1462, Paris, Kingdom of France

The cold night air settled on the icy waters of the Seine, only to be broken by the lapping waves of a small rowboat. Upon the double benched seats sat four adults, three looking upon the stony barriers with a hint of fear; the fourth rowing ahead until the fog parted to reveal a set of moss covered steps, the air smelling of mildew and pollution. Those three people were all gypsies, fleeing the destruction that held their home to the east. A man, his wife, and their son, as well as a small bundle that was tucked tight in sheeps wool, being only six months old.

A sharp wail sounded from the blankets, breaking the silence of the winter night, its hand reaching up to her mother. The woman clutched her tight to her bosom and rocked the child as the son placed a hand on his mother's shoulder from the back seat of the small boat. "Keep her silent!" He whispered through clenched teeth.

The ferryman also voiced his opinion, albeit more harshly. "That creature will get us killed!"

The mother wished to speak her mind but knew that now was hardly the time. She shivered and looked into her child's eyes. "Hush my little Daniela, hush!" She pleaded to the infant. Surprisingly, the girl fell silent in a matter of seconds, much to the delight of the other passengers. The fog cleared once more to reveal the powdered ground, a thin dusting of snow surrounding the docks. The rowboat ground to a halt as the ferryman got out, planting his covered feet upon the icy ground with the oar raised. "Forty gold for safe passage to Paris." He held his hand out expectantly.

The father got out of the boat, helping his wife from the small vessel with the baby in hand, the son removed a small sack of gold coin from his cloak pocket, and dropped it into the older man's hand.

A sharp whistle sliced through the air as an arrow cut through the cheesecloth, spilling the coins into the ferryman's bare hand, a few of the gold pieces clattering to the snowy ground, the clinking noise echoing on the dock. Through the fog appeared a wall of guards clad in iron suits, leather, and hats that reminded one of tea saucers. "It's a trap!" The brothers eyes opened wide and he turned to run from the guards only for a gray horse to appear right where the young man ran.

The father turned, his eyes opened wide as he held tight to his wife, his son's efforts to run stunted by a new, far more dangerous threat than the spears the guards were now holding up to their chests.

"Judge Claudia Frollo." He breathed in the cold night air, the imposing figure looking down at the young man in front of her horse with silent disdain, as if he were no more than a fly buzzing around her head.

Claudia Frollo had been the justice Paris had once lacked, but was hardly just in any of her pursuits. Her facial features were high and pinched, old age creeping in on the woman like a slowly growing ivy. Her eyes were grey; cold and empty. Tonight, like all other nights, she was dressed in her black robes, a triangular hat with purple and black stripes running vertically on the sides, a long red ribbon falling to her lower back. Her white skin and pursed lips indicated her feelings of gypsies for a woman more pious than most commoners.

"Take these vermin to the Palace of Justice." She said coldly as the guards grabbed the fathers arm and ripped him from his wife, iron manacles being slapped onto his thick wrists that weighed them down enough so he could not fight. The man was led up the steps with the ferryman, tears forming in the woman's eyes as she held the bundle of blankets tight to her chest. The baby started to squirm and wriggle as the brother backed away from the horse, placing one arm protectively around his mother.

Both of them backed away from the guards, the freezing water lapping at their heels as two of the guards cornered them, throwing the young man off his mother and into the snow, the man coughing as the wind was knocked out of him. "You there!" The guard made a grab for the bundle. "What are you hiding?" But the mother swung to the side to stop him as the other guard grabbed her arm and pinned it, only for her to rip herself free, the violet cloak tearing from her shoulders.

"Stolen goods, no doubt." Frollo narrowed her eyes in confidence of her guess as the guard grabbed her arm once again, the brother only just managing a crouched position. "Take them from her." She continued darkly as the young man sprung up to the guard that held his mother and gave him a harsh shove, landing the guard in the frigid river.

"Run!" Was all he could shout before the guards clobbered him, a loud snap echoing on the walls of the stone docks. His mother heeded the advice.

