AUTHORS NOTE:
I do not own the Hunchback of Notre dame in any way, shape or form. This a re-write of SarahBee's fan fiction, entitled 'No More Waiting'.

Small feet, bare and calloused, pounded against the dirt street. They flew faster and faster down the twisted roads, barely touching the ground. Then one ankle twisted slightly over a surfacing stone, and the other ankle followed suit. Thin arms pushed a thin body off the dirt road. The seventeen year old stood shakily on her feet, but could no longer run. A sheen of sweat glimmered on her forehead, her face unusually pale. Her hands, small and rough, covered her mouth as she bent forward.

"Carmen!" An older man's voice yelled.

Her face was hot, cheeks flushed an unnatural shade of red against her pale face. Warm tears poured from her eyes, trying vainly to cool her off. Her stomach lurched suddenly, and one hand flew to it, trying to keep her dinner from the night before down.

"Carmen? Are you alright?" The man was much closer now, one hand gently holding onto her elbow. It was her uncle. Her father was no longer there to comfort her. His arms wrapped gently around her, pulling Carmen's wet face into his chest, not caring that she would stain his clean shirt.

"I'm sorry, carina," His words were soft as he brushed a hand through her hair. "I did not think that you would be so upset. Next time, we will leave when you say so." Carmen shuddered as she tried to swallow her tears.

The words tied into knots, tumbling over one another in their frantic attempts to leave, mixing with her tears. But there were no words that could describe how she felt. She had just run from the gallows where an innocent man had been hung. His only crime was being polite to another man's wife. But that wasn't what affected her so deeply. It was his face before the chair had been kicked out. Bright red and sweating. His eyed were dry, flickering between the rope around his neck and the crowd, frantically searching for someone that wasn't there. Then the chair was gone and his face turned a violent shade of red before it grew purple, then slowly faded into the shade of cream before Carmen ran.

She hated thinking of death. Yes, Carmen knew that it existed. She knew it all too well. But she hated having it thrown in her face, being forced to watch another man die, and think about what he must be feeling. Just waiting for them to pull the lever. Waiting for his family to arrive so he could say one last good-bye. Being afraid that they couldn't or wouldn't.

Her uncle wrapped an arm around Carmen's waist, half-carrying them to the inn. When her parents died of the plague, Carmen had to stay with her Aunt, who had left home to marry a gypsy. He was a kind man, but his heritage often prevented him from being honest. They had traveled through Spain and France for the last ten years.

They were now posing as a merchant family, selling what they had stolen in the last town they visited to earn enough money to last until they reached their next stop. Carmen loved seeing new places, but she hated saying goodbye. She hated leaving behind people that she grew to love. Because Carmen desperately wanted to get married. To find someone that loved her despite being a gypsy. Every town that she visited, Carmen visited the church and dreamed of the wedding that could take place there. But she had only fallen in love once, two years ago. And the thought of his face was still enough to make her hot.

When they reached the inn, Carmen collapsed on the straw mat in her room. She could hear her Aunt in the room next door scolding Mirela, her cousin. From what she could hear of the fight, Mirela had almost bought ale at the tavern. And as innocent young woman it was forbidden to drink. That is, until they were back in the caravan. When they drank until the stars faded in the morning light, and staggered down the road the next day, wishing they hadn't sung that one last ballad.

Carmen didn't like following rules, but she knew better than to disobey, especially as a gypsy. It didn't matter that their skin was a lighter shade than most other gypsies, or that they purchased dresses meant for respectable citizens. The police could sniff out a gypsy like the starving hound fighting for a bone. And she had grown to accept the rules.

Mirela stormed inside, but was careful to not let the door slam behind her. She fell on the bed next to Carmen. "Sometimes I have dreams of Mother and Father burning their rules into ash," she hissed under her breath.

Carmen nodded her head silently and rolled onto her back, so she could get a better look at her cousin. She didn't mind sleeping on the floor while Mirela took the bed. Mirela was older, and the first daughter of Carmen's Aunt and Uncle, so she had a greater right to it.

"Let's run away!" Mirela suddenly sat up, black hair swinging into her round face. Her matching black eyes glittered with excitement. Carmen scoffed. She had lost count of how many times Mirela had threatened to do so in the past.

