Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Claire
Claire hadn’t realized how late it was until Mirela tugged her back toward the cathedral. The streets had dimmed, the last of the sunset bleeding into night. Lanterns flickered on, and the laughter from the festival softened into scattered murmurs.
Mirela’s hand was firm around hers, guiding her back toward the church’s familiar shadows, which had served as a refuge until now. But she didn’t want that anymore.
She wanted something promised beyond these stone walls. Maybe the travelers would take them in; they had always seemed kind enough to welcome anyone who dared to live without fear.
“Wait, Mirela.”
Her voice broke slightly as she stopped, her fingers tightening around Mirela’s hand. Mirela turned, startled, her face half-hidden beneath the hood.
“Do we really have to go back?” Claire asked, breathless. “Why stay in the cathedral?”
For a long moment, Mirela said nothing, and Claire feared she was about to leave her and go back to the cathedral alone.
But then she quietly said, “We’re not staying there.”
Claire blinked, taken aback. “What…what do you mean?”
Mirela took a step closer, her mismatched eyes shimmering as if she was holding back tears. “I mean we’re leaving,” she whispered. “For good.”
Claire’s breath caught. “Mirela…”
“I can’t stay there any longer,” Mirela continued, her words tumbling out, trembling. “I can’t go back and pretend the world isn’t waiting outside. Not after today. Not after you. It’s not even because I don’t want to, but…” she paused. “Claire, you deserve way more than this.”
Mirela let go of her hand to point at the cathedral and then to the streets in Paris. “You deserve the world, and I can’t give you that if I am locked up here as well.”
Swallowing hard, Mirela took a step closer, towering over her before kissing her forehead.
“Claire, you make me want to know what it feels like to live. Really live. To see the sun without fear. To laugh without worrying who hears.” Her voice faltered; she took a shaky breath.
“I’m terrified, Claire. Of what’s out there, of what will happen when we go, but I’m more afraid of staying.
I don’t want to fade away behind those bells.
I want to discover everything with you.”
Claire’s eyes burned, her heart hammering in her chest. She wanted that, she wanted all of that, and she wanted it with Mirela.
“But,” Mirela said suddenly, her voice cracking, “we have to do it right. We can’t just disappear. I need to go back just once more. I need to gather my things, toll the bells one last time. If Ferron notices I’m gone too soon…”
Her hands trembled, and Claire squeezed them, trying to ease her worries. “He’ll know something’s wrong. I think I already missed a toll. And last night—“ she swallowed hard ”—I pulled the rope too many times. He’ll notice. He always notices.”
Claire reached out and cradled her face, forcing Mirela to look at her. “Mirela,” she whispered, her thumb brushing the scars on her cheek. “Look at me.”
Mirela hesitated.
“You’re not alone anymore,” Claire said softly. “Whatever happens, whatever we face, we face it together. Do you understand?”
Mirela nodded weakly, her eyes glistening. Claire smiled through her own tears and pressed a kiss to her lips, in front of the cathedral doors and beneath the watchful gaze of gargoyles carved in stone.
“You understand,” Claire murmured when they parted. “And you’re right. We’ll go back, gather what we need, and then find the travelers. I’m sure they’ll take us in until we can leave.”
Mirela nodded quickly, her breath shallow with nerves. “Yes. One more night. Then we go.” She paused, her voice trembling. “You could stay with them tonight while I handle things at the cathedral. It would be safer.”
Claire scoffed and shook her head firmly. “I made myself clear. We are doing this together.”
Mirela’s eyes filled with tears. She laughed softly and pulled Claire close again, kissing her with a mix of fear and hope.
Together, they turned back toward the cathedral.
Mirela closed the large door behind them, the sound harsh and definitive. The great hall was too still and silent.
There was something off about the inside of the cathedral.
The air was thick and heavy. The smell of freshly lit candles and oil permeated the nave.
The flickering candles along the aisles burned low, except for the ones near the altar.
There, every candle was newly lit. Each one was tall and untouched.
Mirela frowned as if the sight before her was wrong.
Notre-Dame had always been a living thing.
Its candles were constantly replaced by the faithful who came and went.
There were always burnt wicks, dripping wax, signs of prayers whispered and spent.
But now, every single flame burned the same height.
Claire’s hand tightened around Mirela’s.
