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"Everything alright, Clopin?" he called to the man, carefully manoeuvring through the stream of people on Achilles.

"Ah, Captain!" Clopin replied, and before Phoebus could even register what was happening, the man had sprung up behind him on his saddle, resting his hands on his shoulders for balance as he used the horse's back as his own personal watchtower. "I'm looking for Esmeralda. I've been waiting at the Court for our rehearsal, but she never showed." In any other situation, Phoebus would have probably not-so-gently nudged him off of him and Achilles, but his words immediately left a pit in his stomach, and suddenly nothing was important besides Esmeralda.

“How long have you been waiting?” he asked, hoping that maybe it had only been a couple of minutes and Clopin was just impatient.

“At least an hour,” he answered. Phoebus’ head whipped around to face him, searching for any signs of jest or trickery, but his face was grave, and there was a glimmer of something in his eye that Phoebus had only ever seen on the battlefield.

Complete, unadulterated terror. “She’s never late,” he added, now frantically scouring the crowd. “Especially not for a rehearsal,” he continued nervously, his voice crescendoing as he spoke, “and I just can’t shake the feeling that something horrible has happened to her, Captain!” In the blink of an eye, he’d flipped off of Achilles' back and landed on his knees on the cobblestone ground, grabbing onto Phoebus’ leg and shaking it like a child trying to be held. Many people stopped to gawk at the bizarre display, but many kept walking, unfazed by Clopin’s eccentricities. Quite literally the only thing keeping Phoebus from kicking him square in the face when he had the chance was his own concern for Esmeralda.

“Calm yourself, Clopin,” he replied through gritted teeth. Phoebus himself was struggling to keep composed, the last thing he needed was to have someone in front of him practically screaming and wailing, however understandable it was. “You keep looking here, and I’ll check back at our house to see if there’s any sign of her. Just please try not to cause a panic,” he instructed, reaching down to pull Clopin up by the collar. Nodding silently, he was swiftly back on his feet, offering what was probably a mocking salute of agreement. “Or get yourself arrested for disturbing the peace,” Phoebus muttered as the other man immediately began scaling walls to get a better vantage point of the city. Concluding that it was better for him to be crying than weeping and shrieking, Phoebus tightened his grip on the reins.

“Home, Achilles. Quickly.”

The bitter December winds whipped Phoebus’ face as Achilles galloped towards his and Esmeralda’s house towards the outskirts of the city, his hooves occasionally slipping ever so slightly on the icy roads. Once they’d finally reached the cosy homestead, Phoebus all but leapt from Achilles' back and bolted to the door, just barely holding himself back from kicking it down, the only thing stopping him being a sight through the window that simultaneously dissolved his worries and birthed a thousand questions. 

Esmeralda was there, safe inside. Seemingly unharmed, but cradling Djali to her chest as if he was a baby, and pacing the width of their home. Her vacant eyes seemed to focus on nothing in particular, though they were fixed firmly on whichever wall she was facing as she walked back and forth and back and forth, like she was trapped in some kind of loop, unable to break her body or mind free.

Mindful not to startle her, lest she drop Djali, Phoebus cautiously pushed the door open, knocking on the wood ever so slightly as he did so.

“Esme?” he tried gently rousing her from her trance. Jumping at the sudden noise, Esmeralda clutched Djali closer, her eyes instantly shifting from thoughtless to wild and terrified as her head whipped around to face the door. After a moment of him remaining perfectly still, she seemed to process who she was looking at, forcing a nervous chuckle as she loosened her grip on the little goat.

“Phoebus,” she laughed lightly as she tried to smile. “You startled me. What are you doing home so early?”

“I was patrolling with my men when Clopin told me you hadn’t shown up for your rehearsal,” Phoebus explained, trying his best to not sound angry or accusatory. Even if he was confused, he could tell there was something more than slightly off with his wife. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Oh,” she forced another laugh, running her hands through Djali’s hair. “I- yes. I’m alright. Tell… tell Clopin I’m sorry for the trouble.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Esmeralda never doubted that Clopin always tried to do his best by her. He was the man who took her in with no hesitation after her parents were killed, the man who taught her to dance, who ensured she always had food and a safe, warm place to sleep. He was the man who would hold her until she could fall back asleep after a nightmare, who would shower her with affection, calling her his princess, his jewel, his darling. For the longest time, he was her sole protector from a world that she wasn’t yet ready to face again, and a world she would never be ready to forgive. 

But Clopin had responsibilities to the other Roma as well. Other people to care for. In her early years with him, she was too young to fully grasp what that meant. Whenever she couldn’t find him or he was busy with other work, she’d simply wait patiently for him to return before leaping into his arms and asking him for whatever help she needed. But as she grew older, she quickly realised that she needed to learn to resolve her own problems, soothe her own anxieties, and provide for herself. When she started making her own money dancing in the streets, Clopin had seemed so proud of her. He’d praised his princess, his jewel, his darling girl for being so mature and independent. 

