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
(France)
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” where the camera spins around Quasimodo while he’s on the spire yeah, they do that here except while the performer sings on a platform, two guys spin said platform around, it very silly and awkward.
