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...
Heavy boots descended on the stone floor. Darkness was only briefly lighten by the occasional fire torch attached to the wall. Cold September air signalled that October was approaching as it spiralled around the corridors and cells giving every living soul a chill run down their body.
Meandering through the corridors, Frollo accompanied by captain Phoebus and one of his men brought with them in chains a new addition to their recently found pile of penniless gypsies. He stumbled about as a guard held him by the arm and dragged him along the hall way toward his prison cell. Thirsty, confused and exhausted the poor fellow coughed and spluttered while trying to his best to walk.
"Keep the heathen upright captain!! I will have no layabouts or distractions this morning!!" Frollo instructed callously before turning his head toward a perplexed Phoebus trying his best to retain some composure.
"Yes sir. You, keep him standing!" Directly Phoebus bellowed brutally to the guard while subtlety concealing the grief in his mind. Looking down at the prisoner, at the sweat that lingered on his brow and the sorrowful expression of desperation on his face. Phoebus felt cowardly, dishonest but he knew that he had orders and no matter how much he didn't agree, he had to obey for his own sake.
"Take him in our finest accommodation available lieutenant and see to it that...he talks? If you understand my language?" Frollo directed to the guard.
"Yes sir!" Saluted the lieutenant sternly.
Standing at the cell door, the gypsy man was pulled down to his knees then as the door opened he was kicked in by a boot to his feeble back. Just as the man raised his head he noticed strictly a torture rack and whip situated in the corner. He rattled his chains, banged his head against the floor in mercy as he realised his fate. The guard coldly walked in behind him and locked the door with his keys.
Phoebus gulped as he heard the mans pleas and begs for a chance at mercy and survival. That poor man, he was clearly very old and possible sick so to be cruelly, inhumanly torturing him was just was worse as a massacre. Minister Frollo only watched on with pleasure in his smile.
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"Captain I must say I am truly and exceptional impressed at your ability to keep your word. My entire operation to sniff out the evil doing and imperfect breed of these gypsies has worked out stupendously." He praised but with hints of sarcasm in his voice, circling Phoebus as he usually did.
"Umm...Thank you sir" Captain Phoebus responded saseamlessly.
"Raids of all neighbouring and wealthy families have proved enlightening success rates of captures. Thief by gypsies, harbouring of gypsies and the ones moronic enough to try and escape my city have all resulted in less filth to roam our streets. I am able to sleep at night, as are we all" upbeat, Frollo complimented Phoebus.
"Why thank you sir. I'd say a success all round" he replied. But Phoebus has worked closely enough with minister Frollo now to know that any scale of success counts for nothing is some failure can be picked out of it.