"Let's pack our bags and leave tonight!" Mirela urged, rolling over in her bed so she could look at her cousin. Excitement made her eyes shine.

Carmen waved a hand dismissively and stood. She walked to the other side of the room where a small pile of her books stood. "You go. I'll stay here."

"What are you doing?" Mirela asked as Carmen picked up the thin book at the top of the pile and flipped through the pages. "You can't even read."

"French. I'm fine with Spanish. And don't tell me where you're going," Carmen threw over her shoulder, refusing to turn around. "That way I won't be able to tell your parents where you're hiding."

"You always say that."

"I do, don't I?"

"You're coming with me."

"What?" Carmen turned around, clutching the primer to her chest. "No, I am not."

Mirela laughed and stood, moving to the rucksack at the foot of her bed. "I'm not running away. But I need to get out. Just for a few hours, and we'll be back before Mother notices."

She forced Carmen to change into an old dress of hers. Carmen was reluctant, but relented. She would let Mirela have her fun. It did no good to try and defy her. Carmen doubted that Mirela would be able to coerce anyone into spending the evening with them. She wasn't very attractive, but outgoing. Carmen was confident that she looked attractive. Some of the time. But it was her shyness that won over.

Her Aunt would tell Carmen that she was so beautiful that men were too intimidated to talk to her. But Carmen always had the tugging suspicion that her Aunt was lying, because she said the same thing to Mirela. The reason men were intimidated by Mirela was because she flaunted her confidence like a prize. She was unafraid of anything life could throw at her.

When Carmen snapped out of her reverie, she was wearing a forest green dress that brushed at her ankles. A brown corset was laced up her front. Carmen hated the color green. Mirela always assured her that it made her eyes stand out. But Carmen loved the color purple. It was bold, but not as bold as red. She wanted to be brave and daring, like the people that would wear red, but she didn't want to throw it in their faces like Mirela. So she would wear purple.

So, with Mirela telling her parents that they were going out to explore the Parisian town, the cousins left the inn. Mirela led the way, dragging Carmen behind her like a dog on a leash. Carmen bit her lip to keep herself from giggling at the thought of what Mirela would do. She was never known for her subtlety. The two meandered about the city, having good enough sense not to get lost in the new area. Carmen halfheartedly pointed out who she liked, Mirela wrinkling her nose with distaste every time. After almost an hour, Mirela lost her patience.

"Merde," She tugged a hand through her hair, impatiently pulling it into a braid. "I don't see why so many people like Paris. There isn't one good looking man in the whole city."

Carmen bit her lip and looked around.

Something colorful caught her eye. Very colorful. A man in a pink mask was packing an equally colorful, yet worn, cart. A slightly torn purple hat with a yellow feather sat on his head at a jaunty angle. His hair, thin and straight as straw, stuck out underneath it. It was black, or maybe a dark enough shade of brown to be mistaken for black. He had a neatly trimmed goatee, which narrowed even further his thin as a reed body.

"What about him?" Carmen asked softly, pointing to the man, obviously a gypsy as well.

Mirela grimaced. "Why must you always pick the oldest men? Carmen, if you are going to be attracted to ugly men, at least let it be someone your own age!"

"Shhh!" Carmen quickly turned Mirela around, so they would both be facing in the opposite direction. "Why must you insist on being so loud?"

"His nose looks like a potato!" Mirela objected.

"Just because he has a big nose or is built like a stick does not mean that I can't find him attractive," Carmen hissed, glancing over her shoulder at the man. He had pulled a flower out of his glove for a little girl. She giggled and managed to grab it before her mother pulled her away.

"Saint Carmen!" Mirela folded her hands together. "Defending the ugly! You know that if you had his potato nose, you would never leave the caravan again!"

"I would!" Carmen argued, her face hot. She knew that she was lying. That if she had a nose like the stranger's, she wouldn't be able to joke so easily about it, or hold it so proudly. She most likely wouldn't be able to go outside. But the stranger seemed fine with his nose. Just like how Carmen came to terms with her broken nose, which seemed perfect in comparison.

Mirela's eyes grew wide. "Carmen, look!"

