Prompt Post 4!
The first, second, and third posts are now shut down for prompting. All new prompts must be posted here. Any new prompts posted to Prompt Post 1, 2, and 3 will be deleted without warning.
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Part One
'Everyone has their obsession
Consuming thoughts, consuming time...'
The child is perfect. The Minister would even go so far as to say beautiful, although he has never been a man to coo or gush over such things. Babies are an entirely unfamiliar concept to Claude Frollo. Grubby things, red-faced and squalling. They all look the same to his eyes, like wrinkled old men, and they grow into unpleasant brats more often than not, the offspring of overindulgent parents.
Still…she is such a pretty thing, such a tiny thing, with a riot of dark curls and rosebud lips. Claude finds himself warming to the infant in his arms, cradling her head with the greatest care. He takes the bundle within the heavy folds of his cloak, shielding the child from the icy fingers of frost upon the air. The Archdeacon is watching closely, nodding his approval. There is blood upon his white surplice. He holds the body of the unfortunate gypsy woman against his chest, holds her there with gentle hands, just as Claude is holding her orphaned ( ... )
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'They hold high their prized possession
That defines the meaning of their lives…'Despite the Archdeacon's warnings, Claude Frollo has no intention of devoting himself to the demands of an infant. He has a small room prepared for the child and hires a woman to care for her needs. The woman has recently lost her own baby and her breasts are still swollen with milk. She suckles Agnès, nurses her, but the child will not sleep for her, screaming into the early hours until the Minister's nerves are frayed and he finally loses his temper ( ... )
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'There are objects of affection
That can mesmerize the soul...'Leaving the cathedral, Claude is deep in conversation with several of his peers, discussing courtly matters. Bored and restless, Agnès takes the opportunity to slip away. After several frantic minutes, Claude finds his ward hidden amongst a of ragamuffin children, watching a puppet show. The gypsy puppeteer is an infamous mountebank, his jester's motley all too familiar to the Minister. Offensively brazen and bright, Clopin's presence in the city is galling at the best of times. Claude's heart is pounding, panic giving way to relief, only for a hazy red mist of rage to descend upon him as he gypsy reaches down to pluck Agnès from the crowd and sweep her into his arms, dancing around like a fool. Agnès is giggling, her head thrown back as the man spins around until they are both a little dizzy, but her laughter dies away at the sight of the furious Minister striding forward to yank her away from Clopin ( ... )
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'There is always one addiction
That just can not be controlled...'
Agnès seems to grow more beautiful with each passing year and, as she ripens into the full bloom of womanhood, the Minister begins to feel uneasy in her presence. He tries to ignore the way his heart flutters at the sight of her lovely face, the way his loins begin to stir when she smiles, like a ravenous beast roused from a deep slumber, but it is an impossible situation. She is inescapable, unavoidable, temptation made flesh...and she loves him.
As a father, Claude tells himself, She loves me as a father and that is all.Still, the uninvited feelings and inappropriate thoughts do not abate, nor does his longing for her, his desire to take her for his own. After all, it is not uncommon for a man to raise a young woman to be his bride. Wife husbandry, they call it. No one would bat an eyelid if he were to marry his ward, some might even have anticipated such an announcement...but he knows that Agnès would not expect it, nor would she accept his proposal ( ... )
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'You are mine, you are mine
You are mine, all mine
You are mine...'
Claude Frollo surveys the scene of debauchery before him with unconcealed disdain. The crowd undulates in a mass of frivolous colour, the people gorging themselves on pleasure. They are provoked into such excess by Clopin, urging them on from the stage, laughing and performing his traditional ditties. He draws them in, promising a fresh delight for the senses. Captain Phoebus, a seemingly level-headed man, is also visibly captivated by the gypsy's antics, standing in the stirrups for a better view as Clopin begins to sing.
"Come one, come all! See the finest girl in France, make an entrance to entrance!"
The masked harlequin catches the Minister's eye, winking. The gypsy is laughing at him. Claude stirs uneasily, feeling exposed and vulnerable, like the punchline of a dark joke that everyone else knows, everyone but him.
"Dance la Esmeralda, dance!"
Clopin vanishes into a puff of pink smoke.
In his place stands a goddess, the most beautiful creature ( ... )
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