, grabbing their cutting shears and began to trim Madellaine's beautiful blonde hair weekly, as was her custom. "You need this just as much as our boy does. He needs to get out of here more often, and you can help him with that. He'll have a new baby soon and won't have much time on his hands for anything but spoiling your child rotten. He'll be a wonderful father," she smirked. "Anyways, while I fix your hair, love, if you wouldn't mind looking over these," offered Jeanne, shoving several pieces of parchment into Madellaine's lap, "we'd greatly appreciate it. We'll need to take a trip to Valmont's soon, but something isn't adding up, we just can't figure out what it is," she growled darkly. "He's a longtime business partner."

Madellaine sighed, pulling up her legs to sit cross-legged in the chair and she absentmindedly reached up a hand to brush at the tiny hairs that clung to the back of her neck as she scanned the invoices. A quick scanning of the records over the last two months pointed out the problem almost immediately to her.

"I found it," she spoke up suddenly, startling Alice. "He's been cheating you both on the wine shipments and the number of bottles going in and the number coming out aren't adding up. See?" she said, pointing with her finger to October's receipts.

"I knew it," snapped Jeanne, her green eyes narrowing.

"That slippery little shit, I knew he was going to be trouble!" Alice said. "We never should have trusted him with this. What were we thinking, partnering with him?"

"We'll have to go see him one of these days to sort this out," Jeanne snapped. "I'd love to hear what he has to say."

"If by sort it out, you mean cutting his balls off, and stuffing them down his damn throat and making him eat them, then I'm all for that plan, Jeanne, just tell me when."

"ALICE!" shouted Madellaine, beside herself, who had turned an interesting shade of green at the pretty nun's comment. "Don't speak of such things! Please! I—I have a sensitive stomach these days, you two. Please."

"I meant no offense," Alice apologized, looking pained. Shaking away her head to clear away any dark thoughts she'd had of dismembering Valmont, she turned back to Madellaine with a wicked gleam in her brilliant blue eyes. "So, what are you wearing tonight?"

"Is that really important right now?" she questioned, quirking her brow at the sisters. "I fail to see how it's any of your business," she said. "And I—I don't know, whatever, I guess. Something warm," she guessed, not caring.

"It absolutely is our business," teased Jeanne. "I was thinking this. I had it specially made for you, for Christmas Eve tonight," she announced, a glint in her green eyes as she strode over to their chambers, and pulled out a brilliant red velvet gown with long, flared tow sleeves with silver brocade at the sleeve's tips and around the wide scoop neckline of the dress. "Red's a good color on you," complimented Jeanne.

"I—I don't know what to say. Thank you both," Madellaine managed weakly, in shock. "You made this for me?" she choked out, fighting back tears. "But why? I haven't done anything to deserve this," she managed.

Alice and Jeanne shared a look, looking stunned. "Think nothing of it, child," Alice said quietly. "You are like family to us, my dear. It was our pleasure to do this for you. Besides," she grinned, "After we're done with you, our boy won't be able to keep his hands off of you tonight." Madellaine accepted the dress, dipping her head in thanks. "Well?" snapped Alice, her hands on her hips. "We're waiting! Try it on so we can see how it looks on you. We didn't slave over it for naught. Go on then, try it on right now, and be quick about it, girl!" she joked. "Be smart about it, too!"

Madellaine obliged, slipping the beautiful dress over her head, relishing in the immediate warmth and comfort the material provided. She twirled once, appreciating the wide skirt and the way it seemed to breathe and float with her movements. "It's beautiful! Thank you both for this!"

Jeanne nodded in agreement. "It suits you. We outdid ourselves with this one, Alice," she muttered appreciatively, turning to Alice to gauge her reaction, who was smiling softly at the bell ringer's wife. She smirked and rolled her eyes. "Our boy won't be able to take his eyes off you for a second. Not that he's been able to do that anyways since he married you," she snorted teasingly. Madellaine blushed, a light pink color speckling across her cheeks.

She waved away Jeanne's comments with a brush of her hand. "Thank you, you two. This dress is beautiful."

"What's it been like for you these last few weeks?" Alice questioned, raising an eyebrow in Madellaine's direction as she collapsed into a chair. "Every day full of wedded bliss?" Madellaine paused, having to think on it for a moment.

She winced and drew back from Alice's harsh tug as she put the finishing touches to trimming her hair. Brushing away the blonde strands off her collarbones, she spoke quietly. "I believe…I believe that each of us deserves a chance at love in our lives. I—I know it sounds ridiculous that there's someone out there for everyone but look at Quasi and me. I was never meant for love, and yet, he found me at a time when I needed him the most. I just hadn't known it yet. People say there's no such thing as true love, and that it all ends in heartbreak and pain and although I don't necessarily believe that's true, I think, in some ways, that's the beauty of it. To have something so perfect for such a short while, then for it to disappear into nothing makes you constantly wonder where it will reappear next. He and I are soul mates, destined to be together forever. But love is an endless loop, always on the move, never ending, and constantly evolving. You never know where it will take you. That's the beauty of love, it's so beautiful, mysterious, and magical. I believe we all deserve a chance at love, because we all deserve something magical." At this comment, she quirked her brow at the sisters and grinned suggestively. "Even you two one day, I hope you both will find your measure of happiness." Alice and Jeanne shared a knowing look.

"We already have it, child, but we thank you for thinking of us," Alice chirped. Jeanne and Alice turned the topic of discussion to something else, and Madellaine found her mind wandering to thoughts of the evening ahead of her. What her husband had planned, she didn't know, but she knew she looked forward to spending her first Christmas Eve as a married woman with him. She weaved her knuckles in between her fingers as Madellaine stared absentmindedly at the doorway, hoping that just for a moment, he would appear, even just to say hello. Were you and I ever strangers, Quasi? I'm not sure we were. That night I dared to come up to your tower, our first fight—even then, there was something there, though I didn't know what at first. I thought you were insane, yelling at me the way you did, but I'm glad we were able to move past that. We became all the better because of it. I wonder if there's an element of time that allows us to feel a strong love, like the morning glow of the sunrise bursting over the horizon. It's light for our eyes only, something to carry us both through this life. It was the dawn of the person I am today, and thanks to you, the person I am destined to become, with your love and support. I would give up anything in the world for you. I would do anything to keep you safe. I recall the day our love was forged, an unbreakable bond. It was like being let into the warmth of the sun after a lifetime of winter. I could never wish back to even a day before I met you.

