This and That
Title: This and That
Fandom: Notre Dame de Paris
Pairing: Pierre Gringoire x Jean-Claude Frollo
Theme set: Delta
Rating: R
Warnings: Slash, self-mutiliation, graphic death
Notes: For 1sentence. Completely musical-verse. Lyrics in “Stable” from a Renaissance-era French song by Gilles Binchois.
PROMPT ORDER
#01 - Air
He has to remind himself to take in air, stunned that the feeling of lips on lips still lingers, wondering if he will ever breathe the same again.
#02 - Apples
“Without a woman there would be no original sin, non?” Gringoire asks with quirked eyebrows. “We’d all still be in Eden.”
#03 - Beginning
‘Married--in a pagan ritual,’ Frollo’s mind hisses, and his lips curl back: “If you’ve touched that innocent creature...”
#04 - Bugs
‘They are all so small from up here,’ he thinks, and marvels that in this sea of humanity there could be even one spot of brightness, of hope--he wonders if this is how God picks His prophets.
#05 - Coffee
They both admire her: that tiny, fluttering dragonfly of a gypsy who appears in a whirl of darkness and color and disappears just as quickly--and it is in this mutual desire they are first united.
#06 - Dark
There is hardly anything light about the poet, with his black curls, his deep brown eyes, his simple attire--and yet, there is a glow in him that makes Frollo want to look again.
#07 - Despair
‘God forgive me, I wish I could be more than a man.’
#08 - Doors
The eyes of dead kings look down with a penetrating gaze; they know all the secrets but they’ll never tell.
#09 - Drink
Pierre’s head splits as he awakens, sprawled out in a pew, and the figure in black that blocks the sunlight from the windows is the only thing that keeps him from shutting his eyes.
#10 - Duty
The pain across his back is hot and immediate, with a rush all its own, and the priest must remind himself at times not to take too much pleasure in what is meant as punishment.
#11 - Earth
The dungeon has an expected damp and dirty stench, and Gringoire lets the sound of his footsteps break the air as he descends.
#12 - End
It is only in the darkness, the silence like a suffocating blanket in the aftermath, that he realizes what he has become.
#13 - Fall
Not everyone is witness as most are focused on the spectacle of the heretic’s hanging, but everyone hears the sound: the sick crunch of bone on pavement, the unmistakable silence of a heart ceasing to beat.
#14 - Fire
The crackling of flame in the fireplace is like a third person in the conversation, filling in the spaces where they fall to silence.
#15 - Flexible
He feels as if he is bending backwards: eyes turning around in their sockets, bones cracking and tumbling out of order--twisted.
#16 - Flying
There is a moment, while he is watching, when he feels he is suspended in the air along with Frollo, the two of them floating with an unjust speed toward the stones.
#17 - Food
It is a symbol of his faith, nothing more--like the black of his robes, or the week-long fasts that leave him frail and purified.
#18 - Foot
Frollo hears the steps on the stairs before he sees Gringoire silhouetted by the light above, and he knows--who else would desire, to dare to see him now?
#19 - Grave
Pierre Gringoire still visits Notre Dame, but now only to remember.
#20 - Green
“The new will always overtake the old,” Frollo repeats with a sigh, his words echoing off the stones, “And where does that leave men like us?”
#21 - Head
He wants to shout his lungs out like the sentimental he is as he gazes up at the towers of the Lady, where he knows Frollo is watching: “The girl is only a dream, you know; but us--what we have--ah, ça c’est la vérite!”
#22 - Hollow
His presence fills up the empty space; the blackness of his cloak absorbs even the darkness around him.
#23 - Honor
“No--if anyone’s going to sin here,” Gringoire says in a subtle voice, lowering himself to his knees, “It’ll be me.”
#24 - Hope
“When we all know there is none,” Frollo’s eyes go glassy for a moment, the only sign that anything within him is amiss, “Not for her, in any case.”
#25 - Light
Across his eyes there flashes a blinding whiteness, and then there is nothing.
#26 - Lost
Finally his feeling overwhelms him and he shouts from his perch, though he knows the priest will not hear him: “Give them Sanctuary!”
#27 - Metal
Gringoire feels the bile rising in the back of his throat, a stinging copper taste, when he thinks of those twisted limbs and the spaces between stones running with a stream of blood.
#28 - New
Outside the round world revolves around the sun, the ships sail for the Indies, but in Sanctuary time is standing still.