The gypsy dashed through the snow, her daughter in hand as the galloping of the judges horse sounded behind her. She ran under the bridge that the boat had passed under not ten minutes ago, the horse quickly gaining until she reached the steps that led to the raised sidewalk, the narrow walkway just big enough for the horse to pursue. The judge continued to gain on the mother, the latter closing her eyes as her lungs burned from overuse. But right as she feld those bony fingers on her back, a sharp clunk sounded as Frollo's head smacked into a sandwich board sign, and a series of similar sounds occurring as the woman gained ground.

She reached a fence between the baker and the grocers, the horse crashing into an unused cart in front of said grocers and stopping her, giving the mother an inch of time to jump over the fence where a large horse could not follow. She had been to Paris only once before, and knew where she had to go.

Sprinting across the icy stepping stones to the large gray building that was Notre Dame Cathedral, the woman reached a set of the tall wooden doors and begin to bang into it with her free hand, the other still clutching her daughter. "Sanctuary! Please, give us sanctuary!" The raven haired woman shouted at the top of her lungs as Frollo caught up to her, the mother gazing in fear and trying again to run away, but to no avail this time. Her luck had run out.

Judge Frollo reached for the bundle of blankets that held little Daniela and began to tug, the sheep's wool blanket stretching as the mother refused to let go of her child. Claudia Frollo flashed her eyes at the woman and took her boot from the stirrup. She poised it, and threw her foot down hard onto the gypsies chest, forcing her to release her grip.

The force threw the woman downward, landing hard on the stone steps, her eyes rolling back into her head as a cracking sounded on the steps, a dark scarlet patch growing around her head and turning the white snow red as the roses grown in Versailles garden. But the judge didn't care about that.

Instead, Claudia Frollo unraveled the blankets as they started to release a sharp wail. "A baby?" She mumbled under her breath and began to unwrap the soft wool to reveal the orphaned child. But when she did, she fought back the urge to cringe. The baby was deformed, hideous. There was only one explanation. "A monster!" She gasped and tucked the ugly baby close, as if exposing it to moonlight would make grow ten times its size and throttle the judge. Her darkened gaze searched for a way to dispose of the demon, desperate to rid herself of it before it did something wicked and unholy to her.

Her eyes settled to the well, but twenty feet to her right. She saw the opportunity before her, and grasped the blankets by the edge, riding the horse to the stony rim. The well was infinitely deep; and therefore fitting for sending a demon back to hell. It would sink like a stone. But right as the judge was beginning to loosen her bony fingers from the cloth that held the infant, a booming voice sounded behind her.

"Stop!" The elderly church deacon shouted from the steps, his hand out in an authoritative way.

The archdeacon of Notre Dame was a large man, short but stout. His gray hair creeped to his forehead, which was covered by a burgundy cloak. His golden cross necklace swung from side to side as he stooped down to examine the gypsy woman, his grey eyes growing round at the sight of the scarlet blotches in the pure, white snow. He clutched the mother in his arms and looked from the judge to the woman, and realized what had unfolded in a matter of seconds.

"This," Claudia motioned to the bundle. "Is an unholy demon. I'm sending it back to hell; where it belongs." She replied, her voice empty and unfeeling.

"See here, Frollo! This innocent blood you have spilled on the steps of the house of God!" He exclaimed with shock, the dead woman in his arms, her large eyes closed.

The judge rode away from the well, the baby still held in a precarious position as she went to face the archdeacon. "I am guiltless. She ran, I pursued." She denied her crime in a way that made the archdeacon tear up with anger.

"And you would add this child's blood to your guilt in clear view of God?!" He cried and stood up, lifting the dead gypsies body with him.

"My conscience is clear!" She asserted, but this only angered the pious man further.

"You can lie to yourself and your minions. You can claim that you have no qualms, but you'll never be able to hide what you've done from the eyes!" The archdeacon pointed to the cathedral, the numerous statues looking out at Paris and the square.