You, my love, are the greatest treasure of my life, the one, the only one for me. That's all I could ask for in this life, to spend an eternity with you.

---

The guilt tore at his heart over what he'd done as he paced the front steps of the entrance. "I shouldn't have yelled at you," Quasi whispered, talking to his wife despite the fact she had yet to meet him at Notre Dame's entrance. "My guilt…I—I don't know what to do about it. When it comes, it takes me down the familiar path. I want to refuse to walk it, pretend that I am the person I demand that I become, for you and for our baby, my love. I want to wash my hands clean of all my past transgressions, anything I might have done to hurt you, anything I might have said to wound you, but if I did, then I'd never learn from what happened. And it's true what they say: those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it. And I can't bear that. So, for us, I keep my eyes on the horizon and my mind turned to focusing on creating a positive future for us, because really, isn't that what we need?"

His wife's shy, timid voice spoke up from behind him, startling him. He flinched and turned around guiltily. "If your guilt tears at your heart, rips at your insides, you're already forgiven," she replied softly, a half-smile on her lips. "I've forgiven what happened last night, so just let it go, beloved."

He stared, unable to help it. My God…I've never seen you more beautiful than you are right now. Madellaine's velvet gown was a striking red color, with long flared tow sleeves and a silver placard belt looped around her waist, emphasizing her slender figure. She fidgeted lovingly with her wedding band, a simple gold band. He'd felt guilty about not being able to buy her one, that he'd had to go to Darius for help, but she shut him down the first time he tried to bring it up with her. You deserve so much more, beloved, than I can give you. Flustered, Quasi ran a hand through his tuft of fiery red hair and glanced down at the black tunic and pants laced with gold trim he'd worn on the first night he'd dared to venture out of their tower with her. Over his tunic and pants he wore a thick black overcoat to keep him warm.

"I…you look beautiful," he said at last. "You aren't cold?" he questioned, quirking his brow at her. "How is that, love?"

Madellaine blushed and smiled. "Thank you, and this dress is warmer than it looks, I have Alice and Jeanne to thank for it. Tis a beautiful thing, really," she whispered, a shy smile on her lips. As usual, she never waited for him to offer his arm. She linked her arm with his as they started to walk, the glittering snowflakes beginning to fall soundlessly, taking their time before they reached their destined places of rest, enveloping everything in a calm, silent coldness that was comforting in its own special way. "It's been a long time since I've seen snow," she said at last. "Several years, in fact."

"Because of Jehan?" he prodded gently.

She nodded. "He didn't let me outside very much," Madellaine offered quietly, suppressing a shudder. "But I don't want to talk about Jehan tonight," she said suddenly, not looking at him. She glanced sideways at him and was relieved to see him smiling. "It's Christmas, tonight should be about you and I celebrating. What do you want to do? Where should we go?" she laughed, her eyes twinkling.

"I—I wanted to make our first Christmas together special," he spoke up at last, growing nervous. "I know I can't offer you, much, but I—" he started to speak, but his wife didn't let him finish.

She raised a finger to his lips and shushed him. "I don't want to hear any of that tonight out of you, sweetheart," she said harshly. "Quasi, you know me. You don't need to get me anything; I've never needed much in my life. You, my love, you are my gift this year. You've given me so much to be thankful for in my life. You're a loving husband, and I know you'll be an amazing father to our baby. I love you."

He smiled; his warmth contagious as he processed her words. "I love you too." They'd reached the Seine, the river frozen over. The river, frozen solid, was covered with ice so thick that it showed reflections as clear as the mirror of the heavy, black night sky. The cold breeze sliced through the air, whispering to them. Silvery flakes drifted down, glittering in the bright light of the winter moon. The blackbird swooped down to its nest. The thick blanket of snow was blinding to look at, coating everything in sight. The walnut brown trees swayed in the cold winter wind. Icicles on the trees dropped with a smash. Like grass cracking and shattering. The weather was frigid, and the snow was glittering. A chilled squirrel hopped from tree to tree, carefully trotting on iced over branches. The ghostly wind broke the peaceful sound of silence. Though the snow was beautiful, it was cold and sharp.

Crisp, white, pristine, covering that transformed landscape, making it a magical land full of wonder and undiscovered mysteries.

"Oh, it's beautiful, isn't it?" she gasped, gazing at the Seine in awe. "Just like I knew it would be!" Madellaine moved her head closer to her husband's. She leaned in so that her forehead rested against his. "Thank you," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. "For this."

"You don't need to thank me," he said, his voice low and husky. "You never have to, beloved," he murmured lowly in response. "And you never will."

"Yes, I do." Her voice wavered, exhilarated from the tension between the two of them in their private moment. Madellaine gently leaned in and kissed her husband's warm lips. They pulled apart and took shallow breaths, Quasi looking at her with a new intensity in his eyes. He gazed at her lovingly before a passionate gleam ignites in his eyes. He held Madellaine's head in his hands and pulled her tight for a fiery kiss. He broke apart first, his eyes half-lidded. "Lena," he gasped out, taking deep breaths to regain control of his breathing. "Wait a minute, I—I need to say something," he managed, shivering both from the cold and the immense pleasure he was currently experiencing.

Madellaine reached up and ran a hand through his hair that sent a pleasant tremor down his spine. "Yes, love, what is it?"

"There's—there's something I'd like you to do for me, I— I mean with me, and I think I deserve it, given my multiple savings of your life," he teased, his brown eyes sparkling.

