God Help The Outcasts: COMPLETE

Chapter Sixteen: Eye of the Beholder

Drizella peeked around the flap of her tent. There were only a few scattered gypsies here and there, going about their morning business. That was good. She didn't want to draw too much attention to herself. She'd combed her hair like Esmeralda had shown her but lain aside the gypsy garb Esmeralda had wrestled her into last night. Although they were beautiful, they weren't her, at least not yet. She needed time to adjust. Time to learn how to be herself...whoever 'herself' was.

She pushed the weathered thoughts aside and crept into the quiet morning of the catacombs, clad in the dress she'd come to them in. The few gypsies she encountered exchanged concerned or confused glances amongst themselves, but none stopped her. She quickened her pace self-consciously and ducked into Esmeralda's tent.

"Esmeralda?" She found her tying a headband into her mass of gorgeous black waves.

"Good morning," she greeted, and smiled at her reflection as she finished the knot. "I think that's the best I've ever tied this thing." She turned to acknowledge Drizella fully and shock flashed through her features. "What happened to your clothes?"

Drizella bit her lip in an attempt not to cry. Calm down, she didn't mean it that way.

"I just thought...well, I'm not really ready to be wearing it all the time yet. And besides," she said, her words quickening, "I wanted to go outside today, to go see Nakoma and take her some food. And," she said with a triumphant smile as she remembered her valid excuse, "and I didn't want to label myself as a gypsy and stand out. So I figured these clothes would be better."

Esmeralda studied her concernedly with narrowed eyes.

"Do the clothes make you uncomfortable?"

Drizella frowned, stared at the floor and rubbed her arm uneasily.

"A little," she admitted softly. "It's not that I don't think they're pretty," she hastened to add. "I just need time to get used to them."

Esmeralda sighed, but there was a smile on her face.

"Alright, I understand. Just promise me you'll wear them at night, while you're here in the catacombs. Just at night, when you're with me and the others. Then you can get used to them without having to wear them all the time."

Drizella nodded vigorously with relief.

"I promise. But I was wanting to ask you if it was alright for me to go outside."

"Of course," Esmeralda said, walking her toward the tent flap. "Just make sure you're not followed and come back as soon as possible. I'll get a few others to watch your back. Oh!" she said, and scooped up a basket from the floor. "Take this to Nakoma. It's got bread and some cheese and dried fruit in it. It should help, anyway. Tell her and Quasi 'hello' from all of us here."

"I will," she said, and then began on her way. One of the gypsies, presumably one of Esmeralda's friends who was going to make sure she wasn't followed, showed her a way around the water so she wouldn't get her shoes wet. Then she was outside once again, savoring the fresh breeze in her loose, combed hair. As she walked the streets of Paris, always keeping the towering cathedral directly in front of her, she eagerly watched the citizens at work and play. Children chased chickens across the road, wives gathered together like gaggles of geese and gossiped, and husbands hovered over hordes of merchandise in wagons and carts.

The sweet smell of freshly-baked bread overwhelmed her and she was suddenly homesick, at least for the company of her sister. She wondered if her mother had done anything terrible to Anastasia and the baker, but somehow knew that Cinderella wouldn't let that happen. Cinderella, that sweet, sweet girl. How many times over the years had she felt a twinge of regret, a sharp pang of guilt for abusing her, and then swept it aside in the name of her selfishness?

That Drizella is no more, she reminded herself firmly as the guilt pricked her eyes with moisture. This is a new day, and I refuse to be fake ever again. The problem was, she'd lived so long with lies that truth for her was hard to find. Who was she, really? What was Drizella Tremaine really like? What did she love and what did she hate?

I hate being used. The thought surprised her, but it was true, so true, she realized. She frowned as she stared at the cathedral and thought of her mother and of the cruel, black-garbed minister. I hate it when people treat other people badly for no reason. I hate the way Mother treated us, all of us, when we told her we didn't want to be used anymore. I hate it when people lie to me or lie to get what they want.

