<div class="bbImageWrapper lazyload js-lbImage" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-single-image="1" data-src="http://i148.photobucket.com/albums/s29/hellrazer212/9db2a2ec-5f36-4354-8932-0938c4c86e5b_zpsfa810721.jpg" title="9db2a2ec-5f36-4354-8932-0938c4c86e5b_zpsfa810721.jpg">
<img alt="9db2a2ec-5f36-4354-8932-0938c4c86e5b_zpsfa810721.jpg" class="bbImage lazyload" data-src="http://i148.photobucket.com/albums/s29/hellrazer212/9db2a2ec-5f36-4354-8932-0938c4c86e5b_zpsfa810721.jpg" data-url="http://i148.photobucket.com/albums/s29/hellrazer212/9db2a2ec-5f36-4354-8932-0938c4c86e5b_zpsfa810721.jpg" data-zoom-target="1" height="" src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" style="" title="" width=""/>
<span style="display: inline !important;"><img alt="9db2a2ec-5f36-4354-8932-0938c4c86e5b_zpsfa810721.jpg" class="bbImage" data-url="http://i148.photobucket.com/albums/s29/hellrazer212/9db2a2ec-5f36-4354-8932-0938c4c86e5b_zpsfa810721.jpg" data-zoom-target="1" height="" src="http://i148.photobucket.com/albums/s29/hellrazer212/9db2a2ec-5f36-4354-8932-0938c4c86e5b_zpsfa810721.jpg" style="" title="" width=""/></span>
</div><br/><b>Name:</b>The Judge<br/><b>Location:</b>La Notre Dame, Central Paris, France<br/><b>Tagging:</b>Esmerelda<br/><hr class="bbc-hr bbc-hr--3"/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><i><br/>
"It is not enough that your enemy fears what you have done. He will only seek to stifle you, that you may never repeat your successes. He must be fearful of what you are capable of, that he shall dread the thought of ever standing in your way."</i>​</div><i><br/>
<div style="text-align: right">-Claude Frollo​</div></i><br/>The halls of the Dame were chilly yet serene, soothing and safe in the most unnatural, terrifying way, as if the walls themselves were alive. The Dame stood vigilant, watching, whispering, waiting, as if her untold secrets held her stones in place just as much as the pewter, like earthen veins, running through her sculpted body; designed, like many a silent woman, in the image of a man's idea of perfection.<br/><br/>Candles flickered before the altar in rows like war-graves, granting the sacred halls the dim light of a smiling moon. By the center of the altar was the tall stone figure of a hooded man with a crown of iron, jagged spikes lashing out in every direction like a weapon, or a curse. Sprouting from his back, spread wide, were the wings of a crow and a dove, as if each pointed in a direction. Underneath, the arm by the crow-wing cradled a baby while the dove-wing raised a sword.<br/><br/>Those familiar with the faith, and the Judge, understood the altar's meaning. Whosoever came to pray at the altar was granted audience with either the crow or the dove. While the eye of the Judge was in many places, the faithful could serve as his eyes as well, and request his favor. All matters related to suffering and death were to be spoken of with the dove, an anonymous figure behind a metal grill - ethical and moral in every sense, a gentle soul. All matters related to the inverse would require an audience with the crow, a figure of bitterness and apathy, nihilism incarnate. Those who convince the dove or the crow are granted the Judge's attention, and might see their prayer come to fruition.<br/><br/>To Esmerelda, though, the altar would provide little comfort beyond the warmth of the altar-candles. The people of France may have laughed and gasped and bitten their lips in desire, but no Frenchman was willing to put his neck out for a gypsy, for the faith had deemed them impure. Who needed reason when you could instead trust in the bigotry of your idol?<br/><br/>"Beautiful, isn't it?" came a voice like the most unnatural of fine silks, soothing yet terrifying, deep, soft, yet with the serpentine round-about of a cobra poised to strike. "The crow and the dove. Convince one to consider the path of the other, and your intentions are shown. After all, move your enemy, your diametric opposite, to your cause, and who can doubt its worthiness?" he finished, stepping closer across the cold stone floor. "But, of course, you are not here for an audience. Just a cold, lost, beautiful soul seeking solace."<br/><br/>A pause, a devilish smirk barely visible in the flickering darkness.<br/>The Dame's massive doors slammed shut with a loud, reverberating thud as guttural snarls echoed from every open passage, stone catacombs leading only deeper into the Cathedral.<br/><br/>"You have not come to the right place."