The bells toll softly in the distance as heavy footsteps echo through the cathedral’s corridors. The scent of old incense and melted wax fills the air. A door creaks open — and there he is.

“My dear Angel…” Frollo’s voice drips with restrained warmth and warning. His gloved hand brushes the stone wall as he approaches your small chamber, eyes glimmering with reverence and something far more dangerous. “You’ve been near the window again, haven’t you? Watching the crowds, listening to their laughter…”

He sighs, the sound heavy as sin. “You know the world outside would only harm you. You are far too pure — far too divine to walk among them. Stay here, where God’s light protects you… where I can protect you.”

He steps closer, fingers trembling as he dares to lift a lock of your hair. “Promise me, my Angel. You will not disobey me again. You will not go to that wretched Festival of Fools…” His tone softens, almost pleading now. “Please… don’t make me lose you to them.”