Psychological mobbing, racist slurs (use of the G-word), slut/ body shaming, inappropriate sexual remarks
The Hunchback of Notre Dame.
Modern AU. 90s Catholic Highschool Edition.
Every character is 18+. Trigger warning, because of sexual undertones and... Principal Frollo's thoughts.
Father-daughter dynamics. He destroys everything.
Sara Esfahani is my OC. All rights to the other main characters belong to Victor Marie Hugo.
https://share.google/fbsefR071inTJEVAe
Everything at Notre Dame High was strictly guarded and controlled by Frollo’s bony, elongated fingers. They seemed to be everywhere, lingering, pulling the strings here and there. One could feel his presence.
In the auditorium, the hallways, the stairwell, the teachers’ lounge, even in the courtyard.
And yet… there were exceptions.
A place every female student from first grade to twelfth grade entered. Rarely alone, more often in groups.
A place you could go when you needed a little privacy, a little quiet.
A place that technically reeked of piss and the metallic aftertaste of old pipes, but which the girls skillfully drowned in cheap perfume and even cheaper floral soap.
A refuge. But sometimes also a battlefield.
Here you chatted, touched up your makeup, cried in one of the stalls, or fought other girls. You either belonged to one side or the other.
And Sara and Esmeralda stood right in the middle of it.
Esmeralda wrinkled her nose. She always did when she entered this place. The smell awakened too many bad memories, made her nauseous all at once.
Sara had gone ahead of her and was now washing her hands.
The afternoon light filtered through the frosted window, casting pale shadows onto the dark green walls.
“I hate this place,” Esmeralda said, leaning against the cold wall behind her. Her arms were crossed as she looked toward the opening that led to more than twenty stalls lined up side by side.
Sara washed her hands. Twice with soap. Twice rinsed. Thorough. Clean. Proper. Her hands hovered beneath the water longer than necessary.
“Oh come on. It used to smell worse. Now it smells more like a perfume department in hell.”
“I don’t necessarily mean the bathroom, dummy,” Esmeralda added, now impatient.
Sara turned off the hissing water.
Her cheeks were still flushed, her jaw tense.
There was no point in hiding anything here.
She gripped the cool porcelain edge of the sink, holding eye contact through the mirror. Then she pressed her lips together and looked at her own reflection.
No friendly smile, no mask anymore.
Who was the person looking at her?
Of course Sara had tried to ignore it.
The assembly. All the stares. The whispering. Frollo’s voice echoing in her head like a damning church bell, and now Esmeralda’s gaze drilling into the back of her skull.
There was something else, too.
Full lips that some young girl had pressed into the upper right corner of the mirror.
Without realizing it, Sara touched her own lips with her fingers.
She couldn’t even manage a smile, couldn’t make some amused remark about someone’s apparently successful practice session in Advanced Kissing on that cleaned up mirror.
Everything felt weird. An uncomfortable feeling in her gut.
“Everything okay?” Esmeralda asked.
“I’m fine,” Sara said automatically and let her hand fall abruptly, still standing in front of the sink.
Water dripped from her fingers onto the tiles beneath.
“Sure. Fine. Because that assembly was completely normal… Nothing strange about the principal screaming about whores and damnation for twenty minutes.”
Sara shot her a sharp look through the mirror. “He was… passionate. He cares about us. About protecting us—”
“From what, Sara?” Esmeralda pushed herself off the wall and stepped closer. “From life? From having fun? From being normal teenagers?”
“That’s not what he meant. You misunderstand him, Esme.” Sara finally turned toward her. “He’s worried about moral decay, about us losing our way. He wants to protect—”
Sara turned away. With an abrupt movement, she tore a paper towel from the dispenser and dried her hands with meticulous care.
Her face remained unreadable, but inside that uneasy feeling got stronger.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Esmeralda opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“‘What is that supposed to mean’? Sara, you can’t be serious. Whatever you're thinking about, you need to think QUICKER. This is no joke. Just Listen to me. Not him, me. Why are you so, so— Ughh..."
The Romani girl let out a deep sigh, her expression almost tortured.
She didn’t know how to tell her friend what she had seen.
Sara simply stared at her. Serious. Focused for the first time since IT happened.
Alright, no fighting. Not now.
Esmeralda tried to calm herself.
There were too many things haunting her own mind now: the way Frollo’s eyes had followed Sara throughout the entire speech, the tremor in his voice, the way he had practically declared Esmeralda his ultimate enemy in his heavenly crusade. While at the same time looking at Sara as if she were both the blazing angel of his redemption and the most horrifying thing on earth. His own damnation.
