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...
Frost have developed only partly on the cobbled stone streets overnight. Early morning had arrived but the sky was still in mid darkness. But said darkness allowed the frost to sparkle on rooftops and on window panes.
A thick condensation and moisture had situated itself on the inside of Frollos windows as the fire had gone out allowing no warmth to wash it away. Laying his head on his hands on his desk, the minister gently began to awaken. Groggy eyes, mattered with sleep and deep set wrinkles fluttered open with some struggle to keep them open. Wisps of grey shaggy hair drooped in front of his face as his appearance showed to be more disheveled than usually.
Raising his head off of his desk, he felt heavy, out of control. As if old age had sprung up on him out of now where. Trying to get out of his chair, he crumbled into the floor, sprawled out like a dead bird trying to regain flight. He moaned, groaned and mumbled in agony as each movement made his muscles and bones feel as if they were dying. Candles, 3 candles sat upon the edge of his desk and as he reached his shaky hand up to grab the corner, the wobbled uncontrollably. The cold stone floor coarser the entirety of his palms as he felt around in the air until the remainder of strength he had gripped the table edge tightly. He pulled and tugged at it until he was up right. Facing the candle, it's dimness sharpened the hollows of his pale and grey skin. Old, ancient and dying...what had he become? Immersed in the candles leaping flame, he saw her...her sweetness of face but her vixen allure as she danced in the flame before him.
"Hell f-fire....haha dark fire...I-I-it's your turn gypsy!!" Wheezing severely like a 100 year old man out of breath, his whispering voice barely could be heard while he attempted to laugh incoherently. The mark of the madman had begun.
While his crazed expression was engaged in his visions of her, the candles soon blew out.
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Hearing a bird flap its wings from the roof above his window, Frollos hungered eyes removed themselves from the dripping wax. His clutch letting go of the table, he crawled on all fours to the window and tremblingly reached for the latch. By now his body had amounted to that of a shiver as the cold spread throughout his body. Murkiness hung in the air as the few remaining stars desperately tried to cling on too their light. With all of the ministers might and determination, his weak and brittle hands tugged at the latch to the window until it sprung open and let a north easterly wind bite its way in. Finally he had managed to stand on his feet, with support from the wooden window ledge. Peering out at Paris in semi darkness, Frollo hightailed into small squeaks of laughter while his fingers trailed in the wet of the soaked window.
Pulling his hand back, he admired his work from behind a crazed smile of satisfaction. As the words written on the window, in the wet was the word...'KILL'. The damage had already been done...this sick obsession with the gypsies, with the witch had truly driven the minister mad...he had truly lost his mind.
Deep in the forest, the clouds that had once parted now became noisy and formed together into great clumps. Snow trickled down from the clouds bellies and by now had left a sheet of paper on the ground. Dark lashes drowsily danced open as Snow blinked away the remaining sleep that was impairing her vision. Her grey scarf and white cape were huddled around her like a straight jacket as it felt unusually colder than the night before. Rising, Snow sat up while looking around the camp that now resembled an empty space.