She smiled. "I know what you want to do, and the answer's yes. It's always yes, when it comes to you." They stared at each other, deep into each other's eyes. His eyes are full of wonder and love for his wife, hers full of curiosity and passion. No words are spoken, but a story worth of them was communicated in just one glance. He leaned in and pressed soft kisses up and down Madellaine's neck. She let out a whimper of anticipation.

He worked his way back to her lips. As they kissed, she let out a startled shout as he grabbed her and with a gentle force laid her down on top of a thick woolen blanket he'd brought. She rolled on top of him, laughing in delight as she lay on top of his strong, muscular body. She ran her lips up his neck and landed a loving and intense kiss on his lips, not wanting the moment to end. "What is it?" she whispered, gazing deep into his eyes.

"You're going to have to duck," he grinned, the ton of his voice light and pleasant as he bunched up a ball of snow.

Madellaine stared, confused. "I don't understand—I—" A pelt of snow covered her face. White-faced, she coughed. "What—oh, you, you—bastard!" she yelled, squealing in delight as he threw another snowball at her, missing her head as she ducked behind the trunk of a large oak tree. She ducked; massaging her frozen fingers while her husband scattered off to make his own snowballs. "You aren't going to win!" she chirped, packing snow into a hard ball, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. "You know, you really need to stop telling me what to do, it never ends well for you, Quasi!" she teased, packing a ball of snow and pelting it at her husband, catching him off guard.

"You got lucky with that one!" he laughed.

"Lucky?" she snorted from behind the tree trunk, rolling her eyes. "Please! I'm the daughter of a seasoned general; defeat is never an option with me. I make my own luck! Surrender now and I'll let you exit this fight with your dignity intact! But if you insist on resisting defeat, then no promises!"

"Never!" his soothing voice called back, erupting into laughter. "I dare you to best me! You won't be able to!"

Madellaine laughed, running a hand through her hair as she picked up a bunch of snow and packed it into a hard ball. Her lips tinged blue a while ago, and her fingers were almost immobile with cold. But if she gave up now, he would take home the snowball fight victory, and she could not allow that to happen. His ego would be insatiable.

At her feet were ten snowballs, somewhat chaotic in size, but if she picked the right moment, they'd get the job done. A win would make de-thawing her fingers worth it. I don't give in. Ever. Not even to you, my love.

"You'll lose, Lena!" her husband taunted from behind the trunk of his own tree, his self-appointed haven for now. She grinned and stepped out from behind the tree. In seconds of the warning, the air became thick with snowballs so compacted that several felt icy and solid. The ones from the freshly fallen flakes burst open on impact, showering crystalline fragments that glinted in the winter evening light. She threw her last snowball, catching him off guard just in time to pelt him square in the chest, the force of her throw sending him staggering backwards, looking stunned but ecstatic. Panting heavily, he lifted his head and smiled at her that sent a pleasant warmth all throughout her body. "You win."

Madellaine returned the smile, coming over to him and wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him tight for a passionate kiss. "I already have," she whispered lovingly. "I take it that was your first snowball fight?" she teased, winking at him. He nodded, grinning. Quasi shook his head to remove the snowflakes from his hair, ignoring the few strays that fell to his feet. The snow was coming harder now, more intense. "It's beautiful," Madellaine whispered, linking her hand with his as she stared up at the fresh snowfall in awe. "I couldn't think of a better way to spend Christmas Eve than with you, my love. But it's late, we should be getting back."

He smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. "Just think of it, Lena," he said quietly, laying a hand over her stomach, "next year we'll have a little one to celebrate with," he smiled. "Something I never thought I would have in this lifetime. I should be the one thanking you. So, thank you, beloved." They reached the cathedral at last. His wife hovered near the door, a hand on the handle. "Are you coming back upstairs?" she chirped pleasantly, shaking off snow that had fallen into her hair. "It's cold out here and I'm freezing."

He smiled. "In a minute," he promised. Quasi waited until she had gone inside before sitting on the steps of Notre Dame, taking a second to bask in the cold. There's something about Madellaine that makes me feel young inside, but not in a childish way. She wakes the pure side of me, the best side, all the facets of myself that only require love to be healthy and whole. An eternity to be with her would be serenity, contentment. I'm not simply "in love," I'm well and truly smitten with my wife. Any other could only be a poor reflection, no more substantial than a shadow of the real thing. Madellaine is what makes my heart strong. Her smile alone burnishes my soul into a beauty it could never have achieved on its own. Before we met, I was one, now and a half, yet somehow so much more than I was before.

And yet, that was good enough for him. Smiling softly to himself, he followed his wife up to their tower. "I'd say that couldn't have gone better."

Smirking a little, he spotted Darius and Sophia talking among themselves in low murmurs, in a rather suggestive pose. The priest looked like he was barely keeping it together. Unable to resist teasing the man a little, Quasi called out, "You know, Darius, if you're waiting for the right minute to confess your true feelings for Soph, this is it!" he laughed, to which he received an incredibly rude hand gesture from Sophia, but even she was looking amused at his little interruption. Darius looked highly annoyed.

Sophia couldn't help responding with a quip of her own. "You know, your wife could go into early labor if you keep sucking face like that!" she laughed.

A laugh poorly disguised as a cough erupted from Darius, who promptly turned away from Sophia to compose himself. "Enough, Soph," he cautioned.

"I'll keep that mind," he grinned, leaving them to it. When he got back up to the north bell tower loft, in the room that was twilight and shadow, he stood close enough behind her, just enough for Madellaine to breathe in his scent.

He smelled of pine wood and bell polish. His arms wrapped around her back and in one gentle pull their skin touched. She felt his hand in her hair, how he loved the softness, pressing in softly. Then his hand moved down her cheekbones to her lips, and before she could ask him what he thought he was doing, she found herself interlocked in a kiss, and they moved like partners in a dance that was written in their blood. Their bodies fit together as if they were made just for this, to fall into one another, to fell the natural rhythm. Not bothering to ask her permission and with a light laugh, Quasi lifted his wife right off her feet, carrying her towards the corner of their tower that acted as their bedroom. They locked eyes for just a moment as he laid her on their mattress, just enough for both to feel safe with one another. Then he wasted no time in helping her unlace her dress, pulling it off and letting it fall to the floor at the foot of their bed. His hands wandered the length of her legs, always just a little higher than his kisses. Madellaine felt her back arch in anticipation, knowing where his fingers would soon reach. Her head collapsed back against the pillow as he does, the first low groan escaping her lips.