So to survive and make Clopin’s life easier, Esmeralda held those words in her heart, wearing them like a badge of honour. 

When the nightmares came, and she wanted nothing more than for him to hug her and sing to her until she fell back asleep, she remained in her bed.

When she was exhausted the next morning and just wanted to tell him what was wrong, she forced a smile and went out to dance.

When the world was cruel, and she needed him to help guide her through it, she figured it out by herself.

So mature. 

So independent.

So alone.

After what had happened last Festival of Fools and the days following it, Clopin suddenly became fiercely defensive of Esmeralda again. He would insist on accompanying her if she was going out to dance, and when she was home at the Court - before her and Phoebus had settled into their own place - he was constantly checking on her. As much as Esmeralda had craved this protection after depriving herself of it, she couldn’t help but feel an inexplicable indignation whenever he fussed over her. Any attempts he made to offer her any kind of help, she would stubbornly refuse.

“I’m fine,” she’d say flatly.

“But-“ he’d try to protest.

“I’m fine.” And every time she asserted that she didn’t need him, she couldn’t help but notice the glint of sadness behind his eyes, even as he gave a weak smile and agreed to leave her be. That face, with its look of pure rejection and resignation, was enough to completely shatter her heart into a thousand pieces. She wasn’t angry with him, and she especially wasn’t trying to hurt him or push him away. Even if she didn’t want to admit it out loud, she knew that she’d always need him because he was the closest thing she could ever remember having to a father.

But that knowledge was simply something to save for when she truly needed it, because she was fine. Everything was okay. She was safe, living with a man who she loved and who loved her in return. She had no reason to be upset.

And yet every time someone tried to speak to her, she felt herself struggling to bite back the urge to growl at them to leave her alone. But then simultaneously, she would have to resist her desire to just burst into tears and fling herself at whoever she was talking to. Every day, it seemed her brain was buzzing from exhaustion. 

It was early November when preparations first began for the next Festival of Fools, with one of the first orders of business being to decide who would be given the ultimate honour of performing for the people of Paris. Of course, with his stellar track record at the last few festivals, Clopin was invited once more to act as the master of ceremonies, a role he could never pass up. Something Esmeralda hadn’t quite anticipated was the demand for her to dance again. Since moving in with Phoebus, she hadn’t had much need to perform in the ways that she used to. These days, she chose to mainly perform before Clopin’s puppet shows as a way of attracting an audience for him. That way, she’d only be dancing for sweet, innocent children who only saw a talented dancer, nothing vile or sinister, just skill. Plus, and she didn’t even really want to admit this to herself, knowing Clopin was right beside her in case any tricky men tried anything was the only thing that gave her the courage to dance anymore.

But the thought of performing at the Festival of Fools made her skin crawl. There would be far, far too many men for Clopin and Phoebus to shield her if things went awry, and no guarantee that she wouldn’t walk offstage with a new stalker, a new man who wanted to own her. Yet when Clopin approached her with the invitation, she shoved her sickening anxieties to the back of her mind, nodded somewhat enthusiastically, and agreed.

“Are you sure, mon bijou?” he’d asked her, gently taking her hand and leading her to the privacy of his tent. “You don’t have to, and I certainly won’t let anyone force you to if you’re not ready yet.”

“I’ll be fine, Oncle Clopin,” she replied, hoping if she said it enough then it would be true. “I miss dancing, and I’m not going to let some sick, self-righteous bastard stop me from doing something I love.” That part at least, was true. Esmeralda’s heart yearned to dance like she once had, not with the caution and fear she now carried with each movement, but wild and free, allowing her body to do whatever it felt like in the moment, revelling in the cheers and applause of her audience who were hopelessly enthralled by her. There were many mornings where she prepared herself for a day of dancing in the streets like she used t, grabbing her tambourine and a hat to collect the coins, and just as she was about to leave the house, she froze. Her hand lingered on the flap of her tent, or the handle of her and Phoebus’ door, memories flooded her mind. Memories of her dance last year, where she’d actually sat in Frollo’s lap, giving him her scarf. The way he’d eyed her so many times after that moment. The torch he threw on the pyre he’d ordered her to be tied to. With her heart pounding in her ears and tears threatening to spill over, her shaking hand would drop to her side. Discarding her tambourine and hat, she’d busy herself with something else, trying to distract from the white, hot, incandescent rage in her heart, knowing that a sick, self-righteous bastard was indeed barring her from doing something that not only did she love, but was part of her soul. Djali would nuzzle his little head against her leg, a small gesture of consolation from the only one who knew she was falling apart, and it was a beautiful, thoughtful act, but a stubbornly lonely soul cannot be healed by hugs alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For a second Esmeralda was silent again, the life and focus fading from her gaze. Phoebus was about to speak when Djali pressed his nose to her chin, seemingly bringing her back to reality. 

