Hello my fellow readers!

Thank you to those who have reviewed, especially after the previous chapter.

Please, if you review (do review, I love getting feed back. No flames though, only constructive critisim please) REMEMBER to tell me if I should turn this story to a 'M' rated. I doubt there will be any more rape/forced kissing/sexual references after this chapter and maybe a little bit of reference when I do Gauston's chapter (who might not be for a while).

I'd like to explain a few things to you: I still can't get over Jafar's 'rape' with Jasmine. I almost talked myself into starting off the whole sex but...ugh, I'm fourteen. I can bearly read lemons, yet alone write one. I was disgusted with the whole forced-kissing scene. No, I'll leave writing lemons until I'm way older (if I ever do write one, that is). Maybe then, I can deal with it better.

About Jasmine/Jafar being immortal and all that, I very much doubt Jafar would remain faithful. As beautiful Jasmine is, I think Jafar would quickly get bored and somehow find various other beautiful little floozies to sleep with. It might make the whole 'Jasmine being immortal' twist pointless but now Jasmine can never die, she'll be trapped in the living world forever while Aladdin is stuck in the after-life. They'll never be together again. Never. Think of it as Jafar's way of getting back at those who defy him: they'll take away those they love so they'll never be able to reunite ever again. Harsh, worse than death even.

THANK YOU for reviews.

By popular demand, here's Frollo. I won't spoil any of it for you but I'll warn you: Frollo has a much, much, much bigger obsession over Esmeralda than Jafar did over Jasmine. Expect there to be more 'pervy-ness', for lack of better words. Again, no actual sexual scenes. I can't do those...ugh.

Hunchback Of Notre Dame is one of my favourite Disney films. It's less scary than Fantasia (I watched that film for the first time earlier this week, scary as Hell. I've watched Stephen King films at a younger age and LAUGHED at them. Fantasia creeps me out) but contains many dark films. Who can forget the masterpiece of Hellfire? Me and my friend sing it from time to time whenever something sinister pops up. The songs are amazing and Frollo is my favourite male villain (Gothel as my female, both tie as top favourite).

Ten points to the person who can spot the Macbeth quote!

That stupid, foolish, imbecilic hunchback!

How dare that deformed creature defy me? Me! I raised him and he dare go against my orders for the...fourth time? First he leaves the Bell Tower to go to that Feastival for Fools, secondly he saves that wicked gypsy girl, thirdly he leaves the Bell Tower for a second time and now...

And now he's standing upon Notre Dame herself, holding the witch above his head. Her hair is live a raven crown of darkness and sin haloing around her head. The cries of 'Santcuary' echo through the streets of Paris. She is under the protection of God, safe from those in purpose of harming her. She doesn't deserve that protection. That filth is influenced by Satan himself, filled from her crown to her toe-tip with direst cruelty. The Lord would never protect someone like her.

That gypsy, seductive and sensual, must burn.

"Captain!" I call. The Captain salutes. "Sieze the cathedral!"

I will get that gypsy girl.

I turn and walk down the steps to leave. If the fools can do their jobs right, they will capture the girl and bring her to me. Luckily enough, my pace was slow. If had been any faster I would have been crushed by the pillar of wood that fell from the cathedral and down onto my carriage. With a sickening crunch, the metal and wood collapsed and the horses whined in fight. I jump back, my hat falls from my head and the horses race away.

I sneer. "Come back you cowards!" I order to the soldiers who flee. I hurry up to the Captain and snatch away his sword. "You men," I call, pointing to the group of soldiers who had stood their ground. "Pick up that beam. Break down the door."

Disaster errupts around me. Somehow, the other captivated gypsies escape and combined with an angry mob, they ascend upon the few men left. Ladders with men scaling up the walls fall and collpase as various slabs of stone and brick fall onto their heads. "Harder!" I coaxed the soldiers ramming the door down. With a few more slams, the door beguins to falter. The wood cracks and splinters fly. Pidgeons, possibly influenced by the devil, dive down and chase away a few guards. "Put your backs into it!" I command.

A rushing sound comes from above me. I look up and feel immense heat. The men drop the beam and scatter while I back against the wall as a waterfall of hot liquid traps me against the wall. I sheild my watering eyes but I am untouched. I return to work, chopping away at the door with my sword. I make a hole big enough for me to clamber through. Finally! The inside of the catherdal is cooler than the outside and my flushed face is chilled my the cool air.

Don't stop, I tell myself. Keep going. Get to the girl...and the hunchback.

The archdecon approaches me from the twirled staircase. "Frollo! Have you gone mad?"

Maybe I have, but I don't , I sheath my sword under my robes and start to scale the staircase. The archdecon stands before me, his palm stretched to push me back. This fool stopped me from doing what I should have done twenty years ago. He will not interfere again.

