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FrolloxEsmeralda-A Change of Heart
The small room began to swim dimly into view; emerald eyes adjusted slightly to the gloom. The gypsy Esmeralda continued laying on the wooden bed, her head spinning something fierce. Sitting up very carefully she began to take notice that she was alone. Where was she? She started to stand, but found it difficult to do so. Instead she crawled towards the door. Upon opening it with some difficultly due to her weakness the sounds of the raging battle in front of Notre Dame grew louder. Looking around she realized she was up in the bell tower, but she did not see any sign of Quasimodo.
Hobbling and crawling towards the stone stairwell, the gypsy dancer began her descent. Each step was such an effort for her, she groaned as she crawled down the stairs. Her head continued to feel dizzy. Maybe she should have stayed in the little room to wait for Quasimodo to return, but at the same time she needed to get away from here. Her mind was not her own in this moment, she began to blame
The Scent of a Gypsy Girl"I am a patient man and gypsies don't do well inside stone walls."
Minister Frollo could feel his head literally swim at having his body pressed so closely to the gypsy dancer's. How he had desired to touch her from the moment her voluptuous form materialized upon the stage in a cloud of red smoke. An intoxicating scent rose up from the proximity of her....dear Lord, was that some sort of spice, cinnamon perhaps intermingled with another foreign scent.....a feminine scent. Unable to resist, Frollo leaned in closer, his crooked nose dove into her thick raven tresses. His eyes rolled back in his head, drunk on lust as he inhaled deeply. A strange triggering sensation pulsated through him, his head came to rest against hers to steady himself.
"What are you doing?"
The dulcet husky tone of the gypsy only furthered this intense twinge through his body. Every hair on his body stood on end at how her words curled around h
Frollo and Esmeralda Story W.I.PEsmeralda could not deny that the castle was beautiful. Tall, golden candles were displayed all around the grand hall. Elegant, decorated patterns covered the richly red and golden walls. The smooth shiny marble under her feet sparkled everywhere, not a single speck of dust dared to touch it. The grand hall was encased in a warmly lit glow, almost giving the room a cosy affect. The man at her side, Claude Frollo smiled warmly at her to which she could not help but smile back. During the long time she had spent in the Palace of Justice since the day that he had 'saved' her from the pyre, Esmeralda had slowly but surely come to accept the minister's company. He would do anything for her: provide her with food, clothing, a lavish bedroom and no longer hunted her friends down. Once in a while she did think about what life with Phoebus would have been like, but that was in the past and it was time to look at the future. Oddly enough Frollo hadn't asked her for her hand in marriage yet but s
Quasimodo's Childhood - Part 2"Father!" Quasimodo shouted, running to the window. "Father, look at the sky! It's so beautiful!"
"Quasimodo, how many times must I tell you, call me Master? Come over here," the judge commanded, refusing to acknowledge the child's joy at the colors.
Quasimodo was five years old now, and already able to read, write, and do arithmetic. He may have been a monster, but he was a fast learner, Frollo admitted grudgingly.
As the boy loped over to the table where Frollo sat, he attempted to hold himself straighter. He had a hunchback, which he knew was not normal, as neither Frollo nor any of the townsfolk he watched out the windows stood stooped like him. Frollo repeatedly told him he was deformed and ugly, so Quasimodo did not think very highly of his appearance, but he was proud of his intelligence, puffing his chest with pride every time he read a passage out loud correctly and got a curt expression of approval from the man who served as his father, teacher, and master.
"Let us review you
The Parlour IncidentOne day in July, I believe it was, I found myself sitting with several acquaintances in Christopher's parlour. It was one of those deliciously lazy afternoons which only the summer in her full glory can bring. The room had a wan, listless light to it, relaxing the other guests and myself as we languidly chatted over tea and crumpets. The air was also sluggishly heavy, dulling the senses to a slowly-blended calm engendered by the heat of St. Othniel's southerly climate.
At length, after much stimulating conversation, Christopher stood, producing a book of sheet music.
"What do you all say to a bit of music?" he asked.
"Certainly," I answered.
"Oh yes, please do darling!" Tabitha exclaimed, "he's quite the maestro."
Christopher laughed, shaking his head.
"Now, now love, I'd not go that far."
He strode over to the piano as the other guests urged him on. Ida entered the room bearing a merrily steaming teapot and more crumpets.
"More tea sirs?" she inquired, shooting sideways glances at her
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