#29 - Old
‘We never had a chance to grow stale,’ he thinks with a solemn fondness, ‘That is the tragic beauty of l’amour, non?’
#30 - Peace
Those who have claimed sanctuary within the Lady’s walls can be found often among the ambries, the chapel and the chancel: and there to his surprise the poet is sleeping, thin snores breaking the silence of a cathedral night.
#31 - Poison
There is a dangerously thin line between love and lust, and he finds it drawn on the poet’s lips.
#32 - Pretty
The poet could almost be a woman but for the roughness of his cheek: Frollo finds the roughness with his palm and latches onto it, finding solace in it.
#33 - Rain
Without looking, Pierre can feel the priest’s eyes linger on him--those grey eyes, dark as stormclouds about to burst.
#34 - Regret
He had a chance, there in the comfort of the dark--but Gringoire did not repeat his warning, because he knew Frollo would not listen any more than he had with the noise of the crowd overwhelming his ears.
#35 - Roses
The day after the body is cleared away two roses, white and red, are found held down by stones where it had laid--and a Venus cries for his lost Adonis.
#36 - Secret
“I don’t like it when you smile, Poet,” he says with a deep frown, “And I’d make you say what’s on your mind if I thought I’d understand it.”
#37 - Snakes
Leather thongs glistening with blood, the harsh crack: there is an added shame in being watched, and Frollo wants all he can get.
#38 - Snow
When he gets close enough he can see the flecks of grey in the priest’s hair, like thin lines of silver in the earth.
#39 - Solid
He is sharp and straight, Gringoire notices, an upright concoction of jutting angles and harsh lines only attractive in men and never in the smooth sensuality of a woman--and it has always been hard for him to decide which is preferable.
#40 - Spring
Frollo dreams of a field in bloom, of rotten-smelling flowers and birds with horrid songs; mocking, teasing, assaulting his senses and leaving him hopeless and blind.
#41 - Stable
He shambles along in the night, a stumbling shadow, before coming to rest against the cold walls of the cathedral: “Tenebreux corps sur le point de partir,” he sings softly to the stones, “Ay, sans cesser, continuellement...”
#42 - Strange
They only ever call each other “Priest” and “Poet”--to use names would take away the reminder of what they are, and why it must only ever be a secret.
#43 - Summer
There is a warmth in the touch, and in the sense of another’s breath against his skin--sometimes he imagines the gypsy girl, and he feels himself burn for it.
#44 - Taboo
A single hard look through the deepening gloom tells Pierre that which he must not speak of--‘But when has that ever stopped me, especially when we two are alone?’
#45 - Ugly
The priest’s face becomes harrowed with vile shadows as his arm jerks back and the room echoes with pain, and Gringoire wants to sink backwards into the darkness to escape.
#46 - War
There is a violence in it, a needy resistance, a yes wanting a no: in a word, passionate.
#47 - Water
“Of course I’ve been baptized,” Gringoire says with a rare sneer of confusion, “Why do you ask?”
#48 - Welcome
The sleeping man stirs, raising his head from the wooden pew--startled at being discovered, an impulse he cannot explain, Frollo speaks without moving: “I’m surprised to see you here.”
#49 - Winter
The stones of the walls turn cold in the early morning hours, when Frollo finds himself restlessly awake.
#50 - Wood
Looking back, Pierre amuses himself with the prospect of taking the priest right there in the pew--but then, that probably would have been indecent.
CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER
#49 - Winter
The stones of the walls turn cold in the early morning hours, when Frollo finds himself restlessly awake.
#04 - Bugs
‘They are all so small from up here,’ he thinks, and marvels that in this sea of humanity there could be even one spot of brightness, of hope--he wonders if this is how God picks His prophets.
#06 - Dark
There is hardly anything light about the poet, with his black curls, his deep brown eyes, his simple attire--and yet, there is a glow in him that makes Frollo want to look again.
#05 - Coffee
They both admire her: that tiny, fluttering dragonfly of a gypsy who appears in a whirl of darkness and color and disappears just as quickly--and it is in this mutual desire they are first united.
#03 - Beginning
‘Married--in a pagan ritual,’ Frollo’s mind hisses, and his lips curl back: “If you’ve touched that innocent creature...”