"I will not tolerate this assault on the House of God!" He demands as I stride forward. Tolerate it you old bat. His palm pushes me back. I glare at him and grab him by the front of his robes and throw him down the stairs with adernaline strength.

"Silence you old fool!" I growl. I prowl up the staircase, turning around the twirl to see the wooden door. "The hunchback and I have unfiinished business to attend to and this time, you will not interfere."

I lock the door behind me, before turning to hurry up the stairs. Once I reach the outside of the cathedral, I hear...sobbing? Mascaline sobbing. Only one male was weak enough to cry.

I follow the sobbing into a room, pulling out the dagger that lurks under my robes. The hunchback was defied me too much. He has failed. He has no purpose to me. Why should he live?

Pushing open the door to the room from the sobbing source, I see Quasimodo hunched (pun intended) over the laying corpse of the Gypsy filth. So, she is dead. I don't know whether to be glad or disappointed. I didn't punish her but the scum has left the Earth to rot in Hell. Quasimodo does not turn as I approach. He can hear me; my boots echo when they collide with the wooden flooring. I place a palm over his hunch.

"You killed her." He hisses.

I decide to play the innocent slave of God. "It was my duty, horrible as it was. I hope you can forgive me."

Not that you will live long enough to.

"There, there Quasimodo. I know it hurts but now the time has come to end your suffering..."

I raise my dagger, aimed at the hunchback's hunch. He doesn't notice; he is too wrapped in the mourning of the witch to bother looking up. He kisses her hand and holds it against his cheek. Anger and jealously lurches my stomach and I clench my teeth.

"Forever!"

I plunge the dagger down into the hunch. Quasimodo gasps as blood sprouts from the wound like weeds from the ground. It's not enough to kill him. He falls back and grabs the closest thing to him: my robe. As his tunic beguins to soak in his own blood, he looks up at me with fearful, betrayful eyes. I grab his sinfully red hair and force his head back. Pressing the dagger against his beefy neck, I run it across deeply. He chokes, his lumbering hands grasping the wound as I push him to the floor. He gasps in for air only for the blood to cough up through his mouth. Rivers of scarlet run down his neck. He gurgles and drowns in his own blood. His struggle to breath lessens as the fear in his eyes fades away with his life. His arms falls backwards and hits the floor limply, into a pool of crimson blood. It trickles over his lips and down his face, his eyes sill wide and lifeless.

The hunchback of Notre Dame is dead.

I scrunched my nose at it before carefully making my way around the corpse and towards the bed. There she lay, the peaceful body of a sinful witch. Her raven hair is spread over the pillow, her emerald eyes hidden behind her dark lids. She's beautiful, even when dead. I reach out my hand and touch her dark locks. They're soft at the touch, even if knotted and scruffy. I grab a long lock and raising my bloodstained dagger, but it from her head. I raise it to my nose and inhale deeply. The same strong smell of grass and wine.

Stuffing the hair into my pocket, I turned to leave when the corpse of the gypsy groans. I freeze. Is the dead about to rise?

Her eyes flutter open and her lips form a single name: "Quasimodo."

I hide in the shadows, hidden behind the door. She screams as she sees the dead hunchback and moves to shake him. There's no mistake that he's dead; she doesn't try to wake him. She cries, her shaking fingers move to close his eyes. She forces the lids shut and cries mournfully. I remain hidden. It is a while before she gets up to leave. As she walks past the door, I sprung from my hiding place. I hold my dagger to her throat and use my other hand to pin her arm against her back. She gasps.

"Do not scream." I whisper into her ear. "Or you'll suffer the same fate as your friend."

She growls. "I'd rather die."

I pulled her back into the room and slam the door shut. Blood stains her dress and hands as she falls into the blood. I lock the door and pocket the key. She

She shall not escape.

"What have you done?" She cries.

"What I should have done a long time ago." I tell her. I grab her arm and pull her to her feet. She struggles as I pin her to the bed. She screams but I don't care; no one will hear her.

I force myself over her, pinning her to the bed. I wrap her ebony locks around my palms and tighten them into my fists. I pull her face towards me and kiss her roughly on the lips. She fights but she doesn't win. I have waited for that kiss for days. All the bottled-up lust flowed from me as my hands travelled lower down. She cried and screamed, trying to kick me off. I raised my palm and slapped her face. She whimpered. I led a trail of rough kisses down her kneck and over her collar bone, down to the hem of her dress. I clutched the straps and tugged hard; they snapped in my hands. I brushed down the fabric to reveal her ample bosom-

A hard fist caught my jaw. A metallic taste errupted in my mouth. I grunted but kept her pinned down. "You want to play it that way?" I taunted. "We'll play it that way."

