Francis stormed into his house, slamming the door behind him. He ripped the cap from his head and threw it against the wall. It hit with a small, dull thud and fell to the floor to remain forgotten until the morrow. "Cursed, gypsies! Why are there so many of you?" He growled then sunk into a chair beside the fireplace. The faces of the gypsies quickly ran through his mind in quick flashes.
The face of one gypsy stayed, though. Bright green eyes, shaggy blonde hair, that pale skin so odd in his type, and a confident grin. Arthur. "Get out of my head!" Francis groaned out and held his head in his hands.
"Beata Maria, you know I am a righteous man of my virtue I am justly proud," His pray was whispered to himself. "Beata Maria, you know I'm so much purer than the common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd."
He slowly stood and walked over to the window. The setting sun caused his blonde hair to turn orange and his skin to take on a strange tone. He took a deep breath and tried to expel the images of Arthur from his mind.
"Then tell me, Maria, why I see him dancing there? Why his smold'ring eyes still scorch my soul!"His voice grew in volume and he turned towards the fire place. He could almost see Arthur dancing and he shook his head to get rid of the images. "I feel him, I see him. The sun caught in raven hair is blazing in me out of all control!"
He looked into the fire and saw the image of Arthur dancing again. "Like fire! Hellfire! This fire in my skin. This burning desire is turning me to sin!"
Francis closed his eyes and he could feel the flames of desire dancing across his skin. He opened his eyes and he saw them. Other Judges. Judges like him lined the walls and he could feel their eyes studying him. Blaming him.
"It's not my fault!" He looked around, pleading.
"Mea culpa."
"I'm not to blame!"
"Mea culpa."
"It is the gypsy, the witch who sent this flame!"
"Mea maxima culpa."
"It's not my fault."
"Mea culpa."
"If in God's plan," Francis closed his eyes and shook his head, "he made the devil so much stronger than a man!"
"Mea maxima culpa."
"Protect me, Maria," Francis opened his eyes and sighed with relief: the others were gone. He put a hand in his pocket and pulled out the scarf that Arthur had left with him after his dance. A frown marred his handsome features. "Don't let this siren cast her spell. Don't let her fire sear my flesh and bone! Destroy Esmeralda!"
Francis wrapped the green scarf around his hands and admired the beautiful symbols sewn into the green, silky cloth. He could see still see Arthur dancing when he looked in the fire but for a moment he saw a image he didn't like. He didn't want to see Arthur in pain but if push came to shove, he would do whatever was necessary. "And let him taste the fires of hell or else let him be mine and mine alone!" There was a knock on the door and Francis turned around. He stared as a small auburn haired teen opened the door. He looked a little nervous to be there but he still glared at Francis. From the look of his outfit he must have worked at the church. Then he realized that it was Romulus' oldest, Lovino.
Francis smiled at the teen. "Judge Francis, Captain Jones sent me up here with a message," Lovino said playing with the edge of his sleeve.
"Alright, what is it?" Francis stood up straight and hid his hands and the scarf behind his back.
"He said that the gypsy had escaped," Lovino flinched when Francis yelled.
"What?" He screamed.
Lovino took a step back and silently cursed the stupid, blonde, bastard of a captain, "He said that he couldn't find her in the cathedral. He was gone."
"But how? Never mind. Get out, you idiot!" Francis ordered. Lovino didn't have to be told twice and he fled the room. Francis looked back at the fire and clenched his finders tightly in the scarf. "I'll find him. I'll find him if I have to burn down all of Paris!"
Francis' breathing got heavier and he could feel the scarf starting to rip in his hands so he stopped and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and rubbed the green silk across his face. "Hellfire. Dark fire. Now gypsy, it's your turn," He panted. "Choose me or your pyre. Be mine or you will burn!" He tossed the scarf into the fireplace and watched as the flames consumed it.
"Kyrie Eleison." Voices chanted again. Francis backed away from the fire and gripped his hair.
"God have mercy on him," He whispered.
"Kyrie Eleison."
"God have mercy on me," He pulled his hair.
"Kyrie Eleison."
"But she will be mine or she will burn!"
Francis collapsed on the floor.
Captain Alfred Jones stood among the other guards and waited for his boos to appear. His carriage came around the corner then stopped in front of the troops Captain Jones had been told gather. Francis stepped out of the carriage and rubbed his eyes when they came in contact with the sun. "Judge Francis," Alfred raised on eyebrow. "Are you alright, sir?"
"Fine," Francis groaned and dropped his hand. "Had a little trouble with the fireplace."
"What are you orders?" Alfred asked stepping back as Francis stepped in front of him.
"Find the gypsy."