Mirela paled, her entire body tensing as she stared toward the altar. “He’s here,” she whispered, voice trembling. “He’s here. I wasn’t here…I—“
Claire had never seen Mirela like this. Every trace of color drained from her face. Her breath came shallow, her eyes darting wildly through the shadows of the cathedral.
“Mirela,” Claire whispered. “Breathe. Maybe you’re mistaken, maybe—“
But Mirela was already moving, her steps frantic, echoing through the nave.
“Wait—Mirela!” Claire called, hurrying after her.
The atmosphere inside the cathedral felt heavier now, suffocating.
The great stone pillars seemed to lean inward, listening.
Claire’s heart pounded as she followed Mirela toward the stairway, the sound of their footsteps swallowed by the silence until suddenly, without warning, the bells began to toll.
Mirela froze mid-step.
Her whole body went rigid, her hand clutching the stones on the walls so tightly her knuckles whitened. Claire could see her shaking.
“Mirela!” Claire’s voice cracked as she rushed up the steps, reaching her.
But Mirela didn’t turn. Her eyes were fixed upward, wide and unseeing, her lips parted in a silent prayer. The bells tolled again, louder this time, and the sound rattled in Claire’s bones.
Then, suddenly, it stopped.
The silence that followed was worse.
Slowly, Mirela began to move again, her steps hesitant, dragging, as though she were forcing herself to climb. When they reached the landing, Claire saw the door to Mirela’s room hanging slightly ajar, the faint glow of candlelight spilling through the crack.
Mirela stopped dead. Her breathing hitched. Her entire body trembled as if the air itself had turned to ice around her.
“Don’t,” Claire whispered, catching her arm. “Let me.”
Mirela’s head moved in a jerky nod, her eyes locked on the door, but her body too paralyzed to move closer.
So, Claire did.
She pressed her palm against the wooden door and pushed it open. The hinges groaned softly, and the dim light inside revealed him.
Judge Claude Ferron was seated on a low wooden crate, his back straight. The gleam of an oil lamp caught on the silver strands of his graying hair. His robe hung from his shoulders, and the heavy golden cross around his neck reflected the flicker of the flames.
But it wasn’t the robe or the cross that froze Claire’s breath, it was his face.
It was sharp and severe. He looked like a man carved by years of evildoing.
He seemed like the type of man that did anything and everything to stay in control.
His eyes were the color of burnt coal. They were dark, bottomless, and merciless.
There was no divinity in them, only a patient, poisonous kind of anger.
His mouth curved in a grin that looked eerily like the gargoyles carved into the cathedral’s towers, almost inhuman.
In his lap sat one of Mirela’s sketchbooks. With careful, deliberate precision, he turned each page, studying the drawings one by one. His fingers never trembled. The sound of the paper turning was deafening.
On the nearby table, Claire saw the rest of Mirela’s work. There were all drawings of her, dozens of them. Every sketch Mirela had captured something about her. Her hair, her smile. Another one was of her with an arched brow and pursed lips…All the sketches were now piled carelessly in a corner.
He didn’t look up right away, but Claire felt his attention shift as his hand stilled mid-page. It was enough to make her spine stiffen.
Ferron didn’t look up at first. He turned another page, the soft scrape of parchment grating against the silence. Only when he reached the final sketch did he lift his gaze. When his eyes finally rose to meet hers, they glinted with an eerie calmness that turned Claire’s stomach.
“I was wondering,” he said slowly, “when my little miracle would finally come home.”
Mirela flinched. Claire reached for her hand, but Mirela couldn’t seem to move.
Ferron rose from the crate, his height casting a long shadow across the room. The golden cross around his neck gleamed in the candlelight. “You’ve been gone too long, Mirela. I waited patiently. Prayed for your return. Yet here you are… with a friend…”
His eyes slid toward Claire, assessing her. Claire felt the weight of that gaze like a hand pressed against her throat.
“I see now,” he murmured. “It was never God calling you back home. It was temptation.”
He tilted his head to Claire. His eyes trailed over her, taking in every inch of her body, lingering on her hips and chest. It was disgusting. He was disgusting.
“She is partly dressed as a nun, but my mind tells me she is anything but. Completely the opposite, I must say. To think I’ve tried my hardest to bring these women closer to God—“
“Don’t,” Mirela whispered, her voice breaking. “Don’t talk about her like that. She is not like that.”