“Actually, what am I saying?" she said, a weak smile spreading across her formerly blank features much too fast for Phoebus to find it convincing. "I’ll tell him myself." Esmeralda seemed to beeline for the door, her eyes fixed on it like she was trying to avoid looking at him at all costs. Certain that she was hiding something but cautious of upsetting her, Phoebus gently reached out to tap her shoulder.

“Esmeralda, wait a second," he interjected, his tone almost pleading. Obviously if she wanted to leave then he wouldn't try to stop her, but he also didn't want her to feel like she had to go, like she couldn't talk to him if she really needed or wanted to. "Are you sure you’re alright?” But Esmeralda seemed adamant on getting out.

“Of course, my love," she replied breezily, quickly turning to give him a light peck on the cheek. "Djali was just a bit unsettled and I must’ve just lost track of time trying to calm him down.” Still in her arms, Djali seemed to bleat in protest, though whether that was in response to what Esmeralda said or being somewhat squished between the two of them, he couldn't be sure.

“And what might Djali have been upset about?” Phoebus attempted to continue, thinking that maybe if she talked through Djali, it would make her feel more comfortable to confide in him, but he had no such luck.

“We can talk tonight, darling," she brushed him off, clumsily fiddling with the doorknob trying to get it to open, "but I’m late for rehearsal and you should probably get back to work.”

Just like that, she was off. Whether she'd actually end up going to her rehearsal, Phoebus had no idea. All he could do was give her space and wait until tonight, when they would apparently be talking more. Plus, she was right (as usual, he'd come to realise), he probably should get back to his patrol.

The sky was a cool, stoney shade of grey by the time Phoebus finally got home. All day as he patrolled the streets, he'd found his thoughts drifting to Esmeralda, wondering where she was and if she really was alright. He hadn't seen Clopin flipping through the square or screaming at strangers, asking if they'd seen her, so he took that as a sign that she'd at least spoken with him. Plus, it meant that Phoebus didn't have to deal with it anymore, so that made for two positives, he supposed. After leading Achilles to his stable attached to the side of their home, Phoebus took the deepest breath of his life, and cautiously opened the door, having noticed Esmeralda through the window, seemingly preparing dinner.

"I'm home," he announced, and this time, Esmeralda appeared immediately aware.

"How was your day?" she asked, her tone sort of dry and expressionless. But maybe that was just because she was clearly preoccupied with cooking? Was he overthinking everything?

"Pretty calm, no crimes committed, at least from what I saw. But that also made things rather boring." He considered maybe adding a joke about Clopin's freak out that morning, but quickly thought better of it, not wanting to make her feel guilty or self-conscious. "How was your rehearsal?" he took a chance at asking. Though she was laser-focussed on the pot of stew she was preparing, he could've sworn he saw her freeze for a moment, a flicker of something in her usually brilliant, sparkling emerald eyes, which today had seemed so dull and exhausted.

"It was fine," she replied shortly, almost coldly, never looking away from the pot. For a second, Phoebus waited to see if she was going to add anything else, but after a stretch of awkward silence, he excused himself to wash up. There was something chilling about physically seeing Esmeralda in front of him, but not sensing her at all. Like he was just talking to a shell of her, trying to connect with a body that had been robbed of its heart and soul, leaving behind a person who could only exist and nothing more.

When Phoebus re-entered the kitchen, there were two bowls of stew on the table, and Esmeralda was carefully pouring out wine into two cups. Having heard his footsteps on the floorboards, she quickly glanced up at him, gave a tiny smile, and sat down. The silence weighed heavily on Phoebus as he joined her, waiting for her to talk. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel like he was nagging her or didn't trust her, but at the same time, it was becoming increasingly clear to him that she would probably continue to sit there, still and quiet, slowly sipping her drink and occasionally having a small spoonful of her food.

"It's delicious, my darling," he offered, hoping to finally see her put on a real smile. But her face seemed to instantly pale at his comment.

"Excuse me," she mumbled, briskly pushing back her chair and heading straight for the door again.

"Esmeralda, please, wait," he called after her, following her out into the night, which was so dark that if it weren't for the light from their home, he wouldn't have been able to see a thing, and so frigid that his breath immediately began to mist in the air. A few paces in front of him, Esmeralda dropped to the ground, her hands balled up into fists as she pressed them against the dirt, her chest heaving. At first, Phoebus thought she was leaving again, but as soon as he saw her in that state, he recognised what was happening. Without wasting a moment, he was kneeling beside her, holding her hair out of her face as she brought up the tiny amount of dinner she'd been able to bring herself to eat. Through her retching, he could hear her sniffling and her breath hitching.

