Author's Note/Summary. First off…let me start by saying I had no idea this pairing was a 'thing', but a relative of mine just passed away, who was Catholic, and she also acted as my beta for all of my Notre Dame stories on here, claiming it was one of her favorite pieces, and she had mentioned in passing that she thought it would be wonderful if I would do a Quasi/Belle pairing, given she had made a cameo in the Disney movie that I somehow missed.

I was skeptical at first, and at times without her by my side for notes and things to review, I feel…lost, hurt, and confused and I feel bad for abandoning my other story for the fandom, 'Into the Sunlight,' knowing full well I have to edit it and make changes, when I'm not even done with the 'Heaven's Light' for the Notre Dame fandom (though I'm close, but I find working on multiple projects works best for me, because then when I get stuck on one, I can move to the next one), but she had expressed interest in reading this piece, someday more so than the other one, so I feel like I have to post it to honor her wishes and hope that wherever she may be, she can somehow read this. Or know that I'm writing it.

I'd still like to re-post Sunlight again, one day, after a long hiatus once I've had a chance to look that over. But this piece is an attempt to honor her memory, and for that I feel like I have to try. I do not know yet how far I will get given I'm still struggling to process my emotions through this difficult time, but to honor my family member, I feel like I owe it to her to try* to finish this, given I've had it written for like, 5 years, and just never posted it, so please be patient, but I'll try to upload at least one chapter a week. I have the first 10 chapters or so written out, so we'll see how this goes.

Again, I've never written this pairing before, I have no idea how this works, totally new territory. It might suck, it might not, but is a good coping strategy for now to work through my feelings and deal with the loss. Feel free to leave a review, tell me what works, what does not, etc.

Summary: Belle escapes an abusive marriage to Gaston, taking refuge within Notre Dame, where she meets the elusive and mysterious bell ringer of the cathedral, of whom she has heard many stories. She forms a forbidden attachment to the man, but also attracts the attention of the Minister of Justice, Claude Frollo during her stay within the cathedral's sanctuary, inside these stone walls...

PROLOGUE

It was raining harder than usual. The rain of Paris brought a richness to each hue, the browns deepening in a way that soothed Belle's heart and brought a strange steadiness to her fractured soul. The grass became glossy, reflecting the light, a bright new shine to their strands, softly waving in the breeze of the chilly bitter fall Paris air.

Winter would soon be upon them, and the little village that lay at the edge of the woods just on the outskirts of the heart of the City of Lovers would soon suffer for it.

The rain came, oblivious to the life it gave, washing the world, quenching the soil and the life who depended upon it. In either warmth or coldness, sunlight, or moonlight, it mattered not. The rain came, humble to its role, and the fair-skinned brunette beauty tilted her head to the sky and watched.

Belle could not quite believe that she had managed to escape under the cover of nightfall. Belle glanced down at the simple yellow gold wedding ring she wore on her left hand and scowled, knitting her dark brows together in hatred.

Though the ring itself was really quite beautiful, it signaled a union which she had never wanted, and only had agreed to in order to save her father from certain death.

As much as Belle liked to think that she and Maurice could get by on their own, the simple fact of the matter remained that they could not, and, for better or worse, she had accepted Gaston's proposal.

Gaston's lack of eye contact ought to have warned Belle as to the distinguished war veteran's true nature. For it was not natural to avert your gaze from one whom you claimed to love. Belle knew this.

The young brunette heaved a heavy sigh as the priest's footfalls rounded the corner, and she smiled as she recognized one of the heads of the church coughing once to clear his throat as he settled into the other side of the confessional, the screen separating the two of them.

"Are you there, Father?" she whispered, painfully twisting her fingers together, feeling her nails dig into the skin of her palm.

"Of course, my child. I understand that you have requested I bring a quill and parchment. I gathered by the nature of your request, we are bound to sit in this booth for quite some time, dear. But whatever on earth for, child?" he asked, concern laced throughout his warbling and somewhat ancient voice. "Are you well?"