She realized she was scowling rather fiercely and took a deep breath to smooth her features. Alright. Now what do I love? Images of people and memories of kindnesses assaulted her. I love...friendship. Pictures of Nakoma and Esmeralda and Cinderella stilled before her mind's eye. Having someone to rely on. That's always nice. And kindness. Kindness for no other reason than simply to be kind. And people showing real love. Not fake love to get something from someone. Quasimodo's plight and the way Nakoma and Esmeralda stood for him against the people of the crowd was something she would never forget, along with their terrifying flight from the cathedral afterwards.

Then she remembered someone grabbing her arm, someone leading her to safety in the aftermath of Esmeralda's daring escape, and couldn't help but smile. Yes, Clopin was a friend to her. She didn't understand why. Why had he picked her out from the crowd and chosen to help her? If he hadn't, would she have ever been able to find Esmeralda? Would she have a place of safety to return to now?

She dammed up the flow of 'what ifs' rather forcefully and brought reality back to mind. It had happened. He had picked her out of the crowd, for whatever reason, and brought her to Esmeralda. And that was all that mattered, for now she was nearing the cathedral.

She focused on behaving normally and forced herself not to tug nervously at her sleeve or tuck her hair behind her ear too many times. Her careful steps echoed noisily off of the stone as she ascended the stairs up to the gigantic wooden doors. There were still guards at the doors, but neither of them were the same guard that had studied her the night before. They let her in without a word, and as the great doors shut behind her she struggled to adjust to the sparse light filtering through beautiful stained-glass windows. Now where is that doorway?

A twinge of panic sliced through her, but she forced her mind to go back to the first time she'd stood here, right inside the doors. Esmeralda had been singing, underneath an enormous circular window. She walked farther in and found the window. Good. Now where exactly had she been standing? She turned toward the pillars close to the walls and suddenly spotted the doorway, beckoning to her welcomingly. Feeling quite proud of herself, she set off in that direction, trying not to walk too quickly.

Once on the stairs, though, she darted up as quickly as she could. She couldn't believe she'd actually found it! Just wait until she told Nakoma—

"Oof!" She tumbled into a mess of limbs and cloth and panicked, struggling to free herself.

"Drizella?" said the figure.

"Nakoma!" She rolled away and leaned against the wall of the staircase in relief. "I was scared you were Frollo."

"Me, too," said Nakoma. They began picking up the items that had been thrown from Drizella's basket. "I heard you coming but there was no time to hide."

"I didn't hear you at all," Drizella said. Nakoma smiled and handed the basket to her.

"I've been taught all my life to walk silently," she said.

"This basket is for you." Drizella pushed the basket into her hands. "I can't stay long, Esmeralda says I need to come back as soon as possible."

"I was going to find the archdeacon, anyway," Nakoma said, and then peeled back the cloth covering the food with a hungry sigh. "Thank you, my friend. I can walk you back down the stairs, at least." They started off back down the stairs, arm-in-arm and whispering amiably. Drizella couldn't help thinking, as they talked, that she would have liked Nakoma to come with them. Maybe she could bring her back...but not without Esmeralda's permission.

"Do you want to come with me?" she asked as they reached the bottom of the stair.

Nakoma raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I just wanted to offer. I realize that Esmeralda and I ran away and left you here. I would have to go back and ask for her permission, of course—"

"No." Drizella flinched at the sudden response. Nakoma laughed, patting her arm. "No," she said more gently. "I'm fine here. And if I need to leave, I'll find a way out. Thank you for asking, though. It means a lot."

Drizella smiled. It felt good to be appreciated. Genuinely appreciated.

"And just so you know," Nakoma said, "I can see a lovely heart in you." Drizella, taken aback, could do nothing but stare at her. She, plain Drizella, selfish Drizella, mean Drizella who had bullied a poor orphan for years, had a lovely heart?

"T-thank you," she said uncertainly, and stumbled away toward the door struggling to keep her eyes from misting over.

Beauty must truly be in the eye of the beholder, she thought, because I see nothing lovely about me. Nothing at all.



AlyCatAuthor