He smiled at her, and Madellaine couldn't help but smile and kiss him back, as he knew that she would. With her lips, she could feel his mouth stretching wide than it should, fighting between his urge to laugh and keep kissing her. They've done it so many times, and it kept on getting better.

---

Breakfast that morning was a tense affair, neither Darius nor Quasi speaking much. Madellaine and Alice didn't know what to do about the cathedral's bell ringer and their priest. The tension in the air was practically scarlet, if the air would have been a color. The two men had still not quite made amends.

The air in the room is so brittle, it could snap, and if it doesn't, I might. No one is speaking, especially not Quasimodo or Darius, but what is there to say? I wish one of them would say something; this is too much for me to bear. I know about their fight, and this has gone on for far too long. Just one of you, say something, anything to ease this terrible burden of worry. I can't take much more of this. I can only hope that while I wait for these two to sort out their problems that I am not made aware of every second of every passing day. My mind is constantly regurgitating the worries of the day, the worries of tomorrow, and the worries of yesterday. Yet I have no new or brilliant solutions to offer, I can only do what I've always done, take each day as it comes and endure. Madellaine let out a slow, controlled breath and attempted to loosen her body movements, rolling her neck to crack it. One glance at Quasi was more than enough for her. His face hard and rigid, he nods to Darius politely, although the usual warmth and happiness is gone, replaced with anger. I can feel the fear in my chest waiting to take over. Perhaps it only wants to protect me, but there isn't really any danger. Not yet, anyway, but it won't be long if I can't get them to sort this out. All of us—me, Jeanne, Alice, all we can do is sit and wait. There is no sound in the kitchens, yet everyone is moving and not talking. They haven't made up since the fight.

Alice, as usual, was the first to speak. "I can't take this anymore," she growled darkly. "I've had enough of this shit." She exchanged a quick glance with Jeanne, who nodded. Without a word, she grabbed Madellaine's husband by his arm, and Darius by his shoulder, yanking them both out of their chairs and dragging both away, deaf to their protests.

"I've had enough!" Alice shouted over the chaos. "This—this fighting you two have going on has got to stop! I've said all along, both of you are being completely ridiculous. Quasi, you need to apologize for the despicable way you treated our priest, for punching him in the eye, and Darius, I know you said some things you didn't mean, but that doesn't mean you can give our boy the cold shoulder. I've said all along, the pair of you are taking a ridiculous line on this. We both know what this is really about," she snarled, shooting a brief glance Madellaine's way. She blushed and followed close behind. "This petty jealousy bullshit does not become you, boys. It stops right now, or so help me; you won't like what comes next." Angrily, she shoved the pair of them up the bell tower steps, smirking slightly as she caused Darius to stumble due to the brute force of her shove. "Get the hell up there right now!" she barked; no joking detected in her usually playful demeanor.

"Alice, what are you thinking?" demanded Darius.

"Don't you start that innocent act with me, Darius!" she shouted. "I see how the two of you look at each other, you've been jealous of our boy from the day he married this girl!"

Madellaine froze. Oh God, I had no idea things were that bad. Worried, she wrung her hands together until they hurt and dug her nails into the skin of her palm hard enough that she didn't flinch when she felt the first drops of blood begin to form. She shot a frantic glance Darius's way and when his blue eyes met her own, she flinched. Oh no, it's true. Alice is right… "Darius," she spoke up, her voice cracking. "Is this true?" "I…." his voice faltered as his eyes darted wildly around the room, not wanting to meet his brother's piercing gaze or hers.

"Tell me the truth," Quasi snapped, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Darius, you're supposed to be my brother. Why would you keep this from me, you know I—I'd be willing to talk this out with you, but I don't know these things unless you come to me first. You've nothing to be jealous of, brother."

"I—I think of Lena as a member of my family!" he protested wildly. "I—I swear, you've nothing to worry about from me. I care about her. I do love her, but not in the way you think. I care for her. You can't ask me to not, that's ridiculous. And besides, I have Sophia!" Darius snapped angrily.

Alice rolled her eyes and scoffed. "This is a bunch of horseshit, Darius. The two of you are going up there," she snapped, motioning with her head to the bell tower, "and you aren't coming back down until you talk this thing out. I've had enough of your shit, and so has Madellaine, although the girl is far too polite to say so, so I'll do it for her." The two men opened their mouths to protest but fell silent under the stern glare Alice shot their way, her blue eyes piercing their hearts like a knife. She exhaled deeply and sat at the foot of the tower steps and motioned for Madellaine to join her. "No point in going up there with them, dear, it's their issue to sort out," she sighed. "We can't help them with this. They have to be the ones to discuss it."

"I know," Madellaine said quietly. "I just wish there was more I could do for them; I don't like to see them this way. If anything," she responded, chuckling slightly, "I was hoping, and I thought for sure those two would band together and help me keep a watchful eye on Frederic, that man is…persistent, I'll give him that much."

Alice rolled her eyes. "What are you going to do about it?"

Madellaine sighed, absentmindedly picking at her nails. "I don't know, Alice. I wish that I did. I have hope for Frederic, though." Noticing Alice's bewildered stare, she smirked. "I do. You may think me crazy for it, but I don't believe he has too many friends, people in his life he can rely on."

Alice stared. "And you think that person can be you?"

Madellaine shrugged her shoulders. "Why not?" she asked casually, doing her best to ignore the blatant look of shock on Alice's face. "Everyone—even someone as crude as Frederic—needs someone in their life that they can trust."