"It's alright, Esme," he tried soothing her, using his free hand to stroke her back. "You'll be alright, my love. I'm right here." 

Eventually, Esmeralda sat back on her knees and buried her face in her hands, still avoiding Phoebus' gaze. In the almost year that he'd known and loved her, he'd never seen her like this, so weak and numb, and it shattered his heart.

"Do you need more time, or can you go back inside?" he asked after a moment of silence and stillness passed. Nodding mutely, Esmeralda planted her hands on the ground and attempted to push herself up. Even in the darkness, he could see her entire body straining from the effort, so he immediately reached out his hands for her to hold onto.

"I'm fine," she murmured, still trying in vain to stand.

"Esmeralda-" he tried to interject, but she was adamant.

"I'm..." she tried again before her whole body collapsed on her. Unable to keep pushing and continue masking her complete exhaustion, she felt a torrent of hot tears rushing down her cheeks. Being sick in front of someone else was already mortifying enough, but now not even being able to get off the ground made her want to just curl up and be swallowed by the earth. Too depleted to even protest, she felt Phoebus catch her and quickly wrap her tightly in his strong, safe arms.

"I've got you," he whispered, adjusting his hold on her and slowly standing up. If this were any other evening, Esmeralda would have insisted she could make it inside herself, but her head throbbed so fiercely that she only had the energy to rest it against his shoulder. Phoebus' stomach dropped when he felt how intensely her entire body was trembling in his embrace as he carefully carried her back into the house, delicately setting her down on their bed like she was made of glass and would shatter if she hit the mattress too hard.

For a moment, Phoebus stepped out of their bedroom, and even though just a minute ago Esmeralda had wanted nothing more than to be alone, she couldn't help but notice how her heart twinged ever so slightly when he left her. This is what she'd convinced herself that she wanted, so why didn't it feel fulfilling?

Maybe it never had. Maybe it was just familiar, not necessarily comforting.

But before she had much time to dwell on that, Phoebus was back, kneeling beside the bed and tenderly pressing a wet rag to her forehead. The coolness of the fabric overshadowed the horrid feeling of sweat beading on her face and making her hair stick to her skin, even though logically she knew that it was freezing and she had no reason to be sweating, or to need a cold compress. Though a part of her wanted to take the cloth from him and apply it herself, she lay perfectly still, staring at the wall with no idea what to say.

"Esme," Phoebus began eventually, "what's going on in that beautiful mind of yours? Something's been bothering you all day, I can tell." A million thoughts of how to respond rushed through Esmeralda's mind at once. There was so much she could say, so much she wanted to say, but it was like her mouth started moving before she could string together a coherent idea.

"Phoebus, I'm fine." And she wanted to slap herself across the face for it. Here was this man, this wonderful, loving man who looked at her and saw her in a way that nobody else ever had and still wanted to be with her, and she was pushing him away just like she had everyone else. Anyone else would've taken her word for it, or at least pretended to. They would've asked if there was anything she needed, she would say "no," and they'd leave her be. But Phoebus gently took his other hand and slipped it into one of hers, looking at her with his big, sapphire eyes with no trace of resentment or irritation, only compassion.

"You're not, Esmeralda," he interjected, tracing his thumb across her knuckles. "You're not fine, and I'm trying to give you however much space and time you need, but, love, I'm worried about you." Those words felt like a rock being dropped into her stomach. An enormous lump formed in her throat as she tried to furiously blink away the tears that were starting to form in her eyes. "I just love you so, so much," he continued, pulling their hands to his cheek, "and I hate to see you in pain like this."

"I... I'm sorry," Esmeralda whispered, her face flushing with shame. Ever since she started getting old enough to make her own money, she'd been determined to never be the girl anyone needed to worry about. She would be the provider, the dependable, well-spoken, and quick-witted young woman who had it all figured out for herself, and everyone seemed to love it. But in one day, she'd managed to completely undo all the work she'd put into that image, at least in the eyes of the person whose opinion mattered most to her. "I-I didn't mean- I'm so sorry. I hate the thought of having made you worry." With each word, her voice broke a little bit more until she was sobbing. Despising how weak she sounded and how pathetic she knew she looked, she tried to turn her face away from Phoebus', though she kept her hand in his.

