To Sin

By: Nina Zendejas



Judge Claude Frollo swiftly tapped the inside walls of his coach door.

" To the Palace of Justice" he instructed heatedly, eyes blazing with fury.

" Cursed fools!" Frollo's teeth clenched, his face contorted in anger.

Frollo rested his head in his hands, sighing tiredly. A chain of horrible events had set themselves into motion that week. Horribly consistent and irritating .... yet, throughout the "wage riot" of the soldiers, the dramatic increase in crimes committed, and the overflow of prisoners in the palace's dungeon, Frollo had managed to maintain a perfectly calm and tranquil facade. Already, with the meeting of the King of France scheduled for the proceeding day and the painfully obvious necessity of a "Captain of the Guards"; whose position required careful attention, he was exhausted. In addition, a dramatic water decrease in the main river beds and wells caused rumor of not being able to provide a sufficient water resource for the summer. The rumor spread as wildfire, causing the general public panic of the highest extreme. Each complication buried Frollo further into the grand chasm of a slow developing breakdown.
Frollo shivered involuntarily, and it was not from the cold.

Cursing under his breath, Frollo stared, transfixed, at his hands.

Those same hands which had once held Paris so firmly in their grasp were trembling. He could feel his control slipping. He was being destroyed slowly, silently.... just as the very city of Paris. And, just as the city, he feared that unless a miracle were to occur, he could never be the same again.

It would have to take a mighty hand to lift Paris from the pitiful state it had fallen into.....

Frollo had been chosen, no, commanded to be that hand.

The carriage suddenly jolted to a stop.

Stepping out onto the cobblestone, Judge Frollo rapped on the hollow exterior of the coach, signaling for the driver to disperse.
As the coach sped out of sight, Frollo entered the mighty Palace of Justice. He took no notice to the presence's of each soldier he passed, each guard saluting after him in his rush..

Solitude...

It was all he could think of... all he wanted. He needed to be alone.

Entering his chamber, Frollo slowly seated himself upon his velvet cushioned throne which sat adjacent to the fireplace. He sighed tiredly, lips parting slightly in exhaustion. Inclining his head backwards, Frollo slowly lowered his eyelids.

In truth, he did not know how many more of these "duty calls" he could endure. They were beginning to take their toll on him. How he performed, not only in his work, was affected by the drastic change of not sleeping or eating. He could hardly concentrate, and it was not only mentally in which he had started to falter.... Repeating the same pattern throughout that week had changed his appearance as well, more haggard than complimentary. Dark rings of exhaustion had formed underneath his eyes. His face had paled considerably since the beginning of that week, and his back and limbs were sore from lack of rest.

It had been unlike him to be so careless; but relentless, dark dreams haunted his mind as he slept. Blasphemous dreams, sinful.
Though the gypsy Esmeralda had escaped with Phoebes, his former Captain of the Guards, whom he abhorred , she still haunted his memories... his dreams.

He had prayed to God; he had beaten himself for his sin ... he had done all in his known power to purge his mind of the dancing seductress. However, none of his attempts seemed to aid him in his quest or unfulfilled desire. If anything, all his sacrifices had made him desire her presence, if possible, even more. The cruel whip marks, instead of the intended nagging he wished to feel, found it only reminded him of the soft silk that was La Esmeralda's hair. The feeling of her skin beneath his fingertips... her scent....

Such wicked thoughts would only drive him mad with lust, and so he refused to sleep, to dream of her.

Such actions, proving treacherous to his body, yet assuring the blessing of his immortal soul, proved no challenge as to that which he valued more. God would still know of his lust if he were to dream, and, for that particular audience, to lust would be the most dreadful sin of all ...

Starring aimlessly into the fireplace, Frollo watched the burning embers lick and smack against the crackling wood. He closed his eyes guardedly and inhaled deeply. A single strand of gray hair fell smoothly out of place, whisping lightly against his brow that furrowed slightly at the contact.

His mouth curved slowly into a painful smile.

" This too shall pass ... "

The following morning had appeared to be the beginning of an average day. The sky of many pigmentation's greeted the fiery blaze that was the sun; rising later in the late December. A number of parisian citizens had already gathered in the square, most of whom were returning from their morning mass. The smells of warm breads and juicy meats saturated the air in its thick aroma, eliciting the hunger of even the most disciplined soldiers. All the while, Frollo sat erect atop his horse, pausing , if only briefly, to look over the crowded area. A small mob seemed to have formed in mere moments only yards from where he sat...

Frollo's men were at the site in seconds of his bidding.

" Come now witch! Fight!"

" Yes, fight!"

" Oh, bloody hell, what is taking her so long?!"

What was this....?

Just as soon as his men had pushed enough people aside, the cheering stopped.

The faint sound of a tambourine dropping to the ground, and the cries of a young woman were all that could be heard through the thick mass of people.

Gypsies ....

Frollo, on horse back, parted the crowd easily with the mere show of his presence. Glancing down, he beheld what might have been a tragic sight had he any sympathy for the lost cause ... The Judge sneered cruelly at the female gypsy pair on the ground, the eldest lying in a pool of her own crimson blood.

