The Servant of Judge Frollo

Broken Heart

  (Here it is, the final chapter, a little short I know. Please tell if you want another FrolloxHealia ship and if you do, I'll get right on it. I loved writing it and I hope you all loved the story too!)

Frollo never got over her death, from then on he dreamt about her and saw her everywhere he went. He never let anybody else touch her book and many found him muttering her name during the day and sometimes he awoke to find himself screaming her name until he was hoarse. Many thought he had gone mad, but he was perfectly sane. Just heartbroken like never before. He had murdered the woman he loved more than life itself. And his frightful sin slowly sucked out the life from him. Esmeralda meanwhile had spent a long sorry week grieving and decided to do what her sister would have wanted. She married Phoebus and settled down with him, still a feisty, dancing gypsy but never forgetting that her sister had given her life to save hers, which is why she would not waste it. Frollo on the other hand, fared much worse. Now that the public knew about his relationship with a gypsy, rumors spread like wildfire behind his back about what a hypocrite he was and nasty things of that sort. His pristine image tainted with gossip he was forever humiliated in public. But did he care? No, he cared about nothing anymore. Frollo knew he'd done wrong but throughout the years he'd managed to build a dam against the guilt, keeping it away. But her death had broken the dam and now it flowed like a river though him, drowning him in grief and sorrow. Frollo slowly wasted away without her and he when he was about to die, deaf and blind, he could only see her smile and golden eyes filled with innocence and hear her laughing and her gentle voice teasing him. Sometimes it was the little girl, staring up at him with a mix of adoration and awe. Other times it was the woman he'd caught reading or sitting in the dungeon, treating him kindly and honestly with a lovely smile decorating her lips. And a great many times, it was the tearstained angel with flames eating at her nightdress and eyes alive with terror. But no matter the form, it was worse than painful. He found himself wishing to go back in time, back to that one moment, if he had a chance he would rewind to before her death and then, he certainly would have held the torch instead of drop it. And when he died he'd held her book close to his heart, the heart she'd broken when she'd become an angel.

                                                                                       The end