"It's alright, my darling," he assured her, his voice calm and level as he took his hand off of the washcloth on her forehead and used it to wipe the tears pouring from her eyes. Biting down hard on her lip, Esmeralda tried desperately to calm herself, to force herself to stop crying over a situation that she created. "I'm not angry with you and you don't have to apologise. I just want you to know that I care about you, Esme, and if something's wrong, then I want to be there for you." Again, there were so many things she wanted to tell him, secrets to share with him, a part of her heart that she wanted to show him. But that ridiculous part of her brain, the part that saw everything as a threat, the part that never trusted anyone, spoke before she could even begin to think of how she wanted to phrase any of it.

"You wouldn't understand." 

And again, Phoebus still tried to reach her.

"I don't need to know exactly what it's like to still care." His tone was growing desperate, to the point where he was on the verge of pleading. In an instant, that protective part of her brain was overcome by the longing of her soul, her aching to be seen and to bear her heart to another person, her Phoebus. Turning back to him, she looked into his soft, kind eyes, and before she could stop herself, the words tumbled from her mouth.

"I can't dance at the Festival of Fools."

Esmeralda had expected it to feel like a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders once she finally told Phoebus the truth, but in reality, her words hung heavily in the air, still suffocating her as she waited for him to respond. He only blinked twice before he spoke, but to Esmeralda, those few seconds felt like an eternity. She knew how strange her declaration must have sounded, being physically fine, and performing regularly at Clopin's shows. Part of her thought he might scoff at how ridiculous she was sure she sounded, being the girl who not even a year ago had made "an entrance to entrance" all of Paris, now claiming she couldn't dance? She wouldn't have blamed him if he'd burst out laughing, or even told her to stop being dramatic and get over whatever stage fright she had going on. However, the laughter and judgement never came. Only a simple question, asked with the most love and concern that anyone had ever used to ask her anything.

"Why not, Esme?"

"I..." she swallowed hard, trying to expel the lump that was once again trying to fill her throat. "I've barely been able to dance since everything that happened with... with Frollo." Esmeralda felt Phoebus squeeze her hand the tiniest bit tighter as he went back to dabbing her face with the wet rag. It was barely cold anymore, but she appreciated how the feeling of the water and his hand in hers kept her from slipping back into her memories. "I've only been performing before Clopin's puppet shows when he's right there in case anything goes wrong." Once she started talking, it all came pouring out of her, like the water in an enormous reservoir after its dam begins to crumble. "I so want to get back to normal!" Without even realising it, her voice began to grow louder, less dejected and hopeless, and more angry. Though it wasn't really anger that she was feeling, it was something deeper, stronger, so vehement that she was simultaneously numbed and overpowered by it. She wasn't even sure if there was a word to describe it, it was just there. "I want more than anything to dance at the Festival the way that I used to, but I can't. Every time I think about it... it's like I forget how to breathe. Even rehearsing today with Clopin, I wanted to run. I could hardly stand it, Phoebus!" Unable to bear the distance between them any longer, Esmeralda used the scraps of her remaining strength to push herself up and reach her arms out to him. Without hesitating for a second, he crawled into bed beside her, pulling her back into his secure hold. Esmeralda smiled ever so slightly as she rested her head on his chest and realised she could hear the steady rhythm of his heart. Still, rivers of tears flowed down her cheeks, soaking his tunic, but he didn't care in the slightest. As he cradled his wife in his arms, he felt his heart break as she cried and as he realised the full extent to which Frollo had hurt her. Of course he'd always known some of it, the parts that were obvious, and the few things Esmeralda would occasionally share. He knew that she had nightmares, and he'd noticed how she went out of her way to avoid any reminders of what happened, always preferring Quasimodo to visit them in their home than to go to Notre Dame to see him. The two or three times they'd been back to the cathedral, Esmeralda would wrap both of her arms around one of Phoebus' and hang on for dear life until they left. Phoebus always figured it would be more polite to not draw attention to it and to allow Esmeralda to talk about it in her own time. Now that she was, he - not for the first time in his life -  had no idea what to say. Nothing would fix this, he knew that, and he also knew that this beautiful woman in his embrace didn't need fixing. She wasn't broken, nor was she a problem to be solved, she was a person who'd been hurt more in a few days than most people would be in their entire lives. A person who was so remarkably kind in spite of it all, and who deserved to feel that kindness be reciprocated.