#41 - Stable
He shambles along in the night, a stumbling shadow, before coming to rest against the cold walls of the cathedral: “Tenebreux corps sur le point de partir,” he sings softly to the stones, “Ay, sans cesser, continuellement...”
#08 - Doors
The eyes of dead kings look down with a penetrating gaze; they know all the secrets but they’ll never tell.
#30 - Peace
Those who have claimed sanctuary within the Lady’s walls can be found often among the ambries, the chapel and the chancel: and there to his surprise the poet is sleeping, thin snores breaking the silence of a cathedral night.
#09 - Drink
Pierre’s head splits as he awakens, sprawled out in a pew, and the figure in black that blocks the sunlight from the windows is the only thing that keeps him from shutting his eyes.
#48 - Welcome
The sleeping man stirs, raising his head from the wooden pew--startled at being discovered, an impulse he cannot explain, Frollo speaks without moving: “I’m surprised to see you here.”
#20 - Green
“The new will always overtake the old,” Frollo repeats with a sigh, his words echoing off the stones, “And where does that leave men like us?”
#39 - Solid
He is sharp and straight, Gringoire notices, an upright concoction of jutting angles and harsh lines only attractive in men and never in the smooth sensuality of a woman--and it has always been hard for him to decide which is preferable.
#47 - Water
“Of course I’ve been baptized,” Gringoire says with a rare sneer of confusion, “Why do you ask?”
#14 - Fire
The crackling of flame in the fireplace is like a third person in the conversation, filling in the spaces where they fall to silence.
#02 - Apples
“Without a woman there would be no original sin, non?” Gringoire asks with quirked eyebrows. “We’d all still be in Eden.”
#33 - Rain
Without looking, Pierre can feel the priest’s eyes linger on him--those grey eyes, dark as stormclouds about to burst.
#38 - Snow
When he gets close enough he can see the flecks of grey in the priest’s hair, like thin lines of silver in the earth.
#31 - Poison
There is a dangerously thin line between love and lust, and he finds it drawn on the poet’s lips.
#01 - Air
He has to remind himself to take in air, stunned that the feeling of lips on lips still lingers, wondering if he will ever breathe the same again.
#23 - Honor
“No--if anyone’s going to sin here,” Gringoire says in a subtle voice, lowering himself to his knees, “It’ll be me.”
#28 - New
Outside the round world revolves around the sun, the ships sail for the Indies, but in Sanctuary time is standing still.
#15 - Flexible
He feels as if he is bending backwards: eyes turning around in their sockets, bones cracking and tumbling out of order--twisted.
#46 - War
There is a violence in it, a needy resistance, a yes wanting a no: in a word, passionate.
#12 - End
It is only in the darkness, the silence like a suffocating blanket in the aftermath, that he realizes what he has become.
#07 - Despair
‘God forgive me, I wish I could be more than a man.’
#40 - Spring
Frollo dreams of a field in bloom, of rotten-smelling flowers and birds with horrid songs; mocking, teasing, assaulting his senses and leaving him hopeless and blind.
#10 - Duty
The pain across his back is hot and immediate, with a rush all its own, and the priest must remind himself at times not to take too much pleasure in what is meant as punishment.
#37 - Snakes
Leather thongs glistening with blood, the harsh crack: there is an added shame in being watched, and Frollo wants all he can get.
#17 - Food
It is a symbol of his faith, nothing more--like the black of his robes, or the week-long fasts that leave him frail and purified.
#45 - Ugly
The priest’s face becomes harrowed with vile shadows as his arm jerks back and the room echoes with pain, and Gringoire wants to sink backwards into the darkness to escape.
#21 - Head
He wants to shout his lungs out like the sentimental he is as he gazes up at the towers of the Lady, where he knows Frollo is watching: “The girl is only a dream, you know; but us--what we have--ah, ça c’est la vérite!”
#50 - Wood
Looking back, Pierre amuses himself with the prospect of taking the priest right there in the pew--but then, that probably would have been indecent.
#36 - Secret
“I don’t like it when you smile, Poet,” he says with a deep frown, “And I’d make you say what’s on your mind if I thought I’d understand it.”
#43 - Summer
There is a warmth in the touch, and in the sense of another’s breath against his skin--sometimes he imagines the gypsy girl, and he feels himself burn for it.
#42 - Strange
They only ever call each other “Priest” and “Poet”--to use names would take away the reminder of what they are, and why it must only ever be a secret.