He ignored her. “You escaped my watchful eye… it reminds me of your mother, Mirela and how dangerous she was.”
At the mention of her mother, Mirela’s head jerked up. Her lips parted. “What do you mean?”
Ferron’s smile widened, though his eyes darkened. “It’s a pity you cannot remember much of her. She was a gorgeous woman, despite being a whore.”
“Don’t!” Mirela said again, more forcefully this time.
He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I found her in the streets of Paris with you in her arms and offered her a job at the orphanage. She tended to the sick, prayed with the weak. I offered her salvation and protection. But she denied me.”
He paused, his expression twisting between mock sorrow and pride. “She thought that having you in her arms would keep her safe.” His voice hardened, venom threading through every syllable. “She was wrong.”
Claire’s stomach twisted.
Mirela’s breath came out ragged. “What did you do?”
He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “I did nothing save for the Lord’s work. She needed to be cleansed of her impurities. She needed redemption. God told me to grant it to her… through fire. If her beauty would not belong to me, then it would belong to no one.”
It took Claire a heartbeat too long to understand, and then she saw it, the way Mirela’s eyes widened, her hand flying to the scars that marked her skin. Her heart immediately shattered into a million pieces.
“You,” Mirela whispered. “You burned her.”
Ferron’s smile remained. “I was merciful. Sadly, she was holding you. You were just a child. I could have let you burn with her, but I didn’t. I took you in. Raised you as my own. Cared for you.”
“Cared?” Mirela’s voice rose, trembling with fury. “You locked me in a tower! You made me believe I was cursed! You told me God would hate me if I ever left!”
Ferron’s tone turned sharp, righteous. “Because the world hates you! You are the daughter of sin! I spared you the shame your mother earned. I spared you the eyes of men who would defile you. I protected your soul!”
Rage boiled inside Claire’s chest, so fierce she nearly shook.
“You see corruption everywhere except within. You protected your sick self!” she spat. “You hid her away so no one would see what you’d done! So no one would see the monster you are.”
Ferron’s face contorted, his calmness breaking.
“You don’t understand,” he hissed. “Her mother was temptation. Mirela grew to look just like her! It was temptation made flesh. I needed to do something. I was kind enough to shield her from myself! Every day she tolls those bells, every day I hold on to my needs! What else could I do? I am only a man. She is the child of a wretched whore, born to seduce and destroy men’s souls. ”
“She was a child!” Claire snarled.
His voice trembled with false piety. “Locking her away was mercy for her and for me. It was the only way to keep my faith pure.”
Mirela’s face was pale with horror. “You call that faith?” she cried. “You call keeping me here to keep your sick thoughts at bay merciful?”
Ferron turned back to her, eyes gleaming with feverish light. “You should be grateful. I could have left you to die, and yet I loved you despite your deformity, despite what you are. I gave you purpose. I gave you God.”
He turned then to Claire, and the look in his eyes made her blood run cold.
“But you,” he murmured, “you’re worse. You’ve undone everything. You’ve poisoned her mind, her soul. I should have gotten rid of her long ago then temptation wouldn’t have found its way back to my door.”
Claire’s heart pounded so hard she could barely hear her own voice. “Mirela doesn’t deserve this. She deserves to be loved and cared for.”
He sneered. “Loved?” His laugh was soft and hollow. “You think that I didn’t love her? I did and she was meant to love me. That was her duty, her redemption. I waited, I prayed, I endured her wickedness out of faith and devotion. And this—“ he gestured between them ”—this is how she repays me.”
He turned to the sketches of Claire and grabbed, and a handful in his fist. “Obsessing over you!?” He faced Mirela, his teeth bared like a raging animal. “I should’ve let you be consumed by the fire… I should’ve thrown you in a well.”
He straightened, his calm returning, every trace of the heat of rage gone from his face. “It’s over now. Both of you will remain here. Locked in the tower. No one will hear your screams. No one will come for you.”
Ferron moved, his hostile presence pushing both women away from the door, circling around them until he stood between them and the only way out to the freedom they desired.
Mirela could only step back, shaking her head, tears streaking her cheeks. Claire moved in front of her instinctively, heart hammering, fury pulsing beneath her skin. She had never seen evil before, but now she understood what it looked like.
And it was smiling at her