"And you think you're truly the one that's going to change him completely? I don't think that boy can change, if you ask me, I think he's doomed to a lifetime alone. I've seen his heart, and there's nothing festering there but darkness. You do know that he was one of the soldiers at the front of the pillory that day, right?" Alice asked incredulously. Noticing the young woman's crestfallen, horrified expression. "Oh, yes," she added. "He was one of the ones to throw the ropes. Tried to strangle our boy to death. Threw food at him, called him names. I don't think I need to tell you the rest."

Madellaine had no idea what to say. She swallowed. "I…I had no idea."

"Jesus," Alice muttered darkly, shaking her head at the turn of events the night last eve took. She sighed, rubbing her temples. "I could go for a drink."

Madellaine laughed. "It's not even ten in the morning yet, and already you're going for the wine?" she teased. Alice fell unusually silent and serious. Glancing sideways at her, it was a while before she spoke again.

When she did, her tone was solemn. "Darius told me a little of your background, child. After all this time, I still can't believe that you of all people grew up in the Frollo household," she spat, disgusted. "My heart goes out to you. I think it a strange coincidence that both you and our boy were raised by the pair of brothers. Don't you?"

Madellaine smiled wryly. "Life can be strange sometimes."

"What was he like?" she prodded. "What did Jehan do?"

Madellaine's smile faltered as she pondered what to tell the nun. "He was a monster," she growled darkly. "In my days, he was an animal. In my nights, he was the same. I—I should have known better," she admitted sheepishly, reaching up a hand to scratch at an itch in her hair. "But I was foolish, naïve to think that I could have an inkling of hope to change that man. I never should have stayed as long as I did, he—he sent me here at the right time in my life, the time when I needed my husband the most," she confessed, surprised to hear herself say it. "I—I never thought I'd find someone in my life that I wanted to be with as much as I cherish my time together with Quasi, but it's true. I thought for sure I'd be trapped with Jehan forever, but I would have killed myself before I'd ever let him touch me again," she hissed through gritted teeth, a pained look in her eyes. "I was foolish to think Jehan could have loved me, he was never capable of love. He was…it was his lack of eye contact that should have warned me, I should have been able to see him for what he was. It isn't natural to avert your gaze from the one you love, or so he claimed to have loved me. He never did. It was always lust. He raped me and got me pregnant with his bastard child and left me no choice," she cried, angrily brushing away her gathering tears. "It gave him distance from me, enough to allow the cruel behaviors and the power trips he craved. In those moments, I felt…dehumanized, made just another part of Jehan's life to be controlled, to perform a function he required. It hurt. It hurt more than any physical pain I've endured, and I've had my fair share of his beatings," she wailed. The darkness enveloped Madellaine with its cold embrace and she cringed away from its icy touch, though it drew her in tighter with every movement. Everything and nothing folded into her, it constricted her lungs until she was gasping with dizziness and an urge to vomit. She fought back the urge.

"Easy," muttered Alice worriedly, gently rubbing the small of her back. "Come, let's get you upstairs." The sister glanced up the south bell tower stairwell and smirked. "They've been too quiet up there, anyways, I want to know what's going on. It's too goddamn quiet, I was expecting your husband to start his usual tirade by now, if I know that boy," she growled darkly, rolling her eyes. Alice helped Madellaine to her feet and hovered closely behind as they ascended the tower steps. They could hear the bell ringer and Darius conversing in low tones but couldn't make any of it out. "Oh, for…" Alice groaned when they reached the top. "You've got to be kidding me,"

Madellaine laughed, unable to help it. She bit her knuckles to contain the worst of it. Darius and her husband looked up from their chess match, startled. "What?" snapped Darius irritably, although the corners of his mouth were twitching as he fought back a smile.

"Are you kidding me? This is a fucking joke, right?" snarled Alice, growing irate.

"Language," chastised Darius, rolling his eyes. "We're in a church, Al."

"Have you two been up here playing chess the whole time?" growled Alice, pacing the floor of the loft. "What else is there to do?" teased Quasi, a mischievous glint in his brown eyes. "Will you join us?" he asked, grinning.

"Have you two…made amends?" Madellaine asked hesitantly, coming to rest on her husband's lap, gently running her fingers through his flame of red hair.

Darius nodded curtly, although the briefest flashes of irritation darted through his blue orbs. "For now," he answered curtly, his voice terse, warning the women to drop the subject. "Come, join us," he offered. "I'm about to win."

Notre Dame's bell ringer laughed. "You wish," he smirked, conquering Darius's white knight. "You'll have to teach our child to play chess, Darius," he suggested coyly. "He'll become smarter than you and best you after the first game."

Darius grinned. "What makes you think you'll be having a son? You two could very well be having a girl."

Madellaine smiled, laying a hand on her stomach. "I guess we'll find out in seven months," she teased. She leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on her husband's forehead. "I know that no matter what, we'll be wonderful parents," she whispered, low enough so that only he could hear her. "We'll love our baby, simply because it's ours. You know this." He nodded, not taking his eyes off the chessboard. She smiled, running her fingers through his hair, absentmindedly watching their chess game as her mind wandered, as it usually did most mornings. Beloved, you are the knight in my day, the sunshine of the eternal dawn within, the one that makes it safe for my soul to breathe anew. You show courage I thought long extinguished from the world, yet here you are. It's because of who you are that I feel this way that your touch is energy and all that you are is home to me. I trust you even when the cold winds blow, I hold to you when sinister whispers speak ill, for I saw your soul one precious night under the stars, and it lives with me still. So, for all the time I am alive, I am yours, my love, my mind, body, and soul, has always been yours, until the day I die and even after that.

---

Frederic de Marten scowled as he wandered the corridor, in search of either Sister Maria or Alice to hopefully tend to his arm, a result of a careless sparring session with Captain Phoebus from earlier. A deep wound was sliced in the flesh of the young soldier's upper right arm. It was heavily oozing out blood and there was a bluish-purple bruise forming around it. Frederic lightly pressed his index finger against the center of the cut and drew in a sharp breath as the pain spiraled across his body. Colorful spots contour the sides of his eyes and he had to bite his lip from the pain of it all. The soldier bit his tongue to keep from screaming. Uncouth witch, he thought darkly. If I weren't so distracted by thoughts of her, I wouldn't have cut myself.

