Frollo Flies Kite
Fan-fiction by Me (Jess of the Hunchblog of Notre Dame)

Chapter 3

 Frollo took the kite to his cell and gently set it down in the corner The corner once the darkest part of his cell but with kite there the once dark corner was a illuminated. He took in the beauty of the kite, its elegant slender frame, its golden cloth, its delicate string that enable it to touch heaven, to dance in the sky with so much grace that to stare was a sin. As Frollo caressed the kite he can the unpleasant realization that the beautiful kite that had tormented him in his dream and during his waking hours would never accept his love  for as lovely as it was it couldn’t speak. All at once he felt the weight of heaven crush him against the gates of hell. He collapsed to the floor in the shadow of the kite and he wept like a child. He remained in that position, lying on the cold stone floor, in the water, in the dankness for several days.

He eventually lifted his head weakly and looked at the kite though eyes blurred his tear and misery. All he could perceive of the kite was its pure golden tone. It was then that an idea bear fruit his tormented mind, he would use the power of alchemy to give his beloved kite a soul so that he could realize his passion and the kite would be his, body and soul.

The priest spent the next several days reading every available source at his disposal, trying any experiment that may work but all were follies, the kite remained  lifeless. Frollo felt even more hopeless, more lost, more defeated, His former lover, science, had refuse to save from his mad obsession to realize his love foe the kite and once again he sank to the floor and drowned himself once again in his own tears. As he wept he heard the vesper bells ring and this called into his mind he other former love, religion. The mere thought of his former purity and devotion caused him to bang his head against the floor. He felt that the gentle hand of the virgin had leaf him and the peaceful gaze of god had turned away, that religion had forsaken him and science had failed him. All that was left for him was the beautiful and lifeless kite.

He felt his love for the kite was more terrible, more empty, more painful than the love he had harbored for the gypsy girl but the sight of that golden kite drifting so close to heaven was too beautiful for his soul to bear. The flames of passion consumed his once pure soul and left only profanity. He must have that kite! To hold it, to speak to it, to know it, to feel in the night against his form and to know that the radiant kite in turn felt his form against it’s frame.

With all the rage and frustration in his soul he prayed, not to the pure limpid one but to the dark fiery one. The soul no longer held any concern, he needed the kite more than paradise. It was at the end of the dark prayer that he priest fell over again to the floor and feel into a comatose state. He remained in that state for many days and nights.

In his comatose state dreamt chaotic nightmares of hell itself. He felt the pain and agony of his decision to forego the hope of heaven. As his dreams continued they revealed a dark and terrible spell that could breed life into objects. When he awoken, his head was on fire and without a moment’s hesitation he prepared the spell. He recalled ingredient, every step and within a few hours he was ready. They items while not uncommon were the stuff of horror; a raven’s feather, a jar of the laughter of a nun, an apple core, a piece of stale bread, a bit of lint, and the a stolen lollipop from a newborn babe.

He madly set the kite among the horrors, like lamb for the slaughter. He performed the spell, chanting every evil note with perfect precision and even more passion. When the priest had finished he gazed at the fair kite to see if the spell had been successful, if it now had life dwelling within its golden cloth and its slender frame. But much to the mad monk’s dismay no life stir within it.

In his despair he turned away from the lovely one so that the might curse hell itself. As he turned he heard the tiniest noise from the table of evil. He spun back around only to see that the once still kite was moving freely and was made complete with beautiful, smoldering amber eyes and a beautiful perfectly formed mouth. Frollo sank to his knees in the shadow of the hovering beauty. After a few moment of being captivated by the enchanted Kite Frollo proclaimed “ I love Thee.”

He waited with baited breath for the Kite to utter its first words. Frollo hoped with every fiber of his being that these words would the words of love.

After several moments the Kite parted its perfect lips and said “ I’m Sorry, I just like you as a friend” and with that the Kite flew out the window of the cell.

Frollo rage grew to point of insanity, he had to have the Kite, it was his, he created it, and no earthy power would stop his love not even the will of the Kite itself. Frollo made a mad lung to grab the Kite’s now useless string but in his madness he miscalculated the distance between the edge of the cathedral and the Kite. He fell out the window and met his end upon the ground.

Epilogue

 As Frollo used the dark arts to give the Kite life he went to hell. As he entered the gates of hell he saw a sea of bright colored lights and people dancing sensually against each other while drinking color drinks of numerous shade, some  even had a curious tiny umbrella in them. It was upon looking into the very face of hell Frollo realized that his wasn’t  so bad and he spent eternity dancing and drinking Mai Tais.

