The Hells of Notre Dame: A Steamy Sapphic Retelling (The Phantom of Notre Dame Book 1) by R. L. Davennor

Author:R. L. Davennor [Davennor, R. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Night Muse Press
Published: 2023-03-27T21:00:00+00:00

XII. the belltower

Esmeralda

Maman hated flowers, but I picked her some anyway.

The only ones growing nearby were half-wilted roses. I pricked myself on thorns more times than I could count while gathering them but finally had a sizable bouquet to leave on her grave. “I’m sorry this is all I have,” I said, tracing her name with my fingertips as I settled myself on the bed of grass next to her. “If I could risk going into town, I’d have brought you some of your favorite tarts.”

A breeze drifted by, blowing a few stray hairs into my face, and a scoff escaped my lips. “Don’t tell me you’re surprised to hear that I’m in trouble again. I learned from the best, didn’t I?”

Maman fell silent after that—or perhaps she’d never been talking to me at all. Either way, she at least listened while I poured my heart and soul out to her. I told her of Papa and Jules, particularly how happy my sibling had been lately, mostly thanks to Antoine. I told her of my performances as The Embermage, of how well they’d been going, and how I’d been saving for Papa’s future. He had served our community faithfully and still had a good many years left in him, but he wouldn’t be young forever, and I wanted him to retire peacefully and without worry.

Lastly… I told her of Claude, and I told her everything. From my original intent to seduce and use them, to our first night together, to how I’d fled to her side following my encounter with Phoebus and how Claude had taken care of me that night. I recounted her rules, their sternness… but also her tenderness, protectiveness, and devotion to her son and God.

“And Notre Dame itself… Maman, it’s gorgeous, and unlike anything I’ve ever seen.” I sat up straighter as imagery flooded my mind’s eye. “The architecture, the stained glass, the view from Claude’s window. I can see nearly all of Paris, you know, but I bet I could see even more from the belltower. Quasimodo promised to show me the bells, and he told me their names. The bells have names! Can you believe it?”

Only when tightness in my lungs forced me to take a breath did I realize how fast I’d been talking. My heart rate had accelerated, too, with excitement being the only explanation given that I remained sitting on the ground. I brought a hand to my chest and placed it where I could feel my fluttering pulse; had speaking of Notre Dame done that to me?

Not the cathedral, my inner voice chastised. Her.

Claude.

Heat crept to my cheeks the moment my thoughts returned to them, telling me all I needed to know, but I fought the emotions regardless. What in God’s name were we doing? Or rather—what was I doing? I could have stopped them. I could have told her no. But I’d asked for it, time and time again: their attention, their comfort, their touch… All things which, given enough time, morphed into something else.

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