This old man was absolutely sick in the head and she knew it.
“Listen,” Esmeralda said carefully, taking a deep breath. She had to improvise. “I just think… maybe you shouldn’t be alone with him right now. He seemed… not himself. More than usual.”
“Not himself?” Sara asked, frowning. She had now fully turned back to her friend.
“Intense. Angry. I don’t know… just strange! Even more than usual!” Esmeralda ran a hand through her lush curls, frustration creeping into her voice. “You saw how he reacted to Clopin. A year of detention for being late? That’s batshit crazy—even for him!”
“He isn't crazy. It's called stressed, overworked, annoyed, angry, obsessed with rules and morals. Clopin called us hot in front of the whole school, remember?” Sara countered, though her voice was a little softer now. She folded the paper towel into smaller and smaller squares. “You know what Monsieur Frollo is like—he hates profanity. And that sign… ‘Welcome to Hell’… He had every right to be angry. It is his—no, our school. We should respect one another here. Besides—”
She crumpled the used towel in her fist and tossed it into the trash with force. A perfect shot. Then she looked Esmeralda straight in the eyes again. “—he only threatened him with a year. In the end he only got one month.”
Wow, Sara. You just turned your absolutely creepy headmaster into an misunderstood Saint.
Basically what almost every adult in this school does.
Is that what people call growing up?
As if that righteous Stick-in the ass wasn’t already full of himself.
I can't stay quiet anymore.
Gritting her teeth together Esmeralda stepped closer.
“That’s not the point at all! He wasn’t just angry at Clopin." Then she lowered her voice. "Sara, he practically declared war on me in that assembly. On me personally: temptress, troublemaker, corrupter… whore!” She shook her head as she repeated Frollo’s words, her wild curls framing her face. “He might as well have pointed at me and shouted, ‘Arrest that gypsy girl!’ It just wasn’t normal.”
The desperate girl emphasized every single syllable.
Meanwhile, Sara’s gaze had drifted back to the mirror, right to the lipstick mark.
It was as if she were struggling with something.
The wheels in her head turning. Her eyebrows drew together in concern.
For a brief moment, the only sound was the loud, echoing drip of a faulty faucet.
Esmeralda pressed her lips together, staring at her best friend.
What are you thinking now, girl?
As if she had heard the question, Sara sighed deeply.
Then she reached out and touched Esmeralda’s arm. “Esme, he wasn’t talking about you. He was talking about… societal pressures, about—”
“I know what he was talking about.” Esmeralda’s jaw tightened. “And you should too. Every time he said ‘bad influences’ or ‘seducers,’ he looked straight at me. And then he looked at you. As if I were some kind of demon dragging you to hell.”
“Is it?” Esmeralda’s voice cracked slightly. “Sara, I know that man has hated me since we were kids. But today was different. Today he made it public. In front of everyone.” She swallowed hard. “I have a bad feeling, okay? I’m afraid of what he might do—”
Esmeralda stopped short when she saw Sara’s face darken, her focus shifting to something behind her.
She blocked it all out. Nothing could come past that invisible wall.
Oh no no no no no, you will not block ME out now.
“Saraaa! Are you even listening to me?”
Then she heard it too: footsteps.
What followed was a sweet little hum: "Hmmhmhmmm.~"
Out of reflex, Esmeralda stepped aside to give the person behind her access to the washbasin.
Before she could continue lecturing her friend, she recognized her.
Her blonde hair caught the light as she entered, as if the room were her personal kingdom.She washed her hands slowly, deliberately, then walked to the paper towel dispenser, hips swaying.
Sara and Esmeralda stood frozen. Only their eyes moved, following her.
Carefully, the figure dried her hands before planting her fists against her sides and glaring at the two friends.
“Oh my, oh my… what do we have here?
Sweet petite Sara and the Whore of Babylon herself. Why so quiet all of a sudden?”
“This is a private conversation. Stay out of it, Fleur,” Sara replied emotionlessly.
“Oh, is it now? Hmm… Well allow me to make a remark. You did seem pretty lost in… thought. Didn’t even see me coming because of it. I'm just a little curious, you know.”
An amused undertone slipped into Fleur’s mocking voice.
Esmeralda turned towards Sara, shielding her and added curtly: “Leave.”
“Ah, ah, ah—where are your manners? I’m hardly surprised that with such… uncivilized behavior, you manage to drive the big scary principal into a rage."
She tilted her head a little.
"Let me just say... that that was bold of him. Very bold."
A pause. Then a soft, almost approving hum.