It was then that he heard her voice, and he blanched, not having anticipated he would run into the woman here in the hallway. "Frederic, what's wrong?" her voice asks, piercing the otherwise silent, empty corridor. "You're hurt!" the young woman exclaimed, coming over to him, gently taking his arm in her delicate hands, a gentle finger touching the wound. "What happened?" she demanded, her gray eyes coming up to meet his own. "How did you do this to yourself?" she asked softly. His green eyes met hers and she flushed.

"I—I cut myself during a—a sparring session," he lied, hoping the lie reached his eyes. He forced a smile on his face and prayed it was genuine. "I will be fine, Madellaine, I thank you for your concern, but it's nothing. I can handle this, don't worry."

She frowned, her brows furrowing into a frown as she prodded his wound with a tender finger, ignoring it as he let out a hiss of pain through gritted teeth. "Does it hurt much? I can get you something for it. And I hardly doubt that, you're bleeding all over the floor where you stand," she scoffed. "Here, let me help you, I can't have you bleeding all over the nave, it's unsanitary."

Without waiting to be asked, she pulled up a chair and forced him into it, beginning to rip sections of a piece of fabric into strips, making a makeshift bandage out of cloth she'd been using to make a cloak. Madellaine gingerly began to wrap his fingers, taking her time. "There," she said at last, when she finished. "Be careful next time, yes? You really should be more careful."

He smirked and rolled his eyes. "Th—thank you, Madellaine, I—I thank you for your help. You're too kind."

Madellaine shot him a charming, dazzling white smile. "Don't mention it!" she chirped, her eyes darting nervously before she darted away, to do what, his mind could only conjure visions in his mind. Her husband's voice rang in Frederic's eardrums as he wandered the halls, looking for his wife.

Oh, hell, he thought darkly. Can't let him find me here. The soldier bolted so fast from his chair to avoid a confrontation with Notre Dame's bell ringer that he didn't bother to right the chair he'd overturned. He began to walk the corridor with an odd feeling as his mind recalled the simple way, she briefly addressed him by his first name. He kept his gaze onto his neatly wrapped fingertips on his right hand. He'd been nothing but abrasive to her the last few weeks, and still, she found it in her heart to help him. Frederic sneered. Don't you fall for that. It's probably one of her tricks. No matter how hard he tried to dismiss her behavior as "treachery," he couldn't stop thinking about her beautiful smile. Archdeacon Mathias met up with Frederic at the entrance to the north bell tower. Frederic glanced up at the bell tower with apprehension in his green eyes. Mathis noticed his hands and frowned; his brow furrowed.

"Ser de Marten, what happened to your hands?" Frederic glanced up in surprise from his trance-like state. His eyes were dare he say bright. It was odd for him, and the Archdeacon was not quite sure what to make of this.

"Madellaine Barreau, the little blonde, the kitchen shrew, she—she helped mend them after I cut them on a piece of wood, Your Grace. T'was my fault."

Mathias shot Frederic a dark look. "Sir! I would kindly as you not to refer as the bell ringer's wife as a shrew," he scolded. "She is a valued member of our cathedral and she will be treated with respect as long as you remain here."

Frederic's cold, hard stare returned, and he resisted the urge to roll his green eyes in exasperation. "It's of little importance what that—what she does," he corrected, noticing the dark look in Mathias's eyes. "A few bandages won't do much. She did what she could, but they'll still hurt for a while, I imagine. Anyways, I—I must be getting back. I did not mean to cause trouble, Your Grace," he muttered, dipping his head in acknowledgement, taking his leave of the head of the church before him. Archdeacon Mathias sighed and rolled his eyes. The young soldier was that moved. Although as he watched the soldier walk away, he noticed his gaze fall back to his fingertips, a small smile gracing his lips. The Archdeacon wondered if the bell ringer's wife had the potential to change him. Such a thought was ridiculous, of course, especially pertaining to a man like Frederic de Marten, but she could try…Waving off the idea, the head of the church retreated to the cloisters to pray for the poor girl. The blonde had an uncanny ability to affect others without even realizing it. She either refused to depend on others, or she didn't know how to.

"May God have mercy on her," he whispered softly, clutching his rosary in his hands as he mulled over the situation with the blonde and Frederic. "Perhaps there's hope for the boy to change yet. You, milady, might play an integral part in making that happen. Only time will tell." That said, the Archdeacon left to round up the other monks and nuns to see about the weather, what they could do to aid the poor souls who were stuck outside.

Frederic barged into his cloister cell running a hand through his thick, dark hair, the expression on his face anguished. Falling in love with you is like falling into an endless black hole. Once you go down it, there's no coming back, and the deeper I fall, my love for you becomes darker and more intense. No matter how much love I give you, in return, I will get only nothingness and utter disenchantment, all because your—your husband—got to you before I could. Your love is more like a trap with no chance of escaping or bolting. Now even I feel as if I am a victim of this fatal and chronic disease you call love, which is only a disguise for repugnance and revulsion. Madellaine, your beautiful, easy smile and gentle teasing strung my heart and have blinded my eyes. I overlooked your veering lies and shady actions and have constantly looked the other way while you enjoyed the company of your husband more so than me. But you're straying; even now I can see it in those beautiful eyes of yours. You want me. You take me for a mindless fool; I can see that, too. You made a mockery of my love for you and yet you blame me for your misery. You abused my innocent love and cut off the strings of my happiness to my heart. You will be mine; goddess, or no one will have you, especially not your husband. You should have been mine right from the very start. Passing by his mirror, he sneered. He would never experience her love, not once. Her heart would always belong to that monster from Hell. In a blind rage, he struck his fist against the glass, numbly watching as crimson blood poured from his knuckles as he hissed in pain, a shard of glass caught in his palm. He hadn't experienced this kind of pain since his sister Celeste's death. Her broken, bloodied body had been found in the Seine not that long ago, two months ago. It was remarkable, really, how much Madellaine looked like his deceased sister. Different color eyes, but they had the same hair, the same facial structure, and beautiful personalities. Anguished, he slumped to the floor in defeat. He ran his hands through his dark hair, not caring that his bloodied hands were leaving traces of red in his black hair.