The Archdeacon of Josas, Belle had come to learn during the two weeks of her stay within these walls, was a kind and gentle soul, and she was afraid that one day the man's unwavering kindness would undoubtedly be his downfall. "Do you require any assistance whilst you are here, dear?"

Belle shook her head, though she knew that the man could not see it. "F—Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Egregiously," she added with emphasis, and she bit her bottom lip as she heard a noise. It sounded as though the Archdeacon were stifling a laugh, if she knew him well enough, and by this point during her time in Paris, Belle liked to think that she knew the elderly man quite well.

Just like her Papa. At the thought of Maurice back home, suffering under Gaston's wrathful, watchful eye, she cringed as her heart gave a painful lurch. Ah, but gods, the reality of her situation was but too much.

"I should have come to you sooner. I realize that now," Belle began again hesitantly, resting her hands uncertainly in her lap, fidgeting with the skirts of her dark blue velvet gown, and deciding that wasn't enough, reached upwards and toyed with a strand of her brown hair. "It has been three weeks since my last confession. I should have come to you sooner, Your Grace. I realize that now, but I…I didn't, and now, I am not the only one who must pay the price for my failure to act. Were it not so…"

"Yes?" The Archdeacon prompted kindly.

Belle stared absently at a spot on the confessional, wishing that she could at least look out a window. It would make her words come more naturally, instead she was trapped inside this box. "I—I cannot live this way anymore, Father. With…with my…husband," she whispered, her gaze drifting down towards the ring she wore on her left hand.

She blinked back briny tears and swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. "To be forced into a union that I never asked for in the first place should be criminal, and now…"

You're in love with a man who is not your husband, of whom society would never approve, her conscience finished for her, though Belle did not dare voice that particular thought, less the church look down in disapproval upon the young woman for her actions, though they were actions of passion, of her heart. She steeled herself, coughing once to clear her throat, and continued.

"There has to be another way, Your Grace, for were I to return home, he would kill me, or my Papa, and I cannot allow that to happen. I—I should kill myself if my husband comes for me." Belle scowled as she heard the old man let out an audible gasp of surprise from the other side of the confessional. "Do not give me that look, I can hear you," she sighed, pursing her lips into a thin line, and folding her arms across her chest in agitation.

"Why would you even consider this an alternative?" the Archdeacon spluttered indignantly. "Th—there are other ways. You have not lost your claim to sanctuary here. Your husband cannot revoke it."

Belle nodded, and then remembered the man could not see her. "I—I know," she whispered, sticking out her bottom lip in a slight pout and furrowing her delicately shaped brows into a frown. "Forgive me, Father, but I do not see another way if he comes for me. Once Gaston finds out what I've done…he gave me a ring and I gave him my word, and I've broken that promise to my husband, Your Grace. Gaston will be furious. I do not even know if he will…if he would take me back, but he's coming for me, Father."

She cringed and clenched her eyes shut, though the movement did her no good, for visions of her husband's furious face swam in the front of her vision, refusing to part from her thoughts.

"You are safe here. He cannot touch you as long as you remain within the church walls," came the Archdeacon's kind voice, a note of hope laced throughout, hoping to ease the burden Belle carried upon her shoulders. "Might I inquire as to whom this mysterious person is?" he asked, though he chuckled.

Belle smiled in spite of the tremendous guilt she felt. "I want him to have the best life, even if I can't be a part of it, even though it sounds like a dream that's too good to be true, but I was never destined to have a good life, Your Grace. I know. A life without someone to love is no life worth living, I can see it in your eyes, Father, but what else am I to do? He cannot be with me, no matter how much we want it. You know it's funny, I'd always dreamed of finding my own Prince Charming, just like in the fairy tales in the books that I read, but I never thought my life would come to this. My Prince Charming is a kind, handsome, sweet man with a few…deformities, but I don't see any of that when I look at him. I know others do, though, and it breaks my heart that's all they can focus on is his deformities and his red hair. They can't see the sweet, kind, gentle soul that he really is. Of princes, there are few, of men with crowns taken by force there are many. I call your bell ringer a prince, though he does not see himself as such, was put on this earth to be a light in the darkness, though to shine amid such terror is his own personal hell for him, to me, he is perfect. I would have followed him anywhere in this world or other, hardship or fair sailing."