Taking her eyes off of the retreating gypsy, Carmen turned to see a group of students. They were attractive as well. But in a way that made her head hurt. The way they all looked the same. The same perfectly trimmed hair, the same distant look in their eyes. The same disdain for anyone whose clothes were not weeping with money.

"I wish I could talk to them!" Mirela sighed, longing in her voice. But they were in a much higher social class that Mirela, society would frown on any relationship between the two. And Carmen knew that Mirela, to make matter worse, was no palmolita.

The taller cousin rolled her eyes. Every one of the students had their primers tucked carefully under their arms, their noses in the air. Carmen was reminded of the gypsy again, but this was arrogance, not confidence. Carmen imagined stealing one of their primers. It was in much better condition that her own. She shook her head. Her family had only just arrived. They couldn't draw any attention yet.

Mirela walked solemnly to a stone bridge over a small river. She swayed her hips as she walked, but the movement was erratic. She sat on the ledge and swung her legs over the side. Carmen followed obediently.

"What can we do know Carmen?" Mirela asked despondently. "This pueblo has robbed us of our deepest pleasure."

"What else dear sister," Carmen smirked. "But drown ourselves!" She jerked her body forward, laughing lightly as Mirela's arms snatched out to pull her back.

"Carmen!" Mirela scolded. "I am not in the mood for this silliness!"

"But cousin," Carmen said meekly, still smirking. "It's who I am." Mirela scowled at Carmen for a moment before laughing. She swung her head back, letting everyone hear the beautiful full sound.

A group of gypsies walked by the girls, each roughly twenties years old. All Romani, they carried various instruments, and were handsome and clean shaven. It reminded Carmen of the gypsy with the goatee.

Mirela flashed Carmen a devilish smile.

"Gentlemen, might you grant us one last song?" She called out, batting her eyes.

The four men snapped around in synchronization. Carmen bit her lip gently, holding back a laugh. The tallest man eyed the girls warily. The youngest one, who seemed to be the closest to Mirela and Carmen's age, blushed. "Of course! We are in no hurry!" He smiled encouragingly to the men around him who slowly set up their instruments. The tallest man tugged on the strings of his violin and the song began. It was slow with a deep melody that rang through. It boomed into a cadence that dripped in sunlight.

Carmen swallowed hard and brushed at her eyes, where tears were threatening to fall. And as the song faded into silence both girls quickly drew coins from their purses.

"Please, there is no need to-" The blushing man started, but he was cut off when a thin man elbowed him in the side. The blushing man closed his mouth and looked down, tucking the money away up his sleeve.

"I haven't seen you girls around here before," The oldest man started. His muscles bulged out of his sleeves. "Are you new to Paris?"

"Our father is a traveling merchant," Carmen responded. Her innocent and young voice carried quickly to the other men, and they appeared taken aback by the sound. The men glanced at each other. Their faces were unreadable.

"How old are you?" He asked.

"My cousin is seventeen, sir," Mirela chimed in, glancing at the blushing man. She had found her next target. Carmen sighed. He was the most attractive of the four. But that didn't make any difference. Nobody could ever see her in that way. No one ever had. "I am eighteen."

"You look much older!" The oldest man said to Carmen with an entertained smile.

"Thank you," Carmen bowed her head, smiling. She looked up and noticed that one of the gypsies was leaning against a nearby wall. He was thin, and staring into the distance where Carmen could see a graveyard. She could tell that he was biting the inside of his cheek. Impatient with these new girls.

"And what does your father sell?" The tallest one asked.

Carmen ducked her head again, this time from shame. Her cheeks felt hot. "Anything he can get his hands on."

Silence fell over the group.

"We're going to the tavern to meet with some friends. Would you like to join us?" The blushing one asked, discreetly covering his stomach. Carmen's heart sped up, her cousin had actually done it.

"Of course!" Mirela leapt down from the stone bridge with acrobatic grace.

"I'm going home," The bored one called out, almost an invitation for the others.

Carmen looked at Miranda who was gesturing at her to follow. Carmen was nervous. With all her heart she wanted to say no, and she would have under normal circumstances. But for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to refuse. She could feel something coming on the horizon. But maybe it was just her imagination.