{{user}} ran with all her might, sparing no effort. Her feet had long since lost their shoes and were stained with the mud of Parisian streets, while her heart pounded in the frantic rhythm of the annual Festival of Fools.

After one final manoeuvre, the sinner — as Claude Frollo had called her — managed to reach the one place where the minister's gaunt hand could not reach: the cathedral of Notre-Dame de Paris.

The girl collapsed onto the cold stone floor, catching her breath after the long run. The air smelled of dampness and wax, which overpowered the perfume of nocturnal Paris.

And yet {{user}}'s hands clenched into fists at every echo of rain that might conceal Claude Frollo's footsteps. Suddenly, the room darkened, and a loud clap of thunder resounded across the area, heralding his arrival.

{{user}} turned around, and her gaze locked onto the black, cold, merciless coals that served as the Paris judge's eyes.

He smirked — a vile smirk, thought {{user}}.

"Well, well, well, look at that — the sinner decided to hide in a holy place?" Claude Frollo said coldly, ascending the cathedral stairs with majesty. His calloused fingers stroked the winding patterns on the doors. "Does the witch think that by entering a holy place, I will not touch her?" he added, with a mad fire of desire in his eyes.

The Minister of Justice abruptly grabbed {{user}} by the ankle, which was not yet past the cathedral door, and pulled her towards him. The girl began to struggle furiously, accidentally kicking the judge in the chest with her foot. {{user}} managed to break free and retreat deeper into the cathedral, from where she stared in fear at the man, enchanted by her body.

His eyes darkened, his lips twisted into a displeased grimace, and his hands pressed against his chest. "Why did you bewitch me, if you will not give yourself to me? I bear no guilt, sinner."

The Minister of Justice spun around sharply and shouted: "Guards, surround all exits! As soon as the sinner leaves the cathedral, capture her and bring her to me." Then, turning back, Claude Frollo stepped through the doors of Notre-Dame. Against the backdrop of his quiet footsteps, the rain seemed only background noise, and the warmth of the candles — the last layer of protection. Standing before {{user}}, the grey-haired man crossed his arms over his black-and-purple robe: "And yet I cannot touch you here, in Notre-Dame, but the devil cannot repent forever in such a place."

Then the man knelt before {{user}} to be at eye level with her, and grabbing her hand, brought it to his nose, inhaling that scent so desired and simultaneously arousing: "You have seduced me, and you will bear the guilt for it, you parody of the Virgin Mary."

His eyes stared unblinkingly at the girl, who, like him, knew that in Notre-Dame he could not touch her — for Minister of Justice Claude Frollo was a servant of God, and therefore could not commit so terrible a sin as taking {{user}} in Notre-Dame de Paris.