"But you know, I actually liked it. ”
She smiled sweet and polished. So fake.
“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”
Sara’s voice was ice cold.
Her cheeks heated again. Something flashed in her eyes. Outrage...? More than outrage?
The blonde girl sighed theatrically and placed a hand over her heart.
“Oh, little Sara, if only you knew. Word is Monsieur Frollo is making new plans. It's about time to restore proper order in this house. It’s been so… chaotic lately. He cares so heartbreakingly about our school community. A wonderful man. And so...... manly, don’t you think?
But what can one do when sons and… daughters grow rebellious?
Sometimes you simply have to give special attention to the… most lost of sheep.”
Sara pressed her lips together. But she didn’t move.
Noticing, Esmeralda pulled her closer and whispered from behind, “She’s trying to get inside your head.”
But her best friend seemed to be somewhere else again.
Suddenly the stall door slammed open with a sharp crack against the wall.
Marie and Colette—two equally perfectly made-up faces glued to Fleur de Lys like accessories—entered the girls’ restroom.
Colette strutted around her friend and stopped beside her.
“Fleur, your… boyfriend is looking for you.~ I think he misses his lady.~”
She leaned her leggings-clad butt against the sink, purple leg warmers crossing at the ankles.
A grin stretched across her face—one she seemed to steal straight from Fleur in that very moment.
“Ugh. He can wait,” Fleur replied simply, rolling her eyes.
Marie was the first to notice Sara and Esmeralda.
“Oh… hiiii.” She wiggled her fingers in mock greeting.
“What a surprise. The stars of the school.”
The redhead shot them an almost seductive look—if it weren’t for that Cheshire-cat grin so characteristic of their group.
Like a ballerina, she hopped to Fleur’s side.
3 girls seemed to be one now.
Elegance would be the first word to describe them at first glance.
Facade would be the second.
Colette squealed like a fangirl and shook Fleur’s arm as she pointed at Esmeralda.
“Look de Lys, look! The Whore of Babylon in person! Oh, we’ve waited so long to make your acquaintance, Miss.”
She made a dramatic gesture toward the ceiling.
Marie giggled. Fleur snorted.
The pretty blonde girl joined into Colette's ridiculous game.
“So tell me, Chantefleurie, how does it feel to be publicly condemned by the principal? In front of the entire school?”
Fleur stepped forward, holding her fist up to Esmeralda like an imaginary microphone.
“The students of Notre Dame High are DYING to hear more about the recent events. We are your biggest fans! Oh—and the boys especially. What’s that saying again? A whore always has room for more than three.”
Unrestrained giggling erupted behind her.
Fleur’s blue eyes slid from Esmeralda to Sara and back, eager to devour even the smallest reaction.
Esmeralda slapped Fleur’s hand away.
“Get lost if you don’t need to piss, de Lys. We have something to discuss.”
Fleur’s smile froze into ice. Her hand itching from the slap.
“This is a public restroom, gypsy. I have just as much right to be here as you.”
Then she turned back to her girls, running a hand through her smooth hair. With the innocence of a child she added, pouting:
“Although according to Monsieur Frollo, you don’t have much right to be around decent people, do you?”
“Fleur, please—” Sara began, but Fleur’s attention snapped to her like a predator sensing movement.
From the back, Colette chimed in,
“Ooooh, careful Fleur, she might start begging on her knees.”
Fleur’s grin widened. She closed her eyes and lifted her hands.
“Okay, okay. I’ll be quiet. I don’t want something happening to me because I didn’t obey Saint Little Miss Scarhand.”
Marie added awkwardly but just as viciously,
“And- And imagine her running straight to her Papá afterward!”
Sara’s face flushed deep red. She clenched her teeth and stepped out from behind Esmeralda.
Marie’s smile faltered as she heard the pure wrath in Sara's voice, but Fleur didn’t let up.
“Oh, you heard correctly. Our little favourite girl has grown so pretty… despite… everything.”
Her gaze dropped deliberately to Sara’s scarred hand, now clenched into a fist.
“Tell me—does it make you feel special? All that… attention from the principal?”
Small lines of anger formed between Sara’s brows. She grabbed Esmeralda’s arm instinctively, making sure neither of them moved—even though she herself was seconds from exploding.
She thought of that morning. Of him.
Don’t overreact. That’s what she wants.
“Nothing to say? Really? Ow come on. Everyone saw it. The way he kept looking at you during assembly. Like you were the only person in the room.”
Fleur inspected her nails with exaggerated indifference.
“That’s almost… inappropriate, don’t you think? A man his age staring at a student like that?”
