The Way Stained Glass Shatters

Unspoken Words

Cheering. Loud, ecstatic cheering. Suddenly, Viviette hated the sound. How could they cheer for something so disgusting?
Pierre smirked down at her, like he had won some prize. His hand still gripped her bare thigh tightly, his fingers moving higher up her leg. He started to lean in as if he was going to kiss her.
Absolutely not.
Viviette's nails dug into his scalp and she tugged hard, pulling with the full weight of her body. She needed his flesh beneath her fingernails, his blood needed to be drawn by her and her alone.
He cried out and dropped her, her nails clawing the sides of his face when he did. She hit the stage with a 'thud', quickly scrambling to get up and away from him. His presence made her sick.
The people gasped as Pierre moaned and groaned, bleeding wildly. She didn't care. He could die in front of them, and she would go about as if nothing had occurred.
She was desperate to get back to the Judge's booth, back to where the guards would keep Pierre away from her. But there was no booth. There was no Judge. There was one guard, and one guard only. She knew he was waiting for her.
Viviette's runs became slow steps and the world was suddenly grey. She didn't think her heart could hurt anymore. He'd left her. He saw the act of violation against her, and he left.
The day was supposed to be a joyous one. A day to prove she could be trusted to have her chains loosened. She had hoped after the festival, she'd be able to regain just a little bit of freedom.
That opportunity was long gone.
But was that the only reason she was upset?
The dancer stopped in front of the guard, looking up at him. He almost seemed like he felt- bad.
"I know the way," She whispered, walking back towards the Palace of Justice.
The Parisians stared and whispered as Viviette made her way through the town. She didn't look at any of them. She just wanted to go home.
Rain began to sprinkle around them, the sound drowning out their gossip. Her hair and clothes quickly became soaked as she made no effort to pick up her pace. She felt no guilt for the guard following behind. His armor would rust before she would care for his well being.
Still, she kept her head high. She wouldn't let the humiliation and shame show on her face. Her embarrassment was hers to bear. She kept her eyes hard, and her face straight. She was thankful the rain drops did so well to conceal her tears.
By the time she had gotten back to the Palace of Justice, her sadness had simmered to anger. What business did the Judge have leaving her behind as if she was nothing? Hours before, he couldn't take his eyes off of her.
Viviette knew why he was upset. It wasn't hard to figure out. The price for her life was to give up exactly what she had just done. 'Blasphemous performances' he had called them. Dances that led men to sin. But she took it a step further.
What she and Pierre had done was beyond Godless. This man had displayed her body in such a way the Lord would have shunned her. Judge Frollo didn't see her uncomfort. All he saw was another man's hands on her. He watched an act of sin.
And much like God, he abandoned the sinner.
"Miss Auclair."
Viviette flinched as she entered the Palace, turning to the guard. Again, he held that somber face.
"I have direct orders."
Her stomach dropped as Judge Frollo's words came flooding back.
"Step a single foot to dance again, and I will have you strung up and left for the rats."
After all this time, she didn't think he'd follow through.
"There's no way out of this, is there?" She asked quietly.
He shook his head. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Viviette changed her path to head towards the dungeons. "This act of cruelty isn't yours."
She still kept her head high and her integrity intact. If this was to be her fate, she would accept it as is. There was no point in the argument. She would always lose.
The halls of the Palace felt darker now- colder. She wasn't sure if it was in her mind, or if it had always been like that. Maybe the warmth had been drained the second it no longer became safe. The second it was no longer home.
The cell was the same one she'd been locked in before. It looked untouched. Like it was waiting for her.
The guard closed the door behind her. "Do you need anything?" He asked.
Viviette chuckled. "That's a foolish question."
"My orders were direct and explicit," He sighed. "He wanted me to ask."
"Did he?"
"He was very specific," He gave the door a quick shake. "Good night, Miss Auclair."
With that he was gone, leaving Viviette alone in the dimly lit cell. She watched the shadows from candlelight dance along the wall, finally allowing herself to feel every emotion weighing on her shoulders.
And she sobbed.
It was not a delicate or pretty cry. It was ugly and raw, her cries echoing. At that moment, she didn't care if anyone heard.
She collapsed to her knees, the weight of the day finally crashing. She could still feel Pierre's hands on her. The rush of adrenaline from their performance had shaken her to her bones. She didn't want to like it. But her body had missed the feeling of dance.
Oh, how she hated Pierre. It was all his fault. If the man had just taken a no and diverted his attention to some other poor damsel, she'd be in her room. She'd be beaming at how the day had gone, reminiscing on the fun she had.
Her day would have ended with Frollo at her side. Only now did she realize how badly she wanted that.
She desperately wanted to hate him. For a while, she thought him to be worse than Pierre. A tyrant, a villain, a man who cared for no one other than himself.
But every bad thought of him disappeared when he offered his hand. Such a simple act, but it spoke volumes. The Judge thought so lowly of her, spoke on her name as if she was dirt on his shoe. Until he didn't.
He was not required to help her into that carriage. It was an act of kindness.
How stupid she was to let something so insignificant change her entire view. She was foolish to think she was anything more than a laundry maid, brought to an event for the sake of his own appearance.
She'd be lying if she said it didn't hurt. How could she have been so easily fooled?
Viviette replayed their conversations in her mind, over and over again. She focused on every tone, every word she could have misread. Perhaps she had mistaken taunting for banter. Hatred for tolerance.
Creak.
The girl opened her eyes and looked up. The cell door was slightly ajar.
"It.. was never locked," She said, softly.
"It was never locked."
"It was never locked."
Viviette practically jumped up, dashing out of the dungeon. Her body was tired from the excess of running she'd done, but she didn't care. She furiously wiped the tears from her cheeks, paying no mind to how swollen her eyes were. She had a destination. But she had no idea what she'd do when she got there.
The only thing between Frollo and she was the door. A couple inches of wood and iron. Her heart pounded so hard, she felt it in her head, her temple throbbing.
She was going to open the door, but she didn't need to. He opened it for her, startled to see her standing in front of him. He looked exhausted, his hair messy, his clothes wrinkled.
Without thinking, Viviette put both hands on his chest and shoved him back into the room. She closed the door violently and pressed her body against it. She didn't say a word.
"I had specifically ordered you to the dungeons," Frollo started.
"The door wasn't locked," She responded, breathlessly.
He took a step back. She raised her head, meeting his eyes. He looked a mess, true, but she was certain she looked much worse.
"So you come here?"
Viviette scoffed, stepping away from the door. "Where else would I go?"
She crossed her arms, her nose scrunched. She was angry, but she kept her voice low. She wanted no commotion.
The Judge sneered. "Why not to that boy?" He extended his arm out, gesturing to nothing. "The one you're so hopelessly in love with."
The dancer sucked her teeth, trying to keep her composer. The image of her being in love with Pierre made her skin crawl and her blood boil.
"You," She searched her mind for the right words to say. "You know nothing."