All eyes were upon Claude Frollo.

The younger woman, who's crying could still be heard, looked up at the man which had attracted so much attention, a warm tear trailing down her cheek.
Seeing Frollo's fine robes, and assuming the worst, she spoke:

" Please, my lord, right this wrong which has been bestowed upon me! This man has slain my mother!" she cried tearfully, pointing towards one of his own soldiers " Please, my lord, please .... " she sobbed, her gold hoop earing bobbing solomly in unison with the girl's shaking shoulders.

The soldiers laughed mockingly at the woman's plea. After all, whomever heard of a gypsy asking, much less begging, for the justice of Dom Claude Frollo, the gypsies most hated foe? This certainly brought a smile to some of the parisians as well, but none dared smile too broadly for fear of Minister Frollo, for he was wearing the expression of true revulsion as he looked down upon the poor wretch. The woman wept pitifully in response, holding the hand of her dying mother.
The girl must have arrived into Paris that very morning to have made such a pitiful mistake of not running from the city's guards.

With the flick of Frollo's wrist, the woman was restrained.

The woman cried in protest.

Clearly annoyed, the Frollo ordered the woman to be taken to the Palace of Justice, he no longer interested in what became of her.

As soon he turned his back to the girl, the young woman's attitude seemed to have shifted. A spark of fire had lit within her eyes, burning all in it's path ...
Had her stare been so truly deadly, Frollo would have surely died at the spot, for he took in the wealth of her unveiled hate.

" Move along!" one of the soldiers prodded, pushing the gypsy between her dispersing Juror and her captive.

Before another world could be uttered, the gypsy girl drew a small blade and was at the throat of the closet guard. Quickly, the woman proceeded to back into the open street, clearly attempting escape.

Frollo quickly turned around as the crowd gasped in shock, some running in fright.

" Drop your weapon!" A soldier from behind the girl shouted.

The gypsy laughed , her eyes frantic, yet determined. And, seeing the soldiers approaching, she panicked. With an unladylike grunt, the woman slashed the throat of her hostage, blood splattering onto the street as rain, the body falling limp onto the pavement.

Cries were heard throughout the square as the remaining citizens completely disappeared into their homes and taverns, leaving only the gypsy , the guards, and the minister in the now empty street.

" How dare you!" A younger soldier growled loudly, lunging, rather stupidly, at the armed gypsy.

Moments later, that soldier had meet a similar fate.

Without a moment to spare, the gypsy ran.

Frollo, who had previously been observing the scene, angrily shoved aside the remaining soldiers, as he pursued the gypsy woman throughout the back alleyways in which she had escaped. The girl was fast, but, unfortunately for her, not fast enough for the superior speed and agility of Frollo's midnight black steed. Spotting her, he drew his blade. Frollo firmly held the sword within the grasp of his hand as the woman's tired frame neared ever closer....
Suddenly, the woman stopped dead in her tracks but a few yards ahead of him. Momentarily leaning against the grimy walls of the alley, the girl used the extra support to her advantage and propelled herself off its rock-hard surface, allowing her more speed. She began to run straight at him without a trace of fear present upon her face.

She was running straight towards the blade.

Seeming to be outwardly unfazed by the sudden change in course, Frollo raised his weapon, preparing himself for whatever may come.

A variety of possibilities had gone through the minister's head of how the girl was going to attempt escape. Afterall, she was a gypsy, and gypsies were known for their cunning. However, despite his knowledgable assumptions, nothing which he had imagined could have even vaguely compared to what he witnessed...

Just as his sword was about to contact the girl's shoulder, the woman lunged forward against the minister's body, knocking him off his horse and onto the street.
Head crashing violently with the pavement, and sword long forgotten, Frollo lie motionless on the pavement. The woman, clearly unaware of his near unconciousness, raised the minister's own blade above his now aching head.
Frollo, choosing that very moment to re-gain his senses, quickly responded to the near fatal sight which had greeted him upon awakening and grabbed the blade between his hands. Frollo proceeded to overpower the gypsy, cringing as the sharp knife of the blade cut mercilessly into his pale skin.
The woman, startled at the minister's sudden strength, lost her momentum, tumbling backwards onto the cobblestone. The tables now turned, Frollo pinned the gypsy onto the ground, throwing the offending sword aside.

The sting of his raw, bloodied hand touching the dirtied flesh of the young woman sent a shrill of pain through Frollo's body. However, as he was still much heavier than the girl, the gypsy had no time to take advantage of the minister's momentary weakness; his body remaining pressed against hers.

Their ragged breathing echoed tauntingly throughout the dark alley, as their eyes meet briefly in silent disregard.

Rage against rage; it was clearly a battle of wills.

" Enough of this. " Frollo spat venemously, his bloodied grip tightening against her small wrists.

The deep resonance of the man's rich, bass voice sent anxious chills down the girl's spine.

Frollo automatically lifted himself from his nemesis, reaching out in the general direction of his sword. The girl, very aware of what he was about to do, struggled wildly beneath him as the shiny metal came into view.


"It ends now, gypsy witch." he raised the sword slowly above his head.

The girl screamed once....

And all was silent.