Justice is Swift But Vengeance is Sweeter (A Judge Frollo Fanfiction)

Painful Memories

  "He's watching it happen again, heart drumming loudly in his ears. He's nineteen again, dressed casually, not at all for law school. Why would he go to school when Paris suffers plague? His brother sits in his room, trying to busy himself with toys and other little treasures, no doubt trying to take the horrible events off his mind. Frollo walks to one large bedroom, the master bedroom, opening the door slowly to find the doctor examining two figures. He focuses on the one on the left, a woman, blond and pale. Paler now from fever and blond hair, once in a tight bun now lays in a ragged mess around her sweaty face. She barely looks at him when he walks in, concentrated more on the figure beside her. It's a man, strong and powerful at one time lays beside her, greying hair a mess around his face, dark eyes blank of usual coldness. She reaches for his hand and he weakly takes it. And on their arms Frollo can see the marks, long thin lines of red where they were bled. The man tries to sit up, but falls back, groaning loudly. They both reek of illness, the stomach churning combination of blood, vomit and hopelessness. Frollo watched in fear as the woman begins to cough, the sound going from a soft hacking into a crescendo of gasping breaths and violent coughs as she battles for breath. And from her lips comes blood, a few drips that trickle down the side of her mouth, like a vampire freshly fed. But he knows she is not vampire, for a vampire is immortal and he knows from the sickening hole in his stomach that these two don't have much time left. The doctor then pulls out his bowl and a long thin knife. Frollo tries to look away but he can't, he can only watch as the doctor takes the woman's other limp arm, making a slit down the arm. He feels like he might be sick, the sight of her blood, her life fluid, seeping in a long trail down into the bowl. The woman does not cry out, it is after all, not the first time her arm had been cut for bloodletting. And the pain of the cut could not compare to that of the illness itself. As her arms drip blood the doctor goes to the man who weakly offers his arm. Frollo cries out, his voice that of his younger self.

"No, stop, you're hurting them!" The man looks at him sternly, as sternly as the sickly man can.

"Quiet Claude, this shall help us." The man orders but it is halfhearted, for he is too weary to argue. Frollo feels his eyes begin to sting, that voice, it was too much to hear it again. However the blood begins to flow faster, in larger amounts, until the bowls are overflowing. Nobody but Frollo seems to notice and he begins to call for help, the blood now soaking the carpet and his feet. The blood pools around him, but nobody seems to take heed of his warnings. Slowly, the woman's eyes and the man's begin to flicker dully, as if losing their spark. They become paler and paler until it seems all their blood is gone. And when their eyes finally die, their eyes go as white as their skin, pale and blank. Frollo watches in horror before the tears that threatened to fall come; they flood his eyes, making it nearly impossible to see. He sobs and weeps, the bodies before him, and he sobs out words, the only words he can make out.

"Mother...father..."Before he can say another word, the world goes black.""