Sometimes, alone in the dark, he would think of his Master.
Although he had new friends now-- friends that made him happy-- that impression his Master made on him would undoubtedly never leave his heart. Frollo's dark, cruel eyes now haunted his dreams. The memory of his Master seemed to cling to Quasimodo--a sick, desperate, twisted longing to once again stand in his shadow.
Quasimodo's appreciation for the world was slowly being re-ignited under the warm influence of Esmeralda and Phoebus, but sometimes, on nights like tonight, he would yearn for him. Perhaps it was the natural instinct of a child to love their parent…even when they faltered, even when they had lied and abused their power.
Perhaps there was something wrong with him.
He had never suspected anything wrong when he was a child being cared by Master. Master had always been cruel, his lips twisted in a grimace when forced to touch him as a little one, and his head held high when he administered punishments…Quasimodo's lips curled into an empty smile. His robes would always be neatly kempt—they swished when he walked in that purposeful stride. Yes. Quasimodo had many memories of his Master. Like the times when Master would come home tired from his work and Quasimodo would rush to pull a chair across the wooden floorboards for him…and sometimes, if Quasimodo was fortunate, he would get to sit and listen to Master relate his day. He would listen, mouth agape, and hear of the world. And words flowed like poetry from Master's mouth. Although he hadn't known poetry, everything that Frollo said was beautiful and true.
He had been everything to Quasimodo.
Proving that Master Frollo was infallible was like being forced to sit and watch his world shatter. No matter how much he'd cried out, everything had slipped between his desperate fingertips. When Quasimodo had seen how horrible of a person Frollo had been, besides the obvious, agonizing knowing that nothing would ever be the same again, he also felt a profound loss. He'd been numb with denial.
Although he felt faintly happy for the blessings he'd been offered, he still felt so still inside, as though everything that had happened had happened outside of him. In the end, when relief was spent, Quasimodo was left alone.
Even though his Master had been callous and harsh, he had been there. Even when Master was reprimanding, some part of Quasimodo had been happy…simply because he'd been a close part of another person's life.
Alone…
Tear-stained eyes looked up past the brass mass of bells and out into the rain.
Now he would always be alone.
© Nina Z. 2005. All rights reserved.
