O-kay, I'm not very good with these, but let's give it a shot, shall we?
Hello everyone! First and foremost, welcome to this fanfiction!
Whatever your reason for clicking on this was, I thank you deeply! I do know this fandom is not as active as it used to be...
But i love it to much not to post this here. I'm sure y'all understand, right?
Obviously, my favorite character in the book/movie is Clopin. I quite like Gringoire too but Clopin beats him.
Unfortunately, many fanfiction including our ever dear King of Tunis also include Mary-Sues. An I hate Mary Sues. So! If you see that my OC is becoming one, please tell me in a review. All constructive criticism is appreciated!

Now, let my tale begin!

~The Hallows Queen~

Chapter 1:

#3rd Person POV#

In the lives of the common people of Paris, the only talk of women of high society was either the bickering of women concerning their love affairs and latest fashion trends, or the usual talk concerning women bearing royal blood or the lovers to those who did.

Well, except for one particular woman. Anais Albrecht. Her name alone could almost make one shiver. Especially if that someone was a gipsy.

As the niece of the all mighty judge Claude Frollo and daughter of Alrich Albrecht, who too wasn't exactly known as the kindest of men, she was expected to be enveloped by a layer of evilness.

If you didn't know her, she would seem a formidable woman of twenty-one years, with warm chocolate brown hair usually piled on the top of her head, equally warm brown eyes, porcelain white skin and a smile that could turn your knees to jelly. With a slightly curvy figure, covered by some layer of fat, and reasonably large breasts, she seemed like the prospect of a good wife.

But this woman possessed such evil in her to make the Devil himself seem like a good person in comparison.

She strolled around the streets, with one of her maids behind her at all times, and looked around the shops and bakeries, and strangely to all, the gipsy performers she found along the way.

Most were clever enough to dart before she could see them, but the poor ones who just weren't fast enough were forced to keep on performing like they hadn't seen her.

The feminine clapping of hands and jiggling of coins falling into a hat marked those unfortunate souls for death.

How so, you ask? Very simply really, for this woman was exceptionally clever and not at all naïve. She would proceed, her maid usually giving the gipsies an almost sad look as she trailed behind her, and…nothing would happen.

With the exception of, at the end of the day, the gipsies who had performed in front of her not being found anywhere.

Ever again.

But, to the surprise and relief of many mothers, all children were spared. And strangely enough, usually came home with a smile on their face, like nothing had happened.

In case you didn't notice, Anais was German. So why come to Paris? In her own words, "There just wasn't enough fun back home."

Her so called fun varied. From killing people in rather creative ways to going on a stroll with her beloved uncle, to be exact.

Every gipsy dreaded being taken to her chambers more than they dreaded being taken to the dungeons in the Palace of Justice.

Rumour passed that, if you listened carefully at night, you could hear agonizing screams of pain laced with a very musical laugh, which seemed to drip venom.

And obviously, her uncle adored her. He saw a lot of himself in her and so, he trusted her completely. He would go to her for advice, which could be considered quite scandalous, but when it came to her beloved niece, Claude Frollo allowed himself to bend some rules.

Yet he knew nothing of her doing her own little torture session in her chambers, or if he did he never told it to anyone.

Another rumour that had spread was that she tortured her…well…victims, by her own hand, instead of someone else's. Many maids whispered that many a time they were handed dresses almost soaked in blood.

And it certainly wasn't hers.

By this information, a few things could be ascