Or Else Let Her Be Mine And Mine Alone

Plucked Buds Do Not Bloom

Never had Esmeralda expected to act the way she had. It now felt embarrassing to think about how she had run after the overwhelmed boy and pulled him to her mother. Those kittenish stares and compliments she gave him. She couldn't understand how she could be so impetuous. Hadn't she seen enough of misery and heartache to let her feelings be unguarded again? Shouldn't she, of all people, know better than to make herself that vulnerable?

She reasserted to herself that she was no longer the dreamy dancing girl foolish to expect the divine concept of love, particularly from those Parisians who considered her kind as exotic playthings, or worse, unholy enchantresses. She was stronger, but not strong enough to risk being broken again. The only time she had treaded on that path had led to the destruction of everything she knew. Who knew what could happen this time?

However, when Quasimodo entered the room, she couldn't help but get charmed. Handing her the headdress along with the dove sculpture, he said, 'You can sit on the bed. The floor gets cold in the evenings.' She smiled. 'Alright. Thank you once more.'

His face grew as red as the roses kept on the sill. He tried his best to obscure it by turning away and arranging the blanket. 'Please come,' she offered after sitting down. A bit uneasily, he made his place beside her, maintaining a respectable distance. He wasn't aware of how much that gesture meant to her.

There was silence. In that she pondered; in a queer way, wasn't this almost just how she had wanted it to be? Hadn't she imagined the officer of her dreams to act towards her in the same way that Quasimodo did now? How mystifying it was, that the respected men with their orderly garbs and high backgrounds only provided her anguish, when this banished boy who wasn't fortunate to even possess an able body, treated her with such selflessness and compassion that he probably hadn't seen himself. They called him a monster, but out of all the men she had met recently, he was the only one who seemed human.

She yearned to let the mood stay like that, and not corrupt it with the conversation that she had come there for. Whatever the purity of his feelings may be, Frollo was his guardian from childhood. What if that man was the line for his fondness? And that was considering just him; she didn't trust herself either. What if the scene from the morning repeated itself? Could she manage to disclose any of it without her throat closing up? It was much more pleasant to allow the fantasy to linger a bit before it inevitably shattered.

He broke the quiet. 'I hadn't expected you after what happened today.'

She saw him staring at the wall ahead, which was plain if not for the small window opening to the uncertain world. The first landmark in that world was the Palace of Justice.

Esmeralda breathed deeply. No matter how much she played for time, he would always haunt her. The wound may never heal. She had to get this burden off, if not for Quasimodo, then for herself.

He was mute, possibly dwelling on what to say as well. She too looked at the wall, and spoke, 'I know that I scared you. I didn't mean to. I wasn't upset at you.'

His chin lowered. 'It wasn't your fault. I... I said too much.'

'I know that you love Frollo. Nobody likes to hear bad things about someone they love. But you said that I can talk about anything with you.' She paused. 'I don't know how to explain this. I don't think you know much about these things,' she further said, her tone becoming uneasy.

Quasimodo knew well that what she might say may fracture his bond and unwavering loyalty toward his master forever. But whether he listened to it or not, the truth shall remain the same. All this time he had wanted to protect her. If he turned a blind eye to her suffering just because her tormentor was a certain man, could it even be said that he loved her?