Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunchback of Notre Dame. All characters, places, etc. belong to their respective creators.

She stares into the eyes of a soulless man, one who murders yet still considers himself a righteous steward of God. She's tied to the wooden stake, taut ropes digging into her upper arms. The white garments she wears are no doubt a hellish contrast to the scarlet flames about to ignite her.

He offers her his version of sanctuary, except it's nothing like the holy thing she encountered in the cathedral.

"The time has come, gypsy. You stand upon the brink of the abyss. Yet even now, it is not too late. I can save you from the flames of this world, and the next. Choose me, or the fire."

He grins, his white teeth a thin, physical mask for his blackened soul.

His eyes betray his lust, and it sickens her. Yet she can't pretend she isn't tempted. Her people, Phoebus—they stand locked in cages all around her. Perhaps if she gives herself up to Frollo, he will relinquish his hold on them and stop his obsessive rampage against the gypsies. And Quasimodo. She can't leave him to the mercy of Frollo. He will die at the hand of the person he has claimed loyalty to his whole life. He deserves a new life, a better life. One where he's finally free, and he doesn't have to stay in the bell tower, locked away forever.

But she can guarantee none of this for her friends. She doubts giving in to Frollo will quench the desire he has to snuff out the lives of every gypsy in Notre Dame. He wants them gone. Their deaths mean nothing to him. Somehow, she thinks he's missed the true nature of the God he claims to serve so fervently. Claude Frollo shows neither kindness nor mercy—not even to those he claims to love.

She remembers that he is the one responsible for burning down homes with innocent people in them, all because they dared to harbor gypsy filth. She remembers that he tried to kill Phoebus, his own loyal soldier, for stopping attempted murder. She remembers the many years he spent teaching Quasimodo the art of self—loathing, and then refusing to stop the cruelty of the peasants towards Quasi during the Festival of Fools. And he said a lesson must be taught. Well, I'll teach him one right back. He can't get everything he wants.

She remembers watching people—her people—slain in cold blood, with Frollo claiming they were witches who deserved to die as such. No, he will not be satisfied with her alone. He only wants to rid the world of the gypsy vermin. And she doesn't doubt he'll eventually kill her, too. She's seen it before—hate triumphs over lust, sooner or later.

She hates the thought of what will happen to her friends, but she will have to trust that they can protect themselves against Frollo's wrath. Maybe God is the only one who can help them now.

As he stares into her eyes, desire bleeding from his lids, she knows she can't give him the satisfaction he wants. She spits in his face, determined to conceal her apprehension over what's to come. She hopes to meet a God unlike Frollo, but who can know for sure?

He glares at her, enraged by her defiance. He's furious that she would rather die than be with him, the sovereign judge of Notre Dame. She knows he'll kill her. There will be no offer of sanctuary this time.

But even now as he raises the torch and addresses the people, she decides she'd rather be an outcast than a living demon.