Author's note: Thanks to whomever left those guest reviews. I truly appreciate all feedback! Keep being awesome, you inspire me to keep writing 3

Esmeralda shivered as she burrowed down into her nest of blankets and pillows. She wished for some warmth, some comfort, but even her goat was absent. She had left Djali with Quasimodo—the poor boy needed more companionship—but now she was the lonely one.

"Are you okay?" Clopin asked as he stood in the opening of the tent flap.

"No," Es grumbled, attempting to find comfort in cuddling with a pillow. It wasn't helpful. Her stomach growled, but she felt no hunger.

"You haven't eaten since early this morning," Clopin observed with concern.

"I'm not hungry," she mumbled.

"That's not a good sign. Your baby has to have nourishment." Stepping out of the tent, he shouted "I'll get you something" over his shoulder.

Exhaling slowly, the girl patted her swelling midsection. "Are you hungry?" she whispered softly. "Surely you can't need very much food. You're so tiny!" Methodically, she palpated her midriff, searching for anything hard or solid. Annoyed by the intrusion, the baby squirmed, poking a hand or foot into Esmerelda's empty stomach.

The rustling of fabric prompted Esmeralda to look up, noticing her brother standing in the tent flap. "Here, eat this," he said, walking to her and putting something into her hand.

Beef jerky.

Mechanically, she brought the meat to her mouth. It tasted like sawdust on her tongue. Biting down on the meat accomplished nothing, save for an aching pain in the base of her jaw.

"Ow," she whimpered. Chewing the leathery jerky was an impossible task, her energy was so low. Attempting to swallow only resulted in choking. She gagged, spitting the slimy meat into her palm.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, a tear trickling down her cheek. "I can't…I'm sorry."

Clopin shoved the meat in his own mouth, not even bothering to wipe away his sister's saliva. "Mmf umph gurg," he said with his mouth full. A bulge traveled down his neck when he swallowed too much at once. "Nothing wrong with the jerky. It tastes just fine."

"I couldn't taste it," the girl whispered. "I can't taste; I can't smell."

Hands gently gripped either side of her face, tilting her upwards to face her brother. "Esmeralda?" he prodded gently. "You're depressed, aren't you. I'm worried about you."

"I'm tired," she moaned softly. "I need to sleep."

*0*0*0*0*0*0*

Claude noticed the scenery scrolling past him as he felt himself being moved, but in the dark he could not clearly see any of it. He found himself placed down in a dusty, dirty, impoverished array of tents and wagons. No doubt it was a gypsy camp. He wondered what was in store for himself next. Trampling by livestock? Being torn to pieces by dogs? He did not particularly look forward to learning the unglamorous fates that these people had imagined for him.

Drifting inside of one of the tents, he attempted to make out his surroundings. In the dark, he soon discovered a makeshift bed of pillows and blankets. Turning his focus to the person wrapped up in this cocoon, he studied the tiny form until he could see her chest rise and fall in rhythm.

Esmeralda's tent—it certainly could have been much worse. The full moon shone through a tear in the roof of her tent, bathing her face in a gentle glow. He fixed his longing gaze on her perfect lips, relaxed and slightly parted. His vision caressed her forehead, her nose, her cheekbones, her delicate eyelashes. A tendril of hair slipped across her face, twisting into a soft curl.

"Esmeralda," he moaned. "You're beautiful. You were always beautiful. I miss you. I love you. I want to be alive again. I just want to be with you."

Then she stirred and opened her eyes.

"Claude?" she whispered.

"You can see me?" he gasped.

"Claude!" She tackled him in her eagerness, knocking him to the floor. Her hands flew to his face; he winced when she grabbed his hair. "Ow, stop pulling!"

Suddenly, he froze in surprise. "Wait…I have hair? That hurts when it gets pulled?"

Esmeralda giggled. "Of course you have hair, silly!" As if to prove her point, she dragged her fingers across his scalp, pulling his hair into spiky silver tufts.

Claude felt himself blushing at his mistake. "When you're dead, you don't have a body anymore," he mumbled awkwardly.

"Then how come I can feel you?" she asked, caressing his face with her soft fingers. He shivered at her touch, thrilled that he could feel her fingers against his skin.

"I…I don't know," he mumbled awkwardly. Being dead was so inconvenient, and the strangest things were perpetually catching him off guard.

Her soft giggling interrupted his thoughts. "You're cute when you're confused." She yanked him in close before pressing her lips to his nose…then his eyebrows…before dropping to his closed eyelids. He laid back in her arms; she brought his head to rest on her shoulder.

"Why did you stop?" he murmured.

"Stop what?" she asked.

"Kissing me."

"I didn't know you liked it so well," she giggled, pressing her lips to his widow's peak.

He was still amazed that he appeared to have a body again. Wasn't he just a thought now?

But if he was a thought, then he could be a dream, and if he was a dream….

"You're a vivid dreamer, aren't you?" Claude asked. "You can feel things touching you in your dreams…that must be why you can feel me like I'm still alive."

"I never want to wake up," she whispered, squeezing him close.

True to his nature, Claude was already analyzing the situation and wondering if Es ever had wet dreams. Being a ghost might not be so bad.

…he mentally slapped himself and refocused his mind, afraid he would accidentally blurt out something severely embarrassing. Even with this new development, he wasn't sure he could trust his thoughts NOT to broadcast themselves out loud.

Fortunately, Esmerelda interrupted his thoughts. "Are you real?" she whispered.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean…are you…are you just a dream, or am I really communicating with your immortal soul?" Esmeralda tried to explain.

"I'm real." And suddenly he had an idea. "I'll prove to you that I'm real. Did you know that I have a name plaque in Notre Dame?"

"No!"

"Once you step into the knave, you take a right, and it's under the third stained glass window…" Her eyes grew wide as she listened, nodding her head.

"Tomorrow morning, when you wake up, go to Notre Dame. You will find the name plaque. You didn't know about it before I told you; you just said so yourself. So I can't be a figment of your imagination. This will prove to you that I am real."

"I'll do that," she whispered, her arms encircling him. "But not just yet. Let me hold you a little longer…"