"Esmeralda," Phoebus began, and just by the way he said her name, so full of warmth and adoration, Esmeralda felt her heart stop for a second. "Nobody's going to force you to perform if you're not ready yet, and if anyone thinks that they can, I'll set them straight." The very idea of Phoebus trying to threaten anyone who tried to make her dance elicited a tiny chuckle from her. Even though he was a soldier who could easily dominate in most fights, violence was always his last resort, and that was one of the many, many things she loved about him. "But I'm sure Clopin will understand." She cringed a little at the mention of Clopin. He'd been so relieved to see that she was alright when she found him climbing up a street light trying to get a better vantage point of the city, that he leapt down and twirled her around before pulling her into a tight squeeze. Though Esmeralda knew that he loved her like a daughter and he would never do anything to hurt her, part of her wanted him to be furious and scold her for being so irresponsible and wasting his time. A response like that would've felt justified because she had been stupid, she was wasting his time practicing for a performance that she wasn't even sure she'd be able to do. Even when they actually got to rehearsing and she was a hot mess, using the wrong arm or foot, always being a beat behind, sometimes just pausing mid-dance and standing in the middle of the floor like a clueless idiot, he was nothing but understanding. She'd just had the worst practice of her life for their most important show of the year, and he gently took her hand and told her to just go home and get some rest, that there was plenty of time to work everything out, and they could try again tomorrow.

Esmeralda knew that if she backed out now, hell, even if she refused to perform the second before she was set to go on, he'd find a way to make it work without her, and his main concern afterwards would be making sure that she was alright. But it still felt so wrong and selfish to be so adamant that she could do it only to quit immediately.

"He asked me months ago if I wanted to," she admitted feebly, "and I knew that it would be too much, but I insisted I was fine. I wanted to be able to do it so badly, Phoebus!" Pushing away from him, she sat up and felt her tear-filled eyes lock into his. "I wanted to prove to everyone that I can look after myself just fine," she continued, feeling an unjustifiable surge of frustration at his relatively calm expression. She knew that he was just trying to keep level for her because she was practically distraught, but now that she'd started to gain momentum, there was no stopping her. "I wanted to prove that I don't need to be doted on or coddled!" Without meaning to, she started raising her voice. "But it's like everything I do, I just keep failing! I've pushed so many people away, and I have nothing to show for it!" 

For a second, Esmeralda thought she might burst into tears all over again, but then she realised that all her anxiety, all her guilt had dissipated. There was nothing there now. Nothing but this feeling that she still couldn't pinpoint, the feeling she wasn't sure there was even a word for besides complete hollowness, a void that existed where her emotions should have been. Then, it came to her. 

"I feel like I've lost the woman I used to be..."

Grief.

She was grieving, mourning the loss of the woman she used to see when she looked in the mirror, the woman that she could've been now had none of this ever happened. She was never exceptionally happy, but she would've at least been happier than she was now, and she certainly would've been freer. Having never felt fear to dance, she would've never lost her favourite part of herself, and she would be dancing wherever she wanted whenever she wanted. She would be excited to perform at the Festival of Fools and do something she loved with her entire heart, instead of becoming paralysed by fear. There would still be pain, but not nearly as much, and it would be the familiar pain that she knew how to deal with on her own. She wouldn't be falling apart, feeling like she was merely spectating life as she struggled desperately to join in, only to realise she didn't know how, and she'd forgotten how to ask for help. Absent-mindedly tracing shapes on the quilt beneath her, she silently contemplated how different her life could've been as Phoebus slowly sat up in front of her, maintaining the distance, but trying to meet her at her level.

"You haven't lost her," he said softly, though from suddenly cutting through the quiet, she almost jumped, having honestly forgotten he was there. For a second, she wasn't sure if he'd spoken at all, or if she was just really out of it. "You haven't lost her," he repeated, "she's just changed." Her finger froze on the sheet, her mind now solely focused on Phoebus, who was clearly racking his brain for the right words. "You're scarred by what happened last Festival - as anyone would be - but the thing is, Esmeralda, is that very few people have been in a situation like yours. So the fact of the matter is that you don't need to prove anything to anyone, and you absolutely don't need to face everything alone." Just for a fraction of a millisecond, Esmeralda's world stopped. Admittedly, nobody had ever explicitly said to her that she needed to fend for herself, that was very much a conscious decision that she made, no-one had ever told her that she didn't need to. "As long as I'm alive, you never will be." 

Phoebus took a chance and held out his hands for her again. Esmeralda, mesmerised by his words, slipped hers into his, so full of love for him that her chest ached. "So saying that you're not ready to perform at the Festival of Fools again doesn't make you a failure," he asserted, his words firm, but his face soft and compassionate. "It doesn't mean that we're all going to fuss over you and constantly hover around you making sure you're okay."

"Promise?" Esmeralda whispered, her voice tiny and frail. This was what she needed most, some reassurance that after so much loss, some things could stay the same.

"I promise," he replied firmly, pressing a light kiss to her forehead. "I don't see you any differently. You'll always be my Esmeralda, and nothing could ever scare me away." There were very few instances where someone said something to Esmeralda that she knew that she would carry in her soul forever. Plenty of times she'd been told she was beautiful, or a wonderful dancer, and those things were perfectly pleasant to be told, but so rarely did someone respect her enough to dig even the tiniest bit deeper. But "you'll always be my Esmeralda" were words that she would want tattooed on her heart as a reminder of this day. How she thought it would end with her destroying her reputation of strength and stoicism, and how it instead ended with the man she loved still looking at her like she'd hung each star in the sky.

