The Way Stained Glass Shatters

Suds

"You forget yourself, Viviette."
"I have forgotten nothing!" The girl's words echoed against the walls of her head, as if spoken by someone other than herself.
"I have given you everything, yet you choose to throw it away. All for what?"
She knew this man, and yet his face was unfamiliar. Blurry- as if clouded by a veil of smoke.
"I want to go home," Viviette spat, arms crossed and nose upturned. "If I had known this is what my life would have become, I never would have gone with you."
"You're a spoiled brat. You have fame, you have fortune. You'd give it up because it's not to your liking?"
Her stomach churned. She'd had this conversation before. It replayed in her mind every time her eyes closed. Like a clock- ticking, and ticking, and ticking.
The words that left her mouth now, she could no longer hear. She didn't need to hear them, she remembered what she had said. And she remembered what came next.
The man's hand raised and met her cheek with a sting. She flinched and shot up, knocking a basket of clothes into the pool of water beside her.
A dream.
Viviette groaned, glaring at the clothes that were now soaked once more. Hours of hard work, gone. Now she'd have to wait longer for the good rest she so desperately needed.
She couldn't deny doing the laundry was hard work, but it was much easier than working in the kitchens. She wasn't sure if it was because she was on her feet less, or because no one was around to nag her.
It was probably a mix of both.
Still, though, the nasty old baker found time to harass her with mediocre things. Wash his apron, collect the kitchen towels, make sure they were folded and returned by sunrise. She was unsure where he got off on ordering her around like that;
And who gave him the authority.
Maybe it was seniority, or maybe he was just a prune. She hated him nonetheless.
The garments dripped, soaked through the seams. Viviette wrung them out best she could, dreading waiting hours for them to dry again. That was the worst part about it, waiting around with nothing to do. No books to read, or people to talk to.
She still couldn't dance. Even if she desperately wanted to.
It'd been well over a month now since she performed, and it was killing her by the day.
Had Frollo really meant it when he said she'd live the rest of her life in the dungeons? Was he watching her closely enough to notice? If she danced while she worked, would she be forgiven if no other eyes were to see but his own?
No other eyes but his own.
Viviette found herself staring back at her from the pool of cold water. She looked tired, her doe eyes unusually dull, her silver hair up, matted, and covered in suds. She wasn't happy, but she knew she wasn't as miserable as she could be.
Her mind flashed back to the dream she had just had.
She'd had worse days.
The water splashed as Viviette swatted her reflection away, standing up with laundry in hand. She trudged outside, her shoes clicking on the stone floor. The day was a dreary one, cold and cloudy. She groaned, knowing this meant the clothes would take even longer to dry.
She dropped the basket into the grass, having no care if it tipped over. This particular load contained no aprons or kitchen towels, only the garments of Judge Claude Frollo. She'd burn the whole basket if she could.
It felt like the Judge changed his robe three times a day just to give her more work to do. And there was always something to mend. Always.
Viviette grumbled in frustration as she hung the fabrics up, cursing Frollo as she did. The wind blew madly and a chill ran up her spine. She assumed it was from the cold, but the churning in her stomach warned her otherwise. Her eyes wandered from the laundry up to the balconies of the Palace, where a man stood watching her.
She took a step back, startled.
Their eyes locked, and Viviette's face burned- both from anger and embarrassment. What business did the Judge have watching her like that? And how long had he been doing so?
Oh, how angry this man made her. She hated the way she felt when she was around him. She despised the way her stomach would flutter and how quickly her heartbeat sped when he was near. Her face would flush, and her palms would sweat more than they ever had.
This was hatred. Pure hatred.
She scowled and looked away from him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment.
He could go to hell.

-SUDS-

The halls of the Palace of Justice were dark and empty, the only light being that of candles, the company of the shadows following Viviette as she walked. She carried the laundry as if it was a weapon, ready to use if someone were to attack. The situation was unlikely, but she preferred to be prepared.
It was quiet tonight. She liked the quiet. It was the only time her mind was at ease. She cherished those brief moments.
She took a deep breath as she stared at Frollo's door. She'd done this dozens of times now, but it never got easier. But now she had a way of doing things with minimal interaction and conversation.
She doubted he'd even be up this late.
Briskly she opened the door, not declaring herself. She'd stopped after the fifth or sixth time. She'd been wrong about him not being awake, but it didn't matter. It never mattered. Like all the other times, it'd be a drop and go-
"Viviette."
The girl's heart dropped and she gripped the basket tightly. "Judge?"
"Your duties are complete, I assume?"
Viviette sighed and turned to face him, resting the clothes on her hip. "I'm carrying your laundry, aren't I?" She chuckled. "Who knew a man of your caliber tore so many clothes."
He glanced up at her briefly, before looking back down. "I won't question what you mean by that."
She shrugged and sat the basket down, brushing off her dress. She made her way to leave, only stopping when Frollo held his hand up.
"You won't be working tomorrow."
She raised an eyebrow. "A day off? Unheard of."
Frollo sat down his quill and stood up, walking over to where Viviette stood. He towered over her by more than a foot.
There went her heart again, pounding so loudly she couldn't think.
  She hated him.
"You'll be accompanying me to the festival tomorrow," He shook his head, annoyed. "The people of Paris have been questioning your state of living."
Viviette let a small laugh slip as she backed away from him. "Oh, so we're lying now."
"Viviette."
The tension between them was thick and their eyes locked for a moment longer than either of them would have liked. Viviette's face flushed, having to take another step away from him in hopes he wouldn't notice.
"Fine, so be it," She muttered, tugging on her hair and looking away. "A breath of fresh air would be nice."
Her gaze moved to his hands, which she could have sworn briefly moved to touch her. She smiled, though she wasn't sure why.
"Being stuck with your dirty laundry all day is starting to cloud my head," Viviette joked, breaking the tension-filled silence.
Frollo scoffed. "Why you little-"
"Good night, Judge Frollo."
She moved away from him briskly, feeling his eyes follow her as she left.
Her head was confused. She usually left their interactions with a bad taste in her mouth. This one was different. His tone wasn't demeaning, his words weren't degrading as they usually were. She couldn't ignore the way he stared at her like she was someone he wanted to see.
Viviette found herself smiling at the thought of going to the festival the following day. The thought of going with him. She almost felt- excited.
Viviette froze at the realization;
Maybe she didn't hate him as much as she thought she did.