She did not know why she had come here, but it seemed like it was the quietest place, even despite the chaos and noise of the chattering of the tavern customers to sort through her thoughts regarding recent events.

She was also working on a letter to Quasi to sort out her feelings.

Quasi,

I know there's no way I can convince you this isn't one of their tricks. But I don't care. I am me. Renee Elizabeth Barreau, and I wouldn't change a thing. I don't think I'll live much longer, and I wanted to tell someone about my life before I die. This is the only autobiography that I will ever write, and God…I'm writing it on nasty parchment paper. For those who were hoping for something more akin to a fairytale, well…I'm quite sorry to have to disappoint you, my dear friends. Fairytales often begin with "once upon a time," or like in the movies, where the book opens all by itself, like mine did. Perhaps someday, I'll tell the truth of how I got here. My story. But this story, my story, well, it was never meant to be anything like that. I was never meant to experience happiness or joy. I deluded myself into thinking it was possible repeatedly with dreams of wanting nothing more than a loving husband, and a child of my own one day. I dated a guy named John Newall, who admitted, looks way too much like Claude's brother for my comfort, but more on that later, if there is a next time, if you let me back in, my friend. All I wanted was to be loved, was that so much to ask for? I guess it is. Having such a dream is not meant for someone the likes of me, however, I can see that now. Fate is not kind, just as Death is the bitch lover that no one ever wants to deal with. In the end, Death comes for us all with outstretched open arms, waiting to take us up into his arms into his cold embrace, and spirit us away to that place where we go when our bodies have severed the earthly coil to this world.

Hopefully for me, that will be Heaven's Gate, but I'll find out soon.

For you see, I don't think I belong here, and what you have done…

It broke me. I need to go home, and I think I know the way to do it. God forgive me for what I must do. I know I will be likely dead by the time you read this, but…I cannot continue like this. It's like Groundhog Day, with no way out of this but to leave through it, repeatedly. On edge. I know you don't know all these references, but just go with it.

I don't know what I will face when I meet death, and this should scare me. It doesn't, because it's a mystery, and I love mysteries. Many would ask if I suffer from depression if I said this out loud, but I'm quite happy. But it's hard to find people who get what I mean. Death is a painful truth, is what some say. I think Death is a foggy road, and we must get through that fog called life to finally see the clearing. It's yet another path to walk, and who is to say it will be our last? Life may be the beginning, but who is to say Death is our last path? What if Death is the middle of the story, and you must read through that to get to a place beyond death? Is there a place beyond death? But if we go onto the next path after death, will it be our last path, or are we fated to keep walking? Death is a body or shadow that lurks in the dark, he crawls under little children's beds and he is always there. He is always there, following you and the closer he gets the sooner he will take you as his own. He is the ghost that people fear, and he is the tormentor of the many corpses claimed by death. You know when your time is nearing its end because you can feel the chill of his icy breath as it tickles the hairs on the back of your neck, just like I can feel it happening to me right now.

If my time in this story is to be limited, Quasi, then let me say sorry.

I am sorry if I hurt you. I did not mean to cause you any pain, but it is for your own good that I consider leaving the cathedral altogether, because then…it will be easier for you to move on with your life and forget me.

For you see, as much as it pains me to admit this, I am not part of your story, however much we both might wish for it. You said it yourself, Quasi.

That I do not belong in this village, and that I should get my own wings.

To have wings, to be able to fly would be so wonderful, that I should escape this place and my grisly fate. One day, my friend, someday.

I'll get my own wings. And then I'll be free…

P.S.

Don't try to find me. You won't find me. You've done more than enough.

R.E.B.

She finished her letter and slammed down the quill, flexing her fingers, slipping the letter into her bag, with intent to give it to someone to deliver later. She would not be staying in Paris anymore, at least, not this way.

Anger boiled deep in Renee's system, as hot as lava, even after a week of Quasi effectively kicking her out of his life, for lack of a better word. It churned within, hungry for destruction, and she knew it was too much for her to handle. The pressure of the raging sea of anger would force her to say things that she did not mean, or to express thoughts she'd suppressed for weeks. She knew she needed to get out of everyone's way before she erupted in her furious state. "I know that this feeling will pass, but while it hasn't, it still hurts," she whispered, not sure why she had come to this place of torment. Though it was just a tavern, it seemed like the perfect place to drown her sorrows. Not like the bars back home in Chicago, she preferred wine over beer. Ale, she reminded, smacking her forehead with the palm of her hand. They called it ale back then. Remember that, Renee.

