We all know how the tales go. But what if some stories slipped right by you?
Quasimodo and Snow White, individuals on opposite ends of the scale. Snows life dominated by her weak, crumbling father and scheming, devious stepmother. A life in a villa...
A crisp wind which was unusual for September blew through the trees of Paris and the rafters of the bell tower. Accompanied by the biting wind was an orchestra of raindrops which had grew heavier as they night was drawing on.
Quasimodo had been resting up in rafters for some time and had to stop himself from dozing off on a few occasions. After resting for a short time, Quasi decided to go and visit the archdeacon. The process of his mission in the forest which Frollo has been keen to mention had intrigued him. Pressing questions erupted his mind and he wanted them at rest. After acrobatically jumping from beam to beam, he landed onto the wood flooring with a thud. The lightening had been covering all sounds for a few hours now but the creaks on the floor were not one of them. As he walked along toward the stairs, Quasi picked up on his carving from before. It was left unfinished but what the end product was suppose to be he had no idea yet. Fiddling with that thought for a while, he soon shook it off and slowly made his way down the stairs.
Slow, harmonious, melodic music and voices could be heard from down below. The night was cold and late but the singers sang on. As Quasimodo made his way just from the bottom of the stairs, while hiding out of sight he caught glimpse of the beauty that was mass. The candles projected their auroral brilliance against the stone walls and the looming stained glass windows. Quasi smiled whimsically to himself at the peaceful abundance of souls who appeared before God in his home. Catching a glimpse at the archdeacon walking past in his direction, Quasi leaned out a little further ready to catch his attention.
Seeing his face half visible from the limited light near the stairs, the archdeacon motioned toward him. "Quasimodo my boy...is that you?" The old man questioned quietly.
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"Yes father...I-I'm sorry to disturb you while you a-are talking with god...I-I c-can come back later.." Quasi sounded rejected, bowing his head.
"No No No my boy...it's no trouble at all...why, I am always so much with God, that I'm sure he won't mind a break himself...what may I help you with? Are you hungry? Do you wish to read some more books?" The father caused Quasi to chuckle a little at his whit. But soon found the words he wanted to speak.
"W-well father...I was interested in where master has gone....h-he spoke to me before he left and he told me of this...mission he was about to embark on in the forests. He told me about...the gypsies and how they are plaguing this land, how they are evil and beguiling with their black magic and their wicked charms...should we be worried? S-should master be worried?" Quasis expression pleaded as his awkwardness and agitation concerned.
"Quasimodo...I agree I have never been one of minister Frollo's favourite people but I'm sure whatever he is doing, he is in no danger. As for the gypsies, however if they are found duty and compassion would be the thing that keeps them safe. They know Paris and the forests well...I'm positive that no harm shall come to anyone. The gypsies are of local legend and magic...they have never been a cause for harm so trust in me and in god...all shall be well" The archdeacon passed on his smile as a token of peace of mind. Although Quasi returned his display of reassurance, Quasi still felt unsure.