#26 - Lost
Finally his feeling overwhelms him and he shouts from his perch, though he knows the priest will not hear him: “Give them Sanctuary!”
#11 - Earth
The dungeon has an expected damp and dirty stench, and Gringoire lets the sound of his footsteps break the air as he descends.
#18 - Foot
Frollo hears the steps on the stairs before he sees Gringoire silhouetted by the light above, and he knows--who else would desire, to dare to see him now?
#22 - Hollow
His presence fills up the empty space; the blackness of his cloak absorbs even the darkness around him.
#44 - Taboo
A single hard look through the deepening gloom tells Pierre that which he must not speak of--‘But when has that ever stopped me, especially when we two are alone?’
#32 - Pretty
The poet could almost be a woman but for the roughness of his cheek: Frollo finds the roughness with his palm and latches onto it, finding solace in it.
#24 - Hope
“When we all know there is none,” Frollo’s eyes go glassy for a moment, the only sign that anything within him is amiss, “Not for her, in any case.”
#34 - Regret
He had a chance, there in the comfort of the dark--but Gringoire did not repeat his warning, because he knew Frollo would not listen any more than he had with the noise of the crowd overwhelming his ears.
#16 - Flying
There is a moment, while he is watching, when he feels he is suspended in the air along with Frollo, the two of them floating with an unjust speed toward the stones.
#13 - Fall
Not everyone is witness as most are focused on the spectacle of the heretic’s hanging, but everyone hears the sound: the sick crunch of bone on pavement, the unmistakable silence of a heart ceasing to beat.
#25 - Light
Across his eyes there flashes a blinding whiteness, and then there is nothing.
#27 - Metal
Gringoire feels the bile rising in the back of his throat, a stinging copper taste, when he thinks of those twisted limbs and the spaces between stones running with a stream of blood.
#35 - Roses
The day after the body is cleared away two roses, white and red, are found held down by stones where it had laid--and a Venus cries for his lost Adonis.
#19 - Grave
Pierre Gringoire still visits Notre Dame, but now only to remember.
#29 - Old
‘We never had a chance to grow stale,’ he thinks with a solemn fondness, ‘That is the tragic beauty of l’amour, non?’
Fandom: Notre Dame de Paris
Pairing: Pierre Gringoire x Jean-Claude Frollo
Theme set: Delta
Rating: R
Warnings: Slash, self-mutiliation, graphic death
Notes: For 1sentence. Completely musical-verse. Lyrics in “Stable” from a Renaissance-era French song by Gilles Binchois.
PROMPT ORDER
#01 - Air
He has to remind himself to take in air, stunned that the feeling of lips on lips still lingers, wondering if he will ever breathe the same again.
#02 - Apples
“Without a woman there would be no original sin, non?” Gringoire asks with quirked eyebrows. “We’d all still be in Eden.”
#03 - Beginning
‘Married--in a pagan ritual,’ Frollo’s mind hisses, and his lips curl back: “If you’ve touched that innocent creature...”
#04 - Bugs
‘They are all so small from up here,’ he thinks, and marvels that in this sea of humanity there could be even one spot of brightness, of hope--he wonders if this is how God picks His prophets.
#05 - Coffee
They both admire her: that tiny, fluttering dragonfly of a gypsy who appears in a whirl of darkness and color and disappears just as quickly--and it is in this mutual desire they are first united.
#06 - Dark
There is hardly anything light about the poet, with his black curls, his deep brown eyes, his simple attire--and yet, there is a glow in him that makes Frollo want to look again.
#07 - Despair
‘God forgive me, I wish I could be more than a man.’
#08 - Doors
The eyes of dead kings look down with a penetrating gaze; they know all the secrets but they’ll never tell.
#09 - Drink
Pierre’s head splits as he awakens, sprawled out in a pew, and the figure in black that blocks the sunlight from the windows is the only thing that keeps him from shutting his eyes.
#10 - Duty
The pain across his back is hot and immediate, with a rush all its own, and the priest must remind himself at times not to take too much pleasure in what is meant as punishment.
#11 - Earth
The dungeon has an expected damp and dirty stench, and Gringoire lets the sound of his footsteps break the air as he descends.
#12 - End
It is only in the darkness, the silence like a suffocating blanket in the aftermath, that he realizes what he has become.