The only sound that could be heard was the scratching of his quill.

Belle continued. "It's now my duty as the woman he loves to keep his flame alive when the storms come, to ward off those consumed with jealous pride or hatred over his condition and what he is. To give my life for him in every mortal realm is the only honor I seek, to be the one who protects him when the darkness comes, like it is about to now. Gaston is going to be here any minute, I just know it. So, do you, and after that…I don't know if I can protect him anymore. But I'm going to die trying, Father, I swear it. Perhaps one day, there will be a place of safety, an Eden, a place of rest and joy where he and I can live our lives together in comfort, knowing we are safe. I can only pray for it, Father. Your cathedral's bell ringer…there's something about him that I love. He can see right through and pull forth the goodness in my heart; show me what matters and what to let go. When I first met him, all my doubts were the thing I let free. I couldn't believe it when I did. And I love him so very much for that. Growing up, as a child, my Papa would read me stories, full of fanciful touches like magic, handsome princes in disguise, a witch or wizard to help the hero in need, a damsel in distress that needs rescuing...you get the idea. But lately, I've discovered a lot of fairy tales are not for the children, but for the parents. A story of what parental neglect and emotional indifference does to a young child, leading the children into a dark place and robbing them of even the most meager trail home… the route to love and emotional safety, trust, self-esteem. Some stories are for the children, but some are really for the parents, the adults of this world. Including me."

Belle paused to catch her breath, and heard the Archdeacon let out an amused little sigh.

"What's your story, my child? You have been with us but only two weeks, and save for one," here he chuckled, and the young woman knew he was thinking of the church's bell ringer, "we know very little about you."

Belle blinked, not having anticipated the question. "My story was never meant to be a fairy tale, as much as I might wish for one. Papa chastises me for losing myself in my books, but it's the only escape I get from my hellish life. I was never meant to experience happiness or joy. My life was doomed from the moment I met my husband in the marketplace. Forced into a life of ridicule, I have no choice but to obey the commands given to me. There's only one way out if I want out of this marriage for good. Death. I've never been afraid of monsters and isn't that ironic. And yet…I do believe monsters exist. You, see, I knew a monster once. I might have even loved him once. Gaston is my monster to fight, no one else's. You cannot help me with this, Quasi can't help me, and nor can Phoebus. Oh, I know wives are meant to love their husbands, but how can I? After the things he's done to me, the things he's said to shatter my confidence and my soul. The things he did to me, Your Grace…"

"Did your husband lay a hand upon you?" The Archdeacon's voice grew clipped and hard. Belle could recognize he was losing his patience and growing angered, though not at her, at the thought of harm befalling their latest visitor within these stone walls.

"Gaston has deep brown eyes, and a smile nearly identical to my own that was enough to captivate anyone who happened to be fortunate enough to look upon them, and at him. He was a blessing in disguise and your worst nightmare all in one. I thanked God every night for my own monster before I knew any better. My monster didn't have sharp talons or vicious fangs. The only thing sharp about him was the knife that made this gash. My monster wasn't green or purple. He didn't even like the color purple. That's why he made me have all the purple on my arms. My skin has ruptured above the growing purple blooms. Every movement I make hurts, Father. In the past, I've healed from a…stubborn willfulness, you might say, a determination to survive whatever my husband could throw my way, and if I survived, I would endure another day at the man's side, just grateful to be alive. But this time, as I stretch forwards, attempting to imagine a future for myself, there is nothing there. I have no reserve to call upon, for when the soul shatters, is there even a cure? I am battered on the inside, Your Grace, worse than any broken bones he could ever give me. My monster didn't come out and scare me after I'd fallen asleep. No, my monster only scared me when we were alone. He gave me bad dreams too, though, so I guess there is that. But I didn't make my monster leave, like the case with normal childhood monsters growing up. No, my monster made me leave, he made me flee from him in terror, and now I find that in order to ensure my father's safety, he has bid me return home, and I cannot. Gaston didn't want me anymore, so I ran, Father. Every night, I would ask him a question. I would ask him if he loved me, and he never responded."