"I love you so much," she breathed, tenderly guiding his hands to her heart and holding them there. "More than you'll ever know, Phoebus."

"I love you too, my darling," Phoebus smiled at her, so thankful she was starting to relax and accept his comfort. "You're my world, and I'd do anything for you." Crawling back over to him, Esmeralda reclaimed her spot at his side, her face finding its home in the crook of his neck as he draped one arm around her waist, and used his other hand to serenely run his fingers through her thick, raven hair. Esmeralda all but purred with contentedness as her eyelids began to grow heavy and the world faded around her, but not before she felt Phoebus carefully pull a blanket up to her shoulders. In her practically delirious state of tiredness, an involuntary humm of disapproval emerged from her throat. Laughing lightly, Phoebus brought his hand back to her curls, lovingly and delicately stroking it until she soon drifted off.

The Court of Miracles was only just beginning to stir when Esmeralda and Phoebus arrived the next morning, the bells of Notre Dame having only just rung by the time they got there. Clopin however was already wide awake, deeply focussed as he practiced a what seemed to be a new storyline for his puppets. Had her fingers not been intertwined with Phoebus' she had no doubt that she would've forced herself to do the rehearsal and cry about it later, and that realisation made her stomach drop. She prided herself on never shying away from telling anyone how she felt, even men who were almost twice her size and armed with swords...

But apparently Clopin, her Oncle Clopin, was too hard to be honest with? Having gotten lost in thought once again, Phoebus gave her arm the tiniest jostle and offered her a small, reassuring smile as he looked pointedly at the other man. Not wanting to startle him, Esmeralda cleared her throat ever so slightly as she took the most minute step forward.

"Oncle Clopin?" she asked squeakily. Suddenly, she was reminded of all those times when she was a little girl who relied on him for everything. Every night when she nudged him awake to tell him that she'd had a nightmare, every time something reminded her of her parents and she'd run to him bawling her eyes out and in desperate need of a hug from him. Her normally low, level voice would jump up an octave, and would become so quiet that he had to lean in close to even have a chance at hearing her. It had been so long since she'd asked anything of him that she'd forgotten that her voice did that, and she despised how helpless and self-effacing she sounded. Somehow though, perhaps from all those years of experience learning to listen to her timid little mouse voice, Clopin still heard her.

"Good morning, mon bijou!" he grinned at her, bouncing up from where he sat with his puppets to throw his arms around her. When he saw Phoebus behind her though, his tone dropped ever so slightly. "Hello, Captain." It was then that Esmeralda remembered that the two of them only pretended to tolerate each other for her sake.

"I asked Phoebus to come this morning," she said, trying in vain to talk normally. Unfortunately, her vocal cords were just as stubborn as she was, for even with all the effort she was putting in, she still sounded like a terrified little girl. "I know you're very busy getting everything ready, but I was hoping that if you had time, we could talk?"

"I'm never too busy for you, princess," he smiled, though Esmeralda noticed the little twinkle of fear in his eyes, like he was already thinking the worst. He already knew he was about to be disappointed. "Come," he continued, taking her hand and guiding her towards his tent, "let's go somewhere a little more private, darling." Looking back to see if Phoebus was going to follow, she saw that he stood there awkwardly, his leg ever so slightly bent as if he was about to take a step forward, but wasn't sure whether he should or not. "You can come as well, Captain," Clopin added, albeit begrudgingly.

Clopin led the three of them to his caravan, tossing some cushions on the floor so that they could have somewhere comfortable to sit. In a pathetic attempt to stall as she struggled to think of the right words, Esmeralda pretended to busy herself with adjusting her headband.

"So, mon bijou," he began, gesturing for them all to sit, "what's the matter?" Gone was all the overexuberance and pageantry that everyone was so accustomed to seeing from him. This was a side of Clopin that only Esmeralda ever really got acquainted with. The side of him that was genuine, approachable, even sweet and placid - when he really wanted to be. Esmeralda realised that maybe both of them knew more about pretending than they'd ever admit.

"Well," she started, squeezing her eyes shut and taking a breath so deep that her entire chest rose with it, "I want to start by saying that I'm so, so sorry for being late yesterday. I should've been more responsible, and I'm sorry that I made you worry." She kept her gaze towards the floor as she talked, not able to bring herself to look at the man that she knew she was about to disappoint, when suddenly, she felt two fingers tap beneath her chin, gently guiding her face up to his.