“That’s enough,” Esmeralda snarled. Her whole body vibrated with barely restrained fury. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Beside her, Sara began to tremble. Not from fear. From rage.
“Really?” Fleur’s smile widened. She let her gaze drift over their curves.
“Body language doesn’t lie, you know. You’ve both… grown, huh? The boys can hardly keep their hands off you. No wonder, the way you put yourselves on display. Poor, poor Clopin. A whole month cleaning because he couldn’t keep his hands off you. Bit of an overreaction, don’t you think? Unless, of course, our dear principal is… jealous.”
The word fell like a stone into still water.
“You’re disgusting,” Esmeralda hissed, looking ready to strike.
But Sara grabbed her shoulder too.
Don’t overreact… Don’t let her win… Don’t disappoint Monsieur Frollo…
“I’m observant,” Fleur countered lightly, turning to her friends. “Come on, girls. The air in here is getting… unclean.”
“Bye, losers!” Colette called, making an L-sign over her forehead.
“And don’t forget protection!” Marie added. “Especially you, Saint Cicatrice! We wouldn’t want you losing your... honor!”
Fleur followed them but paused at the door, glancing back over her shoulder.
“Oh, and Sara? A little advice. Men like Frollo—men who see themselves as saviors? They’re the most dangerous. Especially when they think they own you, sweetie. But I suppose you already have… cultural experience with that, hmm?”
The door swung shut behind them. Their hyena-like laughter echoed down the hallway.
Sara stood frozen. Pale. Then red. Then pale again.
“That bitch—” Esmeralda began.
“No.” Sara’s voice was tight, controlled. “She’s just trying to provoke us. That’s what she always does. We’re not falling for it. Not this time. Never again.”
“Sara, don’t you think Fleur—”
“She’s wrong,” Sara pressed out. “She doesn’t-- she doesn’t know…”
She clutched her own hand. To protect it. To hide it. To steady herself.
“She has everything. A family. Security. Money. A beautiful big house. People who would do anything for her. Everything.
She doesn’t know what suffering is. The pain of waking up and asking yourself why nothing ever changes.
She doesn’t know what it’s like when your limbs ache so badly from exhaustion you think they’ll tear apart.
Staying up so long studying your head feels like it’ll burst.
Being woken at night by a crying baby, a parent in distress.
Feeling hungry, that horrible ache in your belly.
She doesn’t know what it’s like to feel the sun on your skin after darkness and think—despite everything— I’m alive!
To run into someone’s arms—a mother, a friend, a brother, a lover, a father—and that being your only home, your only safety.
She knows nothing. Nothing at all.
She doesn’t know you. She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know him.”
Her voice softened. Her gaze drifted from the lipstick mark on the mirror to the small bright window high on the wall. Noon sunlight flooded the room.
“Who believed in me back then? Who saw me when I was nothing?
Monsieur Frollo was there.
I fell—he helped me up. I was dull and sad—he looked into my soul and then he knew.
He was strict, sometimes cold—but then he would smile at me. Soft. Warm.
Esmeralda turned toward her.
“Frollo." Sara cut her off with his name. "He isn’t… he isn’t what she says. He never… he always protected me. Encouraged me. Took me seriously. Without him I… I wouldn’t be here.
She doesn’t know how he saved Quasimodo. She doesn’t know how he gave me books my father would have loved. She doesn’t know how he looked at me when I was nine—not like- like now, but… like a person. The first adult who ever treated me like one.”
She inhaled. Her eyes glistening.
“She’s trying to take that away from me. To make it ugly. I won’t let her.”
“You’re planning to visit him now. Don’t you?”
“I have to. I want to… fight....
Her?... Him? I don’t know to be honest.”
A bitter laugh from Esmeralda.
“You’re the craziest person I know. Right after the old man and that bitch."
Silence. Esmeralda had no other choice then to give in right now.
"But if you think you can talk to him… I can’t stop you. Not now.”
The next second without warning, Sara wraped her arms around Esmeralda’s neck and pulled her into a brief embrace.
“I promise I will survive. We will clean everything up after fighting.”
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Esmeralda mumbled while Sara released her again, grinning like the scene with Fleur didn’t happen.
"You know, like Clopin after he makes a mess."
"Stop speaking and go visit the endboss. You don’t want him to activate his 'Sara, you are late' stare."
A light giggle from Sara.
"Effect: Hypnosis and ultimate guilt for 30 seconds. I need to hurry! See you later, teamplayer."
In the next moment, she pushed the door open with her shoe toe and ran down the hall.
Esmeralda remained, closing her eyes.
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