"I cannot imagine what that might be like you for, my child. I am...sorry," the Archdeacon said after a long pause.

Belle nodded. "And now…your bell ringer, it's…complicated, Father. I might even be in love with him now. There isn't a moment that I'm awake that Quasi isn't in my thoughts. The last few nights, he is there in my dreams, always out of reach, just like in real life. I'd give anything to be the recipient of his affections, to hang onto his words and laugh at his jokes. I won't be, though. He looks my way and I blush. He speaks to me and I splutter something non-coherent in return. Every time he sits next to me, I feel my skin begin to break out into a cold sweat. The other night, when we…when we kissed, ah, but I knew it was wrong, and yet...I could not seem to stop myself. It was like...like my body was no longer taking direction from my mind, Your Grace. I could see the longing in his eyes, Father, as if he longed for more, to go further, but didn't want to put any pressure on me to make that decision. Oh, how I want it more than anything, to spend a night in his arms, in love's embrace, even if it's just once before Gaston kills me for what I have done, for betraying our marriage in this light. How wonderful it must be, to be with someone who really, truly loves you. I've never known love, Father. But I can't do that to him. He deserves so much better than me. Quasi permeates my every thought. Each time I do something, I rehearse how to tell him the news, that I love him, and I cannot do this to him anymore, I cannot lie to the man that I love, that I want him to come with me, run away, far from Gaston and his filth, because the only way out of this hellish marriage is death. 'Family is all that matters,' that's what he tells me every night. But even now, I imagine what Quasi will say and his reaction to my confession and rehearse my response. As I do so, my mind's eye sees how the light plays on his pale skin, how his brilliant red hair glints in the light."

More scratching, and Belle smiled as she recognized the old man on the other side of the booth was doing all that he could to write down her every word.

"Each time he smiles, I feel the rush of warmth, the spark of hope for something between he and I, but this is a fool's hope. Seeing him makes my heart twirl. Hearing his magnificent voice makes my stomach flutter. I can't help but feel this way about him. His eyes, those deep rich pools of blue with just a fleck of gold at the irises, how they tell a story just by looking into them. My God. And the way he moves. He walks along, effortlessly looking handsome without a care in the world. I stop to look at him and admire his perfection as I know that's as far as I could ever get. Oh, I know he has his deformities and he's self-conscious about it, but when I look at him…I don't see it, Father. I don't. I choose to focus on his face, and his eyes, not his looks. I close my eyes sometimes and imagine his hand brushing against mine as we walk down the streets of the marketplace. I don't care if the people stare, let them, the simple-minded fools. Everyone's eyes are fixed on us, but I don't give a damn what they think, and neither should he. When I'm around him, it feels like he is my heaven and feels like I've died, and if I could ever be lucky enough to get to spend at eternity with him at my side, content to sink into serenity as long as he is with me, that's the best dream I could have ever asked for."

For a moment, she heard only silence and then what sounded like a light sniffling poorly disguised as a cough. Belle rolled her eyes.

"Oh, no, not you too! Don't you start it too! I told Sister Alice this earlier and they started crying. I never pegged you for an emotional man, Father, you're quite impassive at the best of times," Belle chuckled. "I think they're happy for Quasi, and I hope so, but I can't undo what I'm about to do to him. I have no other choice. The only way to save his life is to break his heart, and I hate this. Father, I don't know what to do about all this, and oh, God…that's the worst part about all of this, I think. Whatever good he sees in me is going to disappear in a few short minutes before my husband returns to take me home. Gaston is an abusive man, Your Grace."

