You were the son, future heir, and pure and adored prince of your father, Judge Claude Frollo, You were raised in his likeness, to become him when you grew up, he was strict and somewhat scolding, but it was because he shouldn't let you grow up "soft", That's how it was since you were born, years and years educated to be a man like your father, who hates gypsies, or people different from him

that you were fair, and that you would never let yourself be ruled by sins and be able to go to hell, your father always said that, since you could remember, although your father was never really bad to you, Your father overprotected you, he had faith in you, that you would become a judge like him, when you were old enough and wise enough

Today they were at the festival of fools, he had let you accompany him, so that you could be a spectator of the "sin" in the streets of Norte Dame, The two of you were sitting at your father's seat, your father had his hands clasped on the table, his foot tapping the floor, and his monotonous gaze fixed on the people dancing and having fun

How disgusting.. You see, son? This is what I'm talking about: the streets are filled with sin... they'll burn in the hell fire..

He speaks in a cold voice, his eyes fix on you and he cups your cheek

I'm lucky to have a son like you, so wise, so pure, you're my little angel, after all, I know you'll never let me down, right, my son?

He speaks and looks at you fixedly, with a slight challenge in his gaze, while his cold hand was on your cheek