For a moment, Claudia Frollo looked into the eyes of those statues, and felt sick. "The eyes of Notre Dame!" The man exclaimed, his eyes angered and confident. Frollo saw with the flashes of light, the eyes of the Virgin Maria, and wise men, the twelve disciples, every one of them seemed to be looking upon her with scrutiny. If this was the torment she would face now, what would happen to her immortal soul?

This was a vice she had to right.

"What must I do?" She asked breathlessly to the man below her, refusing to lower her gaze from the judgmental eyes that were watching her, waiting for her to make a decision that could save her soul from hell.

"Care for the child. Raise it as your own." The archdeacon looked plainly at Frollo and held the body of the mother in his arms, obviously going to bury her.

"What?" The judge snapped at the pious man, unsure if she had heard him correctly. There had to be another option. She was of no right to raise a child, much less something so hideous. "I am to be settled with this misshapen-" Her voice cracked as the eyes to the statues became illuminated once more, warning her to watch what she said. "Very well. Let her live with you, in the church." Frollo ordered.

At this the archdeacon stopped. "In the church? Where?"

"Anywhere." The judge looked at the Gothic cathedral before her, the numerous options as to where this demon would fit in shrinking rapidly with each second. "Just so she's kept locked away where no one else can see." Her eyes moved up the religious structure, to the highest point. "In the bell towers, perhaps. And who knows," She paused and unraveled the blanket to gaze upon the baby as the archdeacon gave her a curt nod and walked away to bury the mother.

"Even one day; this foul creature may prove to be…" She paused. "Of use to me." She smiled wicked at the baby, knowing she had made the correct choice.

"And Judge Frollo gave the girl a cruel name," Celestine said slyly to the Parisian children drawn into her little puppet show. "And whether or not it was from the date; Quasimodo Sunday, or the meaning of half-formed, it still remains:" The young woman paused to straighten her hat, which was tipping to the side. "Qausimoda." She finished as the street children gasped and one or two shuddered.

"No one has ever seen her; she may be but a legend. But eh, what else could ring the bells of Notre Dame?" She asked rhetorically, to which three of the children answered; much to her annoyance.

Celestine, or as the other gypsies knew her as; Clopine, owned a small wagon in which she performed marionette and puppet shows for the children who could afford to pay. The meager earnings she did make that wasn't illegally confiscated by guards kept a loaf of sourdough bread on the table and if she was lucky, maybe a glass of ale.

She enjoyed puppetry, but it didn't pay too well.

The colorful covered wagon stood like a neon target in the bland streets of Paris, the shade of the overcrowded buildings keeping her cool in the sweltering summers, and the heat from the hearths kept her warm in the winters. She had raven black hair that grew long to her lower back, a slight wave pushing it out into a slight bush, small wisps coming out here and there under her performing hat; which may as well have been just a hat because she performed so often. It, like the rest of her life, was worn and colorful, the shade being a sharp navy blue with a golden yellow feather plume popping out of the brim like a streak of wheat. Her everyday clothes were reminiscent of a jokers outfit from the court of a long forgotten king. The colors gold, blue and purple in crazy geometric patterns on her tunic and breeches. Decorative bangles and bells hung on the ends and seams like that of a reindeer's harness, but made not a sound. Her shoes blue boots that folded in thick rings around her ankles. Black leather gloves encroached her small hands, like an extra cover aside from the hand puppets.

"Alright, alright. Now go on home and get ready for the festival, kids!" She said after five minutes of proposed theories as to what lived in the bell tower. She had to get ready herself, the gypsy being the hostess of the Feast of Fools for the day. After the kids dispersed, she picked up the jug of coins and poured it out, counting out how much the kids had given. She sighed. "Hm. A light week." Clopine shrugged before pulling the shutter down, the light filtering in through the cloth roof in small colorful patches from the patches of cloth. She stood up, and opened the trunk she normally sat on, and begin raffling through the numerous outfits she owned, most of it being small costume pieces; masks, feather flumes, hats, and more. She found what she was looking for, a purple Venetian Carnival mask with almond eyes, and a long nose.

"Perfect." She smiled and tucked the party mask on.