"I do not blame you for coming here, my dear," the Archdeacon sympathized.

Belle stifled a low growl in the back of her throat. "He's just like Claude Frollo was to poor Quasi. The Judge was an insane man near the end of his days leading up to his death. Only an insane man would commit acts of mass genocide and incite terror into the minds of the innocent people. In every great thing we do, the psychopath hides, wolves among the sheep. But that's okay. It is, because soon they'll just be wolves among lions, and the people will outnumber them, the people like Claude Frollo used to be. The people will swamp them, and then a man like Gaston will pretend to be one of us, one of the people on the side of all that is righteous and good, simply was misled along the wrong path. I will let him retreat, but I will always know what kind of man he is. A man like my husband, Gaston, he craves power, wealth, and money, and will obtain it by any means necessary. His favorite is hunting. He's a bit of an expert on the subject. And as his wife… I can't do it."

The Archdeacon was silent.

Belle took his lack of response as a sign to continue. "All my life, I've been an outcast. I didn't ask for this life. It chose me. I hide behind a beautiful smile and I have been forced to reinvent myself. I won't be a part of this anymore. I won't do it. I'm out. The house that you call home is no longer my home. I have no home anymore, but it matters not. As soon as Gaston and Captain Phoebus get here in a moment, he's going to arrest me probably, but not before I tell Quasi the truth about me, who I really am, what I've done, and how I cannot keep doing this to him anymore. Gaston can't make me become the demon. I won't."

Even Belle was surprised at the determination laced throughout her voice.

"You have a choice. You can tell him no, that you refuse," the Archdeacon of Josas offered kindly.

Belle nodded, allowing a lock of wavy dark hair to tumble in front of her face, effectively shielding her face like a curtain. "Tonight is the first time in my adult life that I'm standing up to a man who claims to love me, and has uttered naught but lies from his lips."

The old man on the other side of the screen hesitated. "If he were here. This Gaston fellow. Your...husband. What would you say to him?"

Belle paused. "I would say...Gaston, if you're listening to this somehow, if you're already here in Notre Dame hiding in the shadows like the weasel you are, hear me. You're going to have to kill me. You said you loved me, and I took you at your word. You said I was your wife, and over the year that we were married, you became part of the bedrock of my personality, whether I liked it or not. Then, the day that you raised your hand against me, and defiled every ounce of dignity I had left when you…when we…consummated our marriage, I hated you. It would have been kinder to just kill me. Now I must be this person filled with a bitterness I can't control. The girl you thought you knew, the one you met in the marketplace all those years ago underneath the apple blossom tree, the one with the big eyes and the even bigger heart is now consumed by a hatred she never knew could take root in her soul. But because of you, here it is, festering deep within. And here we are. Here I am with no other choice left to me. This hate I feel for you, Gaston, my hate doesn't ebb, it multiples. This last thought breaks my heart, Father. I know it is wrong to walk this path, yet I have no other choice."

"There is always a choice, child," the Archdeacon reminded Belle kindly, his soothing baritone voice floating through the confessional like a kind wind.

But Belle shook her head. "Were that I could believe you, monsieur. For he is my husband, for better or worse. He gave me a ring. I gave him my word." Belle swallowed and blinked back briny tears. "All that remains now is my choice. To stay here, where I know I will be safe. Or to dare to return home, to Gaston, where he will most assuredly kill me for what I have done, and in doing so, I can ensure my father's safety." She choked back a half-formed sob.

"What will you decide?" the Archdeacon pressed her kindly, to which Belle felt she could not give an apt response.

She sighed, blinking back more tears that threatened to escape the corners of her eyes, stinging and blurring her vision.

"The…the choice I must make is simple. But it isn't. And…I don't know what to do…it feels like I walk this fine line of good and evil with this decision I find myself faced with, but…on which side shall I fall?"

What choice will I make?