"Darling, I hope you know that I wasn't upset with you at all," Clopin assured her. "I wasn't worried because I thought you'd decided to go off and do something horrible instead, I was just afraid that someone might have hurt you." With a small, sad smile, she lightly took his hand from her chin and held onto it for strength. In her peripheral vision, she could see Phoebus giving her the tiniest nod of encouragement to keep going.

"Nobody hurt me yesterday, Oncle Clopin," she laughed ever so slightly, endeared by how much faith he had in her to make good choices. It was kind of incredible that a teenager who'd been so determined to raise herself ended up being so put-together. As she finally started to feel herself relax, she also noticed how her voice was slowly lowering back to its normal pitch. "I'm not trying to make things hard for you or be overdramatic, but with what happened at the last Festival and... everything afterwards, I... I just..." After gaining all that steam, suddenly she had no idea what she wanted to say. "I can't do it" sounded too pitiful, as did "I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to dance like that again." But then "I'm not sure I want to" or "I'm afraid to perform" would make it out like she just had some stage fright and just needed a pep talk. Thankfully though, Clopin already seemed to understand where their conversation was going.

"You don't want to dance this year," he said. It wasn't a question, it was a statement, like he knew that this was coming, and he had known for a while now. Maybe he'd just been waiting for her to be able to come to terms with it herself and didn't want her to feel like he was dictating what she could and couldn't do, or maybe he was only then putting the pieces together. Either way, Esmeralda was glad he'd said something. 

"I do want to," she replied, her heartbeat reverberating in her ears as she felt herself finally getting to what she'd come here to say. "More than anything... but I'm just not ready." This time, she really did get that feeling of a burden being lifted off of her shoulders, and she found that she had more to say. "It's all still so raw," she continued, thinking back to the previous morning. How she'd paced her house for she didn't even know how long, holding Djali close to her chest and stroking him as she tried to calm herself and rid herself of the memories that were haunting her. The moments that she normally couldn't really recall, but every so often would resurface in her mind with a vengeance, determined to make their presence known before they faded into obscurity again. "I know that you asked if I could do it and I kept insisting that I could. I guess I was just being stubborn and didn't want to admit it to myself," she finally admitted tiredly. The entire caravan was completely silent as the three of them seemed to take a second to absorb her confession, especially Esmeralda, who hadn't realised that she had so much to say. "I'm so sorry," she added eventually, squeezing his hand. "I really thought I could, but you saw how much of a disaster I was yesterday. I couldn't get out of my head. I couldn't stop remembering everything I want to forget."

For as much as Esmeralda had feared upsetting Clopin, and had even kind of wanted to hear him berate her, she would never be able to put into words how relieved she was when the yelling and reprimanding never came. Instead, he scooted next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder like he would when she was younger, sitting up straight as a rod in her bed after a bad dream.

"I've noticed that you haven't been dancing as much as you used to," he confessed contritely, like he felt like a failure for not having said something sooner, "and princess, you've seemed so much more reserved and downhearted. I really do hope that someday, you'll be able to dance like you did before, because you have a gift unlike any I've ever seen." He beamed down at her as he spoke with such admiration and adoration that Esmeralda couldn't help but smile a little bit back, though her eyes were welling up with tears and she couldn't believe he was taking this so well. "But until then, we can take things slowly," he sighed, giving her shoulder a little pat. "There's no need to rush, no deadline for when you have to be ready. You'll know when the time comes, and anything you need, the Cap- Phoebus and I will be right here." Behind them, Phoebus was quietly surprised that Clopin had actually used his name. He wasn't sure if it was out of respect for him or Esmeralda, but it was a relatively nice gesture nonetheless. "Whether you dance at the Festival or not doesn't matter to me," Clopin continued, bringing his forehead to hers and cupping her face, using his thumbs to dry her cheeks. "I love you no matter what, Esmeralda," he finished with a whisper. Blinking the tears from her eyes, Esmeralda noticed how his were rimmed with red, as if he was on the brink of crying himself. 

The next few words came easily. There was nothing to consider, no fear of saying the wrong thing, nor worry of being difficult.

"I love you, too. I'm so sorry for pushing you away that I have been."

"Enough apologies, young lady," he jokingly told her off, leaning back to rustle her hair. "Besides, you could never push me away. I'll always be here for you, whether it's to watch you shine, or to keep you company in the darkness, you'll always be part of my heart, a part I could never imagine my life without." Why did you ever deny yourself this? she asked herself. What made you think he would ever be angry with you? What made you think he would ever want you to be alone? That moment, she made an oath to herself, a promise to never deprive herself of this unconditional, unabashed love ever again. To seal it, she threw her arms around him and pulled him back towards her.

"Thank you for looking after me."

"That's okay, mon bijou."