Madellaine permeates my every thought, he thought, despairing and burying his head in his hands. She reminds me so of Celeste, and I—I can't control myself around her. It had been the same with Celeste. My sister was always the smart one, the one who outshone us all. In any room, she'd be the brightest light, the one everyone turned to admire. She was my parents' first born, and though they would deny it were they still alive, she was always their favorite. Now I can barely think of her for two seconds straight without needing a distraction. Last time I saw her, she was already dead, though she breathed and shouted obscenities at me during our fight. Now she's gone, and nothing will bring her back to me. I will visit her grave with the flowers in the spring and will tell my children someday how their aunt used to be. I will try hard to forget every detail of the ghoul Celeste became and how she broke my heart into even smaller pieces with her death. But now, Madellaine is in my life, and oh, how she looks like my sister. Forgive me God, for my actions, but I cannot help it. Each time I do something, I rehearse how to tell Madellaine the news, imagine her reaction, and rehearse my response when I find the right moment to confess to the blonde beauty my love. As I do, my mind's eye sees how the light plays on her pale skin. Each time she smiles at me, I feel the rush of her warmth, the spark of hope for something between her and me. I don't care what I must do. She will be mine. She belongs to me! The bell ringer doesn't deserve her. Frederic glanced down at his reflection in the shards of glass on the floor next to his feet. His reflection disfigured and distorted much like his soul. The soldier could barely recognize the man he was becoming. She's bewitched me.

"A monster," he growled through gritted teeth. "That's what I am for wanting to do these things to her, but I cannot seem to stay away. I have to see her, before it's too late," he snapped. Wincing at the pain in his hands, he pushed himself up off the floor and once again sought out the petite blonde.

It wasn't hard to find her. The fair-skinned blonde was chatting away with the two nuns, the sisters with their backs turned away from him as they prepared the cathedral's dinner for the evening.

Madellaine was on her knees, giving the floor a thorough scrubbing. At the sight of the young woman on her knees, inappropriate thoughts began to drift into his minds. Angered, he shook his head to clear his mind of such thoughts and cleared his throat quietly. One of the nuns, Maria, glanced up from her work. "Ser de Marten," she answered stiffly. "What can we do for you, ser?"

"I—I came to speak to the lady Madellaine, if she will have me," he stammered, his face growing red. Madellaine looked up from her work, startled. She tucked a stray wisp of blonde hair back underneath her brown headscarf. She sighed, standing and brushing her hands on the skirts of her brown dress. Is it just me, or does she look…pleased to see me?

Alice and Jeanne shared a dark look. "ABSOLUTELY NOT!" shouted Alice, her normally kind blue eyes turning to ice, glacier cold and unforgiving. "We won't stand for this! Frederic, just what do you think you're trying to do here? I thought we all made it perfectly clear to stay away from her, or are you that much of a masochist? You want to get another beating within an inch of your life from her husband? What about your soldiers, your comrades? Why aren't you spending your time with them right now, you should be out enjoying your life to the fullest while you're still young enough to appreciate it and before you know it, it slips away right under your nose! Why are you harassing our daughter? We won't stand for this, hear us!" Alice yelled.

Frederic stared, a scowl on his handsome face. "Wait, what?" he asked, stunned, looking incredulous. "You're telling me that you're Madellaine's mother? You've got to be kidding me," he growled. "That's just not possible."

Alice was looking shocked and at a loss for words. "Oh no," muttered Jeanne. "He's painted her into a corner. Now what?" she laughed, chuckling to herself.

"Well, we might not be related by blood," stammered Alice, her face flushed and pink as she struggled to think of a retort.

"Okay, so what, are you married to her father, then?"

"No…as a matter of fact, I've never met the man."

Frederic grinned mischievously as he quirked his brow at the nun. "So, I guess…you really aren't her mother, are you? Therefore, you lose this one."

Madellaine was looking stunned, but if he wasn't mistaken, the corners of her mouth were twitching as she fought back a smile. She laughed, unable to help it. She turned to Jeanne and placed a reassuring hand on Sister Jeanne's arm. "It's quite all right, you two. He means no harm." Madellaine glanced over at Frederic, and the look sent his heart into irregular palpitations.

"I won't be long," he promised cordially. "Just a moment."

Madellaine nodded. "Whatever you have to say in front of me you, you can say in front of Alice and Jeanne," she retorted, her gray eyes twinkling mischievously. "I'm afraid I cannot stay long; I need to go help my mother in a moment and I think the Archdeacon was looking for me in the nave."

"I—I was hoping that you and I could—could visit more often. I was just thinking that since you entertain these two all day, it might give you a break from all this," he muttered darkly. She stared at him; her eyes wide with astonishment.

Jeanne snorted and rolled her eyes. "Oh, here it comes…"

But Madellaine surprised them all. "I'd like that," she whispered, her quiet voice refreshing like a soft breeze. "That way, you and I can get better acquainted. I believe there's still some good in you, Frederic," she said softly. "I know there is. If you'd just allow yourself to feel it, you'd know it, too."

Frederic stared, unable to believe it. His heart pounded against its cage and he balled his hands into fists. His forehead broke out into a cold sweat. He swallowed hard the lump that was forming in his throat. Keep it together; De Marten…losing control…can't hold back…feelings… He took a deep, shaking breath. "Madellaine, I—I have something I need to say," he confessed, his voice pained. Alice and Jeanne perked up at his comment, their incessant chatter falling silent as they waited for the handsome soldier to speak. "I just wanted to tell you…that I…that I... I'm sorry this isn't coming out at all the way I intended, but I—" Madellaine's eyes grew wide and round with anticipation.

