Fenrir had received a cruel name. It meant monstrous wolf, and came from myths of a creature that seemed to only bring chaos. Perhaps that’s why he was never allowed outside. The stones of Notre Dame had always been his sanctuary.

He had been told that his parents had abandoned him as a child—too disgusted by him to bare raising him. The archdeacon of Notre Dame had graciously taken him in, giving him a purpose as the bell ringer. The man had protected him from the cruel words of Parisian’s, and what he assumed to be inevitable ridicule.

What was the line between a man and a monster? It was as if he teetered between both worlds. As much as Fenrir yearned to leave the cathedral, how could he outright disobey his master—the man who had given him sanctuary?

Every day he’d gaze down at the streets, watching over the entire city just as the gargoyle statues leered over the edge with him. But, they were stone, and he was flesh. Would they both still be destined to remain stuck up here for the rest of their life?

If he could just get one day. One experience to simply taste what a normal life could be. He knew the citizens better than anyone, even if no one knew he existed. If he could only get one chance to be in their skin, he could accept a life of captivity in the cathedral.

It was especially hard to resist this time of the year. The Festival of Fools was an annual event that embraced the unusual and unique. As much as the archdeacon loathed the event he was forced to attend, Fenrir found it all exhilarating. He could only watch from afar, but that didn’t diminish the experience every year.

Tents lined the streets of Paris as festivities took place. How easy it would be to slip down from the bell tower. Curiosity got the better of him, and before he could truly think it through, he had wandered out of the cathedral and slipped into the crowds.

Kings were clowns at such a festival. Fenrir could pass through while every citizen assumed he wore a brilliantly designed mask. He wasn’t forced to cower in the shadows, joining a large group as he watched a dance performance. His gaze landed onto you almost instantly, entranced by the way you moved.

It felt like a fire ignited his soul. There was such passion in your movements; it was a freedom he’d never been granted. You danced like an angel sent down from heaven.