#13 - Fall
Not everyone is witness as most are focused on the spectacle of the heretic’s hanging, but everyone hears the sound: the sick crunch of bone on pavement, the unmistakable silence of a heart ceasing to beat.
#14 - Fire
The crackling of flame in the fireplace is like a third person in the conversation, filling in the spaces where they fall to silence.
#15 - Flexible
He feels as if he is bending backwards: eyes turning around in their sockets, bones cracking and tumbling out of order--twisted.
#16 - Flying
There is a moment, while he is watching, when he feels he is suspended in the air along with Frollo, the two of them floating with an unjust speed toward the stones.
#17 - Food
It is a symbol of his faith, nothing more--like the black of his robes, or the week-long fasts that leave him frail and purified.
#18 - Foot
Frollo hears the steps on the stairs before he sees Gringoire silhouetted by the light above, and he knows--who else would desire, to dare to see him now?
#19 - Grave
Pierre Gringoire still visits Notre Dame, but now only to remember.
#20 - Green
“The new will always overtake the old,” Frollo repeats with a sigh, his words echoing off the stones, “And where does that leave men like us?”
#21 - Head
He wants to shout his lungs out like the sentimental he is as he gazes up at the towers of the Lady, where he knows Frollo is watching: “The girl is only a dream, you know; but us--what we have--ah, ça c’est la vérite!”
#22 - Hollow
His presence fills up the empty space; the blackness of his cloak absorbs even the darkness around him.
#23 - Honor
“No--if anyone’s going to sin here,” Gringoire says in a subtle voice, lowering himself to his knees, “It’ll be me.”
#24 - Hope
“When we all know there is none,” Frollo’s eyes go glassy for a moment, the only sign that anything within him is amiss, “Not for her, in any case.”
#25 - Light
Across his eyes there flashes a blinding whiteness, and then there is nothing.
#26 - Lost
Finally his feeling overwhelms him and he shouts from his perch, though he knows the priest will not hear him: “Give them Sanctuary!”
#27 - Metal
Gringoire feels the bile rising in the back of his throat, a stinging copper taste, when he thinks of those twisted limbs and the spaces between stones running with a stream of blood.
#28 - New
Outside the round world revolves around the sun, the ships sail for the Indies, but in Sanctuary time is standing still.
#29 - Old
‘We never had a chance to grow stale,’ he thinks with a solemn fondness, ‘That is the tragic beauty of l’amour, non?’
#30 - Peace
Those who have claimed sanctuary within the Lady’s walls can be found often among the ambries, the chapel and the chancel: and there to his surprise the poet is sleeping, thin snores breaking the silence of a cathedral night.
#31 - Poison
There is a dangerously thin line between love and lust, and he finds it drawn on the poet’s lips.
#32 - Pretty
The poet could almost be a woman but for the roughness of his cheek: Frollo finds the roughness with his palm and latches onto it, finding solace in it.
#33 - Rain
Without looking, Pierre can feel the priest’s eyes linger on him--those grey eyes, dark as stormclouds about to burst.
#34 - Regret
He had a chance, there in the comfort of the dark--but Gringoire did not repeat his warning, because he knew Frollo would not listen any more than he had with the noise of the crowd overwhelming his ears.
#35 - Roses
The day after the body is cleared away two roses, white and red, are found held down by stones where it had laid--and a Venus cries for his lost Adonis.
#36 - Secret
“I don’t like it when you smile, Poet,” he says with a deep frown, “And I’d make you say what’s on your mind if I thought I’d understand it.”
#37 - Snakes
Leather thongs glistening with blood, the harsh crack: there is an added shame in being watched, and Frollo wants all he can get.
#38 - Snow
When he gets close enough he can see the flecks of grey in the priest’s hair, like thin lines of silver in the earth.
#39 - Solid
He is sharp and straight, Gringoire notices, an upright concoction of jutting angles and harsh lines only attractive in men and never in the smooth sensuality of a woman--and it has always been hard for him to decide which is preferable.
#40 - Spring
Frollo dreams of a field in bloom, of rotten-smelling flowers and birds with horrid songs; mocking, teasing, assaulting his senses and leaving him hopeless and blind.
#41 - Stable
He shambles along in the night, a stumbling shadow, before coming to rest against the cold walls of the cathedral: “Tenebreux corps sur le point de partir,” he sings softly to the stones, “Ay, sans cesser, continuellement...”