She relaxed into a smile and finished his sentence for him. "That you're excited to have someone you can relate to, aren't you?" she teased, a knowing gleam in her eyes. "I know I am, a conversation like this is a rare thing for me. You and I, if you continue to change your ways and improve your manners, we'll be great friends, I just know it. Don't worry about Quasimodo, eventually he'll come around. I think I can talk to him for you." She fiddled lovingly with the simple gold wedding band she wore and quirked her brow at Frederic, as though daring him to say something else. "After all, you wouldn't seek comfort in the arms of a married woman, would you?" she laughed.

Alice and Jeanne stared at each other, dumbfounded. Alice was the first to recover. "Uh oh, hung out to dry," she retorted. "What was he thinking?"

"That boy definitely just got shot down," muttered Jeanne, loud enough for Frederic to hear and grow angry, a wicked grin on her face. "I can't fault him for trying, although she is married. What the hell was that boy thinking, hoping he had a shot with her! I bet that rejection haunts him for the rest of his life. The boy might need a drink after all of this. But he won't be getting it from us." Madellaine allowed herself to smile, but it didn't last.

Her smile faltered as she removed her headscarf, running a hand through her hair to smooth it. She huffed in frustration and stared at Frederic, as though trying to gauge his reaction. "But know this, Frederic. Just because I'm willing to give you a second chance at my…friendship, doesn't mean I will allow you to treat me with disrespect and vulgarity," she commanded. Madellaine continued, a wry little smile on her face. "After all, you wouldn't seek comfort in the arms of a married woman, would you?" she laughed. Alice and Jeanne stared at each other, dumbfounded. Alice was the first to recover. "Uh oh, hung out to dry," she retorted. "That boy definitely just got shot down," muttered Jeanne, loud enough for Frederic to hear and grow angry, a wicked grin on her face. "I can't fault him for trying, although she is married. What the hell was that boy thinking, hoping he had a shot with her! I bet that rejection haunts him for the rest of his life. Shit, the boy might need a drink after this, I'd wager. But he won't be getting it from us." Madellaine allowed herself to smile, but it didn't last. Her smile faltered as she removed her headscarf, running a hand through her blonde strands to smooth it. She huffed in frustration and stared at Frederic, as though trying to gauge his reaction. "But know this, Frederic. Just because I'm willing to give you a second chance at my…friendship, doesn't mean I will allow you to treat me with disrespect and vulgarity," she commanded. The young woman pulled up a chair and collapsed into it, rubbing her temples in exasperation a few times.

Frederic took note of the dark circles under her eyes. He ran his knuckles in between his fingers nervously. "There's a lot you and I need to discuss," he admitted morosely. "For starters."

She nodded gravely. Madellaine cleared her throat, her roaming eyes settling on his eyes after a few minutes of silence as she struggled to form her thoughts. "Every time I think begin to find something redeemable about you, I hear you call me names like 'whore' or 'sorceress' under your breath," she snapped, glowering at him, her gray eyes narrowing until they were mere slits. "Don't think I don't hear it; my hearing is excellent. If you expect me to show you any sort of affection or friendship, how am I supposed to go about it knowing the things you've said about me, the things you've done for that matter? You're stuck in here thanks to the snowstorm outside, which is only going to get worse, by the way, and it doesn't help that you—" seduced me.

"That I what?" he demanded, feeling his temper begin to surface. Keep it together. Don't blow up at her. She doesn't deserve to see that side of you, ever. Don't do it. "What is it you want, a truce?"

Madellaine looked startled. "I—yes, yes, that's exactly what I'm asking of you. Please. A truce. No more fighting with my husband. Just forget about the past so we can move forward."

His face blanched, as he grew irritable. "How can I possibly forget the past when you haunt me at every waking minute of every day? You plague my thoughts constantly, then you strut back in here demanding me to be civil when I asked you—no, better yet, I BEGGED you to release me of this curse, and you still have the nerve to…" Madellaine froze as he closed the distance between them. He grabbed her shoulders gently. She let out a sigh as his gray eyes were locked onto his emerald greens. "…The audacity…" His breath hitched as he felt her warm flesh under his cold hands, her parted lips begging for attention. He let go abruptly, rubbing his chin with his hand. "Just leave."

Madellaine didn't move. She stared deep into his eyes and saw in his irises the spirit of a man completely broken, an utter mess. She truly felt sorry for him. The man was an absolute wreck because of her, and in a twisted way, she found it flattering, only a small part of her, for the rest was unsettling to her and quite ironic. She suddenly inched closer and placed a pale hand on his shoulder, and he instantly flinched in response. Frederic's eyes were wild as he looked at her, his eyes watering. She touched me, he thought, his mind racing. "I already told you, I can't help what I did not do," she spoke up, noticing how Frederic's eyes darkened at her response. "But before you get angry with me, I'm willing to make an effort if you are. No more insults, no more avoiding each other. We are in a church after all." A small smile formed on her lips at the last bit, and Frederic couldn't help but become drawn to her luscious lips once again. Her smile was breathtaking.

As she stuck out her hand, he froze. He searched those smoldering ash-gray eyes of hers for any sign of treachery, any flicker of deceit and soon he found himself simply staring. Breaking the contact, he wordlessly held her hand in a firm grip and shook it sternly. He finally found his voice. "Is that all?" he rasped out. The young woman smirked at his nonplussed expression.

"That's all. I'll see you around then…Frederic." Madellaine sauntered out of the kitchens, her footsteps padding down the corridor as she left to go up to the bell tower to check on her husband, leaving him speechless.

Phoebus thundered down the hall, halting in his steps as he looked upon his lieutenant's grief-stricken face. "De Marten!" he barked, snapping Frederic out of his reverie. "Here you are. You wandered off. I've been looking for you. Notre Dame is snowed in, we're helping to clear the church." Frederic let out a growl of frustration and stormed off, venturing off the cloisters of the church after Madellaine. He wished the Lord would just end his torment.