She understood as long as she lingered in the cathedral, close to him, that she could really hurt people. And she didn't want that. So, she escaped. She ran. Renee had bolted out of Notre Dame. This was the time when she would usually jam her earbuds into her ears and let the music pour out into her eardrums, sounding like the most beautiful noise she'd ever heard. When she would shut out the world around her and just…let go. Of every single damn thing. But she didn't have her earbuds to listen to, so she settled now while she sat back in the noisy tavern for a light bout of humming, a favorite tune. Renee tilted her head back and allowed the darkness of the ale to swallow her whole for a little while, the burning taste of the bitter drink burning her throat as it went down her throat with great ease. The serving girl came by with a fresh bout of ale for her. "More," commanded Renee, slamming the now empty tankard down onto the table. She winced at realizing how harsh her voice sounded. "Please," she added quickly, noticing the dark look the serving girl shot her. "Thanks," she mumbled, tracing a swirl of patterns from the condensation that beaded on the outside of the cup. Renee found that the more she drank to ease the pain of her and Quasi's fight, she slowly emerged from the anger she possessed. Having the anger dissipate in her felt nice, and she felt calmer than she had before. Renee felt, perhaps for the first time since arriving…free. A man's voice from behind her spoke up, startling her, though the snippets of conversation she did catch with the captain and his lieutenant caused a tiny smile to curve and form at the edges of her mouth.

"Thank you, ladies. Back to Paris again, back from the fronts," he grinned, playfully winking at a pair of serving wenches. "Admiring both the backs…and the fronts," he joked, his eyes briefly wandering the lengths of the women's slender figures before glancing to his lieutenant, Frederic. "After what we've seen…everything looks good," he said happily. "Might one of you enjoy showing my lieutenant around? Frederic is less experienced than I, and he could use someone who might be a good…teacher," he said, his comment earning a laugh from the girl.

He looked to the noise, and upon seeing Renee, broke into a smile and sauntered over, abandoning his lieutenant, leaving him with the women.

"Might I sit?" The voice was timid, soft, and quite kind. Renee, startled, turned to see none other than Captain Phoebus himself in front of her table.

"No," she barked, swiveling back in her chair, to her tankard.

"You've taken an interest in Notre Dame's bell ringer," he said, his tone cautious, though if Renee concentrated hard enough, she could sense just the briefest twinges of disgust, anger and…jealousy. "I want to know why."

"Have I?" she asked, feigning innocence, quirking her brow at the captain and giving off a coy little smirk of a grin. "And why shouldn't I take an interest in Quasimodo, he's an interesting man, is he not, Phoebus?"

"Is he?" shot back Phoebus, who, much to her chagrin, sat down on the chair opposite her, on the other end of the table. He smiled.

Renee huffed in frustration, sweeping her blonde bangs out of her eyes and slamming down her tankard in agitation. "No. Not particularly," she growled, and even she winced at the bitterness that was laced in her voice.

Her hands gripped the tankard in her hands, her blue eyes swiveling towards the back of her head in a distressed sense of a headache. She tilted her head towards the edge of her chair as she took a long swig of the dark substance that affected her, but allowed the details of her fight with Quasi to become numb and blurred, pushing the details to the back of her mind.

Captain Phoebus fell silent, fiddling with his wedding band and regarding the young blonde woman who sat before him in silence for several long moments, furrowing his blond brows, deep in thought.

"You're lying," he spoke up, his voice calm but accusatory.

Renee stared. "What?" she demanded, feeling that familiar fire-seed of anger well within the pits of her stomach. It seemed all she felt these days ever since their fight was anger. She let out a defeated sigh. "Phoebus…"

"About your feelings for him," he stated simply, his hazel eyes twinkling as he flagged down the serving girl to request his own tankard of ale. "I know that look. Esmeralda gets it quite often at me whenever we fight…"

Renee bit her lip and hesitated, unsure of how much of her life she could divulge to the captain of the cathedral guard currently seated across from her. But…Phoebus had been one of the first souls upon her unusual and unorthodox arrival into Paris following her little 'accident' and for that, she owed the man. Captain Phoebus seemed nice enough, and he was just a friend, so divulging at least a little of her past couldn't hurt her now, right?

"I'm from Chicago, Illinois," she began hesitantly, hoping that what she was about to say wouldn't cause any dire consequences to the book, now that she found herself quite literally immersed in its pages. "Don't bother," she added, seeing Phoebus frown in concentration. "You don't know it."

"How did you get here?" he asked, watching her, interested, as he took a deep swig of ale.

"Err, well…I—it's complicated," she mumbled, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks as she fiddled with her empty tankard, continuing to trace the beads of condensation at the edge of her cup. "I sort of ah…got here by accident, let's say. I don't belong here in Paris, but I can't go home."

"Why not?" Phoebus shot back hotly. "You could go by ship."

"No. I—I couldn't," she explained lamely. If she thought she was red before, then she was mistaken. If she told the captain the truth about her arrival, she would be branded a witch and burned at the stake for witchcraft. "B—but that's not what's important, though I fear home for me may be lost by now," she sighed, glancing out the window beside her.

The pitiless rain fell without break all through the day and the roads were like shallow rivers. Renee furrowed her brow, lost in her own world.

"Yes?" prompted Phoebus, sensing the girl wasn't quite finished.