I flip her over, she cried in pain as I twisted her arm into a wrong angle. One hand slips under her fabric and travells lower down again. My hand slides over her navel and lower to the beguinning of her thigh. She cries out, refusing to do as I wished. She tries to push me away.

Tired of her, I get off her. Her face is stained with tears. Brushing my hair back into place, I raise my foot and kick her hard in abdomen. She screeches and rolls onto the floor. I kick hed again, in the flank. Again, in the head. She hits her head hard agains the post of the bed and becomes unconscience. Sneering, I turn and darg Quasimodo's body to the door. I unlock it, drag it outside and over the balcony and into the firery pools below. Join your unholy mother, demon! Three gargoyles watch me with unhappy faces. I spit at them. I hate those ghastly things.

Returning to the room, the gypsy is crouched on the floor, holding her arm tightly. "I shall return in the morning with a cloth and water. You will clean this mess up." I order, pointing to the pool of blood on the floor.

The gypsy eyed me cautiously. "What do you mean?" She asked.

"I mean that you shall live in this room for the rest of your life." I told her.

Her eyes widened and she gasped. "You can't do that!" She cried.

I smirked. "I can. I am a public offical and a good Christian. Anything I say is offical. If I were to say that when I approached the hunchback and yourself and you both tossed yourselves down into the burning pits below and your bodies instantly burned to a crisp, they would believe me. No searching, no wondering, no evidence. You will be declared dead. Suicide."

The gypsy started to cry and again and flew herself at me. "You monster!" She screamed. I grabbed her arm, fought and threw her back into the puddle of blood. "It seems you need to be taught a lesson."

Grabbing one of the iron instruments by the wall, I raised it and brought it down heavily on her stomach. She screamed in pain. I smirked. I beated her mercilessly until she was swollen and covered in bruises. Tears made her eyes go bloodshot. Blood seemed from a cut lip and various scrapes around her arms. To finish, I rose my dagger again and cut a long, fine wound down her arm. She shrieked in agony. "You're mine." I growled.

I left that night and returned everyday and night. I fed her, clothed her and she would repay me for keeping her alive. She refused at first, kept trying to escape. She never got out. My hands roamed where they felt they wanted to roam. My lips did not leave one inch of her untouched. She kept crying, screaming for help. No one came. Instead, stories flew around of the ghost of the gypsy Esmeralda who haunted Notre Dame. They thought that any noise they heard was her, even if it wasn't her.

I kept a lock of her hair under my pillow at night and prayed for forgiveness. Each morning I would awaken a pure man and every time I returned home I would have been tainted with sin. My dreams became haunted by her sinful looks, those red lips. She would dance for me, kiss me and allow me to smell her raven locks of hair. Oh those raven locks...

She never seemed thankful. She even tried to starve herself until I forced grapes and cheese down her throat. After two years she gave up. She would lay there, not moving, and wouldn't look at me. I didn't complain but sometimes I would hold my blade to her until she started to treat me the same as I treated her.

I died peacefully years later but no one knew of Esmeralda still in her prison at Notre Dame. With no one to feed her, she slowely starved to death, free from her prison and enslavement to me. She recieved her punishment from me, beaten until she could not bare children and bled daily. I was buried with a strand of her raven hair unknowingly in the pocket of my robes. I had a part of her with me forever.

Even in Hell, where the heat was so intense, I still had that piece of hair. It made my eternal torture seem less...painful. I saw her in the flames. It made them look beautiful. Every little bit of it reminded me of her. Even though she wasn't with me, it made my Hell look like Heaven.

Ugh, I'm a monster.

First I raped Jasmine, now I've repeatedly raped Esmeralda.

Yes, Frollo died and was sent to Hell. It wasn't as if he was going to live forever and get a free ticket to Heaven. Instead, I made him happy for the rest of his life and sort of, in a twisted way, happy for the rest of his eternal life. Getting to finally 'do' Esmeralda was probably the only thing he wanted. Of course, I had to kill someone. Poor Esme, I might have liked her a little bit.

The last little bit about Frollo being happy for the rest of his life in Hell, the idea came from my boyfriend. In the middle of RE, he turned to me and asked:

"Would Hell be more of Heaven to a sadomachoist?"

Paradox.

Should I turn this story to an 'M'? No sex but...tell me what you think. Please, don't flame. It hurts my feelings when people be mean about my work. If you think it's terrible, don't go overboard and start swearing and stuff. Just say you don't like it and begone! I don't care if you don't like it but just don't be horribly cruel about it. I might seem like an insane psychopath but I have feelings!

Turns out I get sick around blood. It's ironic, I love seeing it in films and writing about blood but when I cut my toe open the other day, I was weak for the next week...strange.

Tune in for the next chapter, not sure who it's going to be. I think it's Shere Khan but I haven't got the Jungle Book yet so unless I catch the ending somewhere, he'll have to wait a little while.