#42 - Strange
They only ever call each other “Priest” and “Poet”--to use names would take away the reminder of what they are, and why it must only ever be a secret.
#43 - Summer
There is a warmth in the touch, and in the sense of another’s breath against his skin--sometimes he imagines the gypsy girl, and he feels himself burn for it.
#44 - Taboo
A single hard look through the deepening gloom tells Pierre that which he must not speak of--‘But when has that ever stopped me, especially when we two are alone?’
#45 - Ugly
The priest’s face becomes harrowed with vile shadows as his arm jerks back and the room echoes with pain, and Gringoire wants to sink backwards into the darkness to escape.
#46 - War
There is a violence in it, a needy resistance, a yes wanting a no: in a word, passionate.
#47 - Water
“Of course I’ve been baptized,” Gringoire says with a rare sneer of confusion, “Why do you ask?”
#48 - Welcome
The sleeping man stirs, raising his head from the wooden pew--startled at being discovered, an impulse he cannot explain, Frollo speaks without moving: “I’m surprised to see you here.”
#49 - Winter
The stones of the walls turn cold in the early morning hours, when Frollo finds himself restlessly awake.
#50 - Wood
Looking back, Pierre amuses himself with the prospect of taking the priest right there in the pew--but then, that probably would have been indecent.
CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER
#49 - Winter
The stones of the walls turn cold in the early morning hours, when Frollo finds himself restlessly awake.
#04 - Bugs
‘They are all so small from up here,’ he thinks, and marvels that in this sea of humanity there could be even one spot of brightness, of hope--he wonders if this is how God picks His prophets.
#06 - Dark
There is hardly anything light about the poet, with his black curls, his deep brown eyes, his simple attire--and yet, there is a glow in him that makes Frollo want to look again.
#05 - Coffee
They both admire her: that tiny, fluttering dragonfly of a gypsy who appears in a whirl of darkness and color and disappears just as quickly--and it is in this mutual desire they are first united.
#03 - Beginning
‘Married--in a pagan ritual,’ Frollo’s mind hisses, and his lips curl back: “If you’ve touched that innocent creature...”
#41 - Stable
He shambles along in the night, a stumbling shadow, before coming to rest against the cold walls of the cathedral: “Tenebreux corps sur le point de partir,” he sings softly to the stones, “Ay, sans cesser, continuellement...”
#08 - Doors
The eyes of dead kings look down with a penetrating gaze; they know all the secrets but they’ll never tell.
#30 - Peace
Those who have claimed sanctuary within the Lady’s walls can be found often among the ambries, the chapel and the chancel: and there to his surprise the poet is sleeping, thin snores breaking the silence of a cathedral night.
#09 - Drink
Pierre’s head splits as he awakens, sprawled out in a pew, and the figure in black that blocks the sunlight from the windows is the only thing that keeps him from shutting his eyes.
#48 - Welcome
The sleeping man stirs, raising his head from the wooden pew--startled at being discovered, an impulse he cannot explain, Frollo speaks without moving: “I’m surprised to see you here.”
#20 - Green
“The new will always overtake the old,” Frollo repeats with a sigh, his words echoing off the stones, “And where does that leave men like us?”
#39 - Solid
He is sharp and straight, Gringoire notices, an upright concoction of jutting angles and harsh lines only attractive in men and never in the smooth sensuality of a woman--and it has always been hard for him to decide which is preferable.
#47 - Water
“Of course I’ve been baptized,” Gringoire says with a rare sneer of confusion, “Why do you ask?”
#14 - Fire
The crackling of flame in the fireplace is like a third person in the conversation, filling in the spaces where they fall to silence.
#02 - Apples
“Without a woman there would be no original sin, non?” Gringoire asks with quirked eyebrows. “We’d all still be in Eden.”
#33 - Rain
Without looking, Pierre can feel the priest’s eyes linger on him--those grey eyes, dark as stormclouds about to burst.
#38 - Snow
When he gets close enough he can see the flecks of grey in the priest’s hair, like thin lines of silver in the earth.
#31 - Poison
There is a dangerously thin line between love and lust, and he finds it drawn on the poet’s lips.
#01 - Air
He has to remind himself to take in air, stunned that the feeling of lips on lips still lingers, wondering if he will ever breathe the same again.
#23 - Honor
“No--if anyone’s going to sin here,” Gringoire says in a subtle voice, lowering himself to his knees, “It’ll be me.”