"I'd always had so many friends—popular without trying. I guess that makes me lucky. Then in tenth grade, my kidneys failed almost completely. I was out of school, medicated up to the eyeballs. The steroids puffed me right out and even getting out of bed was hard. After one obligatory visit, I never heard from my "best friends" again. But thank God for Julie; Julie the quiet girl I was nice to but never really included on purpose. She sent me cool videos to watch and came over twice a week. She'd bring her mother's baking and we'd laugh about the stupid things people said on Facebook. She was my lifeline. When I returned, I was a full year behind the others, they said "Hi" and asked how I was doing now. I should have seen them for what they were, naturally self-centered teens, but I didn't. I hated every one of them. I wanted them to get sick like I'd been. I wanted them to know what it was like to be isolated and scared. But I smiled sweetly and played along. I have Julie. Or did have, until she got her boyfriend…"

"Boyfriend?" he asked, a confused look etched on her face.

"Ah—I—I mean um…suitor," Renee corrected quickly. "And then I didn't hear from her again, and now, I'm all alone. I thought perhaps I could have a new friendship with your church's bell ringer, but…"

Here, she turned her head sharply to the left, her jaw locking and a muscle there twitching. She felt the hot sting of her tears come, but she blinked back the briny tears back. Renee would not cry, not here, not now.

"Befriending your bell ringer apparently," she heard herself growl as she downed the last of her ale and slammed her cup down hard enough to crack and splinter the wood in the table, "is not allowed. Coming to him for anything these days is more than enough to break me, Captain Phoebus."

"You don't know what to do," he finished, nodding solemnly. "I understand. My love for Esmeralda back then was forbidden, but…"

"Without her, you feel like nothing," whispered Renee, nodding her agreement, much to Phoebus's astonishment. "For me to come to Quasi for anything apparently, is forbidden, but to stay away from him hurts."

"I know," he answered grimly, resting his chin in his hands, his elbows propped up on the table. "Damn that boy," he growled, his kind expression darkening, and his hazel eyes almost darkened in anger as he grew irate.

"Oh, i—it's not…please don't blame Quasimodo," pleaded Renee, sensing the captain's ire growing worse. "Yes, he did push me away, but…"

Her voice trailed off as she tried her best to gather her thoughts.

"I let myself stray, Captain Phoebus, my heart strayed where it should not have, and now I sit in this godforsaken hellhole of a tavern and my mind has to pull itself back to within the confines it's permitted to roam."

"I see," said Phoebus, though internally, he was quite troubled. He had not heard the young woman speak like this before, and it worried him.

A heavy silence settled over them, thicker than the uneasy tension in the atmosphere. Unsettled eyes glanced unceremoniously around and tried to avoid catching other glances that passed by. Some shifted uncomfortably in their seat and others grasped their sweaty, nervous hands under the tables, and even others shuffled their feet against the cobbles of the bar floor, awkwardly tracing the outlines of each brick while judging whispers swirled in the air around the small space where the young woman and captain sat.

"Well," began Renee hesitantly, standing to her feet at last, brushing her hands on the skirts of her simple green dress. "I cannot stay, Captain, but…" she dipped into her bag and procured the letter she had written. "Will you or someone that you trust give to Quasi? When the time is right?"

"How will I know?" he asked, his palm outstretched as she handed over the letter. He was perplexed as the young blonde gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, having to reach up on her tiptoes in order to do so, as he was several feet taller than she was.

"It's not sealed," she whispered, giving him a sad smile and turned on the heel of her boot, clutching the strap of her bag close to her shoulder.

Phoebus, intrigued, watched her go until her silhouette disappeared out of the tavern and down a winding side street, heading towards the outskirts.

Curious, he unfolded the letter and began to read, his hazel eyes widening in shock. Dread crept down Phoebus's spine like a careful spider leaving a trail of silk as he read her words, what she was likely planning to do to ease the heartache of their fight. He felt her feet on his skin, descending until he was almost frozen to the spot. The captain's stomach was full of lead; his feet set in concrete; his mind was worryingly empty.

Even he knew as he bolted out the front doors of the establishment, that he was too late to go after her, for she had disappeared, as if by magic.

Renee Elizabeth Barreau was gone from their lives.

And it was all Quasi's fault.

"Just great," he growled darkly. "When he finds out, he's going to hate himself even further, and then there's no stopping that boy." Frowning, Phoebus gritted his teeth and ground them in anger, silently seething as he grabbed the reins of his horse, Achilles. "C'mon, boy," he grumbled, not wasting a second to hop up into the saddle. "We've got to go warn Quasi."

Achilles whinnied in response and let out a snort of frustration.

"We don't know what she might to do to herself, boy!" he sighed, digging his heels into the side of his horse to propel him forward. "Besides," he added smugly, unable to keep the brief note of pride out of his voice. "How many times have I ever been wrong, Achilles, huh?"

The horse neighed and tapped his hoof on the cobblestone street.

Once…two…three…four. "Achilles!" snapped Phoebus, giving a harsh tug on the horse's reins. "That was a rhetorical question. If you are quite finished, let's go…" The thundering of hooves split the silence as a lone stallion galloped through the bleak landscape. The wind wisped his mane into the air like flames; after all he was a flame colored chestnut. Wellington was his name. His muscles rippled from under his freshly groomed pelt and his powerful legs. They propelled him forward and kept him going as he powered over the land.

He could only pray as they rode on that they weren't too late.