Misc.

the hunchback of notre dame 9

by the time quasimodo had turned 20 years of age, he had become accustomed to the dazed feeling that sometimes accompanied him in his day to day activities. 

he'd spent exactly two decades on the planet and yet had only seen about a square mile of the some 200 million that remained unexplored across the surface of the rest of the planet.

for all quasimodo cared, his world was simply confined to the bell tower, the isolated loft at the top of the cathedral, as far away from anyone as you could possibly wish.

still, he did get guests. his master, frollo would visit him as frequently as possible, typically on a daily basis, and on occasion, one of the quiet nuns who would drop of a basket of food and big quasimodo a gently "good day" before hurrying back down the steps of the cathedral. the creatures of stone that spoke to him were kind enough, but they were constantly pushing him, urging him to learn and grow and leave the belltower when most days, even though they knew that after finishing all of his tasks with time to spare, quasimodo would watch the sun set in pain, his back aching, his fingers black and burnt, and his head throbbing from looking so hard with his one human eye all day long. still, there had been nice conversations, hours upon hours of talking with the statues and gargoyles while whittling a block of wood into some pedestrian far down below. it was a beautiful distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. 

despite not having much social contact to begin with, quasimodo found himself happiest when he was alone in his own company. he could sit in a corner high up on a wooden beam, scattering crumbs of bread in front of him for the pigeons to eat, mindlessly swinging his leg back and forth, being with his thoughts, and his thoughts alone. sometimes it felt like he had nothing, that everything he owned was at frollo's discretion, but the statues had told him he could think about whatever he liked, and that nobody could tell him what to think or not think. he liked that- he enjoyed the notion that no matter what, at least his mind was his own.

his mind was always his own. 

until it wasn't. 

it had first occurred around the age of 12, he remembers. his memory was never very good, but nothing ever quite matched the odd confusion he first felt when it seemed as thought he'd stepped outside of his own body, or as though might be perhaps watching his life play out in front of him like a movie. quasimodo hated it, hated feeling like he was always two seconds slow to catch up to everything, taking what felt like forever to process whatever frollo had said. and that was the other thing, it occurred most frequently when frollo was around. 

the dreaded sound of the trapdoor would creak open and quasimodo would hastily scan the bell tower for any sinful thing he might have left out in the open. the belltower must always be neat and clean and dusted as much as possible. the statues were not to be spoken to, and his crafting table had to be free of wood shavings and wet paint. though there was always something. always something wrong, or not good enough, or incorrect, and quasimodo could never get it quite right. frollo would scream at him for the most minute details, things the half-blind struggled to even physically see. the worst days were when frollo would leave the bell tower silently and return the following morning with a belt wrapped tightly around his hand.

quasimodo didn't enjoy when he felt like he was outside of his own body, but sometimes, when the pain on his back was burning like the hellfire his master constantly spoke of, he didn't mind it so much, numbly curled up on the cold wooden floor, the trapdoor slamming shut. somewhere in the background, one of the statues asked, "quasimodo, are you okay?" very softly, and the boy was so far gone he didn't even acknowledge or answer the gentle voice.

at least they wouldn't get upset at him for it. 

when he would wake later on those dreadful, dreadful days, he would sit next to his stone friends and weep while they comforted him, and encouraged him to drink some of the water that he still had left over, and a crust of bread to get some of his strength back. quasimodo would oblige sadly, knowing history was only bound to repeat itself. 

when he encountered esmerelda, everything changed. 

his freedom was a precious thing he still did not know how to handle months after the events had passed. 

he wasn't even sure he should be, not until things got...better, at least.

he slept in a comfortable bed, but still woke up screaming and crying, terrified that he was being whipped once more for stepping a toe out of line. 

those around him praised the things he did and made, but he still thought something was worthless if it bore the smallest mistake.

he was surrounded by people that loved him, and quasimodo still found himself prone to sitting down for dinner and feeling his mind go blank, and everything slip far away. and it still scared him. he thought he was going insane, that maybe he was just crazy, and that his brain was broken. maybe he really was unfixable. 

quasimodo sobbed in his bed, curled up in the tent he would hide in, his own little nook they'd given him in the Court of Miracles. he cried while children laughed and played outside, more normal than he would ever be. 

someone lifted the flap of the tent and ducked in.

esmerelda and phoebus. 

"are you ok?" esmerelda asked, visibly concerned.

"it's not like it matters." quasimodo sputtered. god, why did everything constantly feel like it was going two times slower than real life. 

"hey, what's wrong. why are you talking like that?" phoebus asked, sitting down next to him.

"i said it doesn't matter." quasimodo repeated. 

"we're not going away, quasi," esmerelda said softly. "you've been alone for far too long. long enough for a life time."

"what if i want to be alone? what if i deserve to be alone." 

"deserve?" phoebus frowned. "quasi nobody deserves to be alone. especially not you. why would you think that?"

"i don't know-" the boy hiccupped, still tearful, "because i'm not good enough, because of who i am, because i'm just worthless and stupid and-" 

"stop it." esmerelda cut him off. "you stop that right now, quasimodo, you rang the bells day in and day out. you came to find me here because you wanted to save everyone- and then you saved my life, you helped phoebus and i be together and you even tried to save frollo when all he'd ever done to you was hurt you. you are not worthless, or stupid. you are kind, and strong, and so, so brave, and creative and intelligent and we love you, quasi. we love you and we're glad you're here, no matter how that is." she vented, choking back tears, staring at him for  second before hugging him tightly, wishing he could understand how big her heart was for him.

"she's right,"  phoebus chipped in. "she said it all, and i agree with every word of it. we're glad to have you here, and we wouldn't want it any other way." he nodded, joining in the hug and softly kissing the top of quasimodo's head. 

for the first time in a long time, quasimodo was concious, aware, and grounded.