As for the Kite, it become a model and was painted but Europe’s finest artists and became the standard for Kite beauty throughout the world.

 The End

Frollo Flies Kite
Fan-fiction by Me (Jess of the Hunchblog of Notre Dame)

 Chapter 2

 One day in early summer, Frollo came to the clearing to watch the subject of his desire fly. On this day he saw that the young  couple was now a trio, that worthless Captain of the King’s Archers, Phoebus de Chateaupers was flying his beloved kite. The captain was reckless as he flew the kite. He showed no regard for that delicate string which supported the beauty of the sweet kite which supported its grace and add to its beauty. Overcome with rage, jealousy and lust, Frollo withdrew to Notre Dame. Once there he shut himself away deep within his cell, consume by his torment. Seeing his beloved kite in the hands of that odious man played in his brain. He beat his head against the floor but the image lingered. He felt that his fate was tied in the delicate strings of the kite. Frollo knew that while his love was in the clutches of the poet and the dancer that this horror of that captain flying his kite would repeat and as dawn broke through the heavens

Frollo knew what he must do to ensure that no one else would ever touch the kite again except him. He collected himself off the floor and rushed up to bell tower. He found his ever loyal bell-ringer Quasimodo lovely caressing the bells. Frollo signed to the deaf deformed bell-ringer to follow him and without a moment’s hesitation Quasimodo followed his master.

Frollo lead Quasimodo to a place where he knew the gypsy and the poet would pass with kite on their way to the clearing. After a few hours of waiting in readiness La Esmeralda and Gringoire came into to view carrying the charming kite. Frollo made a sign to Quasimodo and in accordance with his master’s wishes he made a swipe at the poet and picked up the dancer. The kite fell to the ground in the struggle. Frollo seeing the kite hit the ground mustered all his swiftness and made a grab at it and ordered Quasimodo to release the dancer and follow him. Quasimodo complied but was confused by what had transpired as were Esmeralda and Gringoire. Frollo and Quasimodo fled the scene with kite in toe while dancer and the poet went off to buy a new kite.

preface – The fan-fiction was created at the request/bribe of friend. I’m posting this in 3 parts to avoid a wall of text and I’ll linked them together after they’ve all been released. Story was more or less written in the style of Victor Hugo (or so I tried), and it’s meant to satirical and silly-ish.

Frollo Flies  Kite
Fan-fiction by Me (Jess of the Hunchblog of Notre Dame)

Chapter 1

 Frollo leaned over the edge of the window of his cell high in the tower of Notre Dame. He waited for a few minutes, ever impatient, ever filled with desire to see the young gypsy dancer, La Esmeralda enter the square below. Finally she entered and performed her dance which exposed her super-natural beauty. The Priest watched and his lust intensified. He places his hand upon his cheek and drank her in with his eyes and become bewitched and entranced by the fluid and sensual movements of this girl of singular beauty and sweetness.

His trance was shattered when she abruptly stopped her reverie as her nominal husband Pierre Gringoire the poet, whispered into her ear and like a flash of lighting piercing the heavens, the two were gone. Filled with confusion and jealousy the priest pursued them. He followed them through the small winding streets of Paris till he come to a wide clearing with the most greenest grass framed by the azure sky. At the center most point of the clearing stood La Esmeralda with Gringoire. In her soft brown hands she held a string that connected to the most beautiful kite  that was the color of the purest gold.

At once Frollo felt  the ground turn to ice and froze up to his knee  and held in place as his body froze his head burned. He was entranced by the kite’s graceful dance as it wafted in the breeze against the sky as if it was an angel hovering over the earth to offering blessings. The priest was consumed by the singular beauty of this immortal kite.

The spell was broken when La Esmeralda reeled the kite in back to the earth. Frollo looked at the young girl against the kite and realized that while she was young and beautiful her beauty paled in comparison the lovely kite. As Frollo come to this realization the two were gone and with them the fair kite.  The priest resolved that the kite must be his and from then on he followed the kite, around corners, in alleys and under stairs. Everyday he watched the young couple flying the resplendent kite. It came to be that watching them fly the kite was what he lived for. But after weeks of watching Frollo yearned to hold the strings, to be in control of that beauty, to wield power over the fair golden kite but he didn’t dare, the kite was far too lovely to approach to even gaze was to burn to the core of his soul.