Judge Frollo took another step away from her. "You stand here and tell me your first thought was to come find me? To come argue a pointless cause?" He growled. "Do you take me for a fool?"
Viviette froze, staring at the ground. She hadn't. She hadn't thought of going anywhere else.
In the time it took her to find him, she could have been at Delphine's. She could have been on a horse, half way out of Paris. But, instead, she was here. In front of him. Fighting him.
"The display you put on at the festival made me sick," He spat. "I told you the repercussions. But, in truth, I had started to think better of you."
She shook her head, looking back up at him. "Better of me?" She repeated.
"I had convinced myself my words had influenced you," He turned his nose up at her. "That was my mistake."
"You know nothing," Viviette repeated. "I wasn't thinking."
"Clearly."
"I am not who I was when I knew them," She muttered, her demeanor growing defeated.
He looked her up and down, his face brimming with disdain. "I am seeing that girl now."
"And how would you know that?" The dancer's voice was louder now. Her frustrations were unkempt, and her mouth was moving faster than she was thinking. "You knew nothing of me until I returned to your tyrannical city."
Viviette remembered their first meeting clearly. She did not know him. She did not know how much of her life would change with that simple interaction. And he knew nothing of her.
"I needn't have known you to understand you were a Godless wench, who went around parading herself for money and male attention," He accused, leering over her.
The dancer's mouth was agape, her eyebrows raised. "Are you calling me a common whore?" She gasped.
Judge Frollo and Viviette were head to head, the distance between them closing with every passing insult. If there had been no one around prior to their argument, there was now. Their screams could wake the dead.
"In more tasteful words," He said, through gritted teeth.
"You can't be serious," The girl laughed, dryly. It was clear on her face that she was hurt.
Frollo's expression faltered. "What would you like me to think, Viviette?"
She couldn't answer. What could she say? In truth, she never wanted to argue. She wished the whole day had never occurred. She'd rather be buried in dirty laundry, running on no sleep. She'd rather have never danced. Never did she think she'd want to continue to satiate the craving.
Now that she had gotten what she wanted, she didn't want it. The cost was too great. All the permanence that had been established was uprooting itself, leaving gaping holes in the dirt that she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to fill.
How dare he? How dare he be the one to give her what she had come to Paris in search of? How dare he connect his existence to any form of her happiness? What business did he have being anywhere inside her mind?
"You are the most brutish and uptight old man I have ever had the displeasure of knowing!" She exclaimed suddenly, clenching her fists.
"I should have left you to rot."
Frollo said it in such a tone, Viviette was left temporarily speechless. Her chest hurt, a pang of what she could only assume was anger, shooting through.
"I wish you would have!" She screeched, hoping to shatter his ear drums. "Then I wouldn't be soaking wet and humiliated! I wouldn't have run into Pierre! The dungeon would have been a better fate than having his hands, once again, violate my flesh!" She jabbed her finger violently into his chest. "That was your fault!"
Viviette's emotions ran beyond anger. She was shivering, her teeth chattering. She was crying tears that would not form. She kept his finger against him, digging deeper as she got closer to him.
Judge Frollo caught her jaw, bringing their faces inches apart. "You are nothing more than an insolent and useless laundry maid," He hushed, his voice barely audible.
"Then cast me out. Send me to the stocks, or the gallows. Let my heathen feet dangle over the ground, and damn me to hell," Her chest rose and fell with every quiet word, her eyes burning into his. "But know that I will fight you, Claude Frollo, until my dying breath."
His grip tightened and there was silence. She felt their eyes said everything else that needed to be said. She didn't pull back, challenging his every unspoken word.
Frollo's eyes briefly flicked to her lips before releasing her. "Get out."
Viviette didn't argue. She shot him another scowl before turning her back and storming out, slamming his door behind her. Her heart was violent, her face burning, and her palms clammy.
This feeling was pure hatred.