#28 - New
Outside the round world revolves around the sun, the ships sail for the Indies, but in Sanctuary time is standing still.
#15 - Flexible
He feels as if he is bending backwards: eyes turning around in their sockets, bones cracking and tumbling out of order--twisted.
#46 - War
There is a violence in it, a needy resistance, a yes wanting a no: in a word, passionate.
#12 - End
It is only in the darkness, the silence like a suffocating blanket in the aftermath, that he realizes what he has become.
#07 - Despair
‘God forgive me, I wish I could be more than a man.’
#40 - Spring
Frollo dreams of a field in bloom, of rotten-smelling flowers and birds with horrid songs; mocking, teasing, assaulting his senses and leaving him hopeless and blind.
#10 - Duty
The pain across his back is hot and immediate, with a rush all its own, and the priest must remind himself at times not to take too much pleasure in what is meant as punishment.
#37 - Snakes
Leather thongs glistening with blood, the harsh crack: there is an added shame in being watched, and Frollo wants all he can get.
#17 - Food
It is a symbol of his faith, nothing more--like the black of his robes, or the week-long fasts that leave him frail and purified.
#45 - Ugly
The priest’s face becomes harrowed with vile shadows as his arm jerks back and the room echoes with pain, and Gringoire wants to sink backwards into the darkness to escape.
#21 - Head
He wants to shout his lungs out like the sentimental he is as he gazes up at the towers of the Lady, where he knows Frollo is watching: “The girl is only a dream, you know; but us--what we have--ah, ça c’est la vérite!”
#50 - Wood
Looking back, Pierre amuses himself with the prospect of taking the priest right there in the pew--but then, that probably would have been indecent.
#36 - Secret
“I don’t like it when you smile, Poet,” he says with a deep frown, “And I’d make you say what’s on your mind if I thought I’d understand it.”
#43 - Summer
There is a warmth in the touch, and in the sense of another’s breath against his skin--sometimes he imagines the gypsy girl, and he feels himself burn for it.
#42 - Strange
They only ever call each other “Priest” and “Poet”--to use names would take away the reminder of what they are, and why it must only ever be a secret.
#26 - Lost
Finally his feeling overwhelms him and he shouts from his perch, though he knows the priest will not hear him: “Give them Sanctuary!”
#11 - Earth
The dungeon has an expected damp and dirty stench, and Gringoire lets the sound of his footsteps break the air as he descends.
#18 - Foot
Frollo hears the steps on the stairs before he sees Gringoire silhouetted by the light above, and he knows--who else would desire, to dare to see him now?
#22 - Hollow
His presence fills up the empty space; the blackness of his cloak absorbs even the darkness around him.
#44 - Taboo
A single hard look through the deepening gloom tells Pierre that which he must not speak of--‘But when has that ever stopped me, especially when we two are alone?’
#32 - Pretty
The poet could almost be a woman but for the roughness of his cheek: Frollo finds the roughness with his palm and latches onto it, finding solace in it.
#24 - Hope
“When we all know there is none,” Frollo’s eyes go glassy for a moment, the only sign that anything within him is amiss, “Not for her, in any case.”
#34 - Regret
He had a chance, there in the comfort of the dark--but Gringoire did not repeat his warning, because he knew Frollo would not listen any more than he had with the noise of the crowd overwhelming his ears.
#16 - Flying
There is a moment, while he is watching, when he feels he is suspended in the air along with Frollo, the two of them floating with an unjust speed toward the stones.
#13 - Fall
Not everyone is witness as most are focused on the spectacle of the heretic’s hanging, but everyone hears the sound: the sick crunch of bone on pavement, the unmistakable silence of a heart ceasing to beat.
#25 - Light
Across his eyes there flashes a blinding whiteness, and then there is nothing.
#27 - Metal
Gringoire feels the bile rising in the back of his throat, a stinging copper taste, when he thinks of those twisted limbs and the spaces between stones running with a stream of blood.
#35 - Roses
The day after the body is cleared away two roses, white and red, are found held down by stones where it had laid--and a Venus cries for his lost Adonis.
#19 - Grave
Pierre Gringoire still visits Notre Dame, but now only to remember.
#29 - Old
‘We never had a chance to grow stale,’ he thinks with a solemn fondness, ‘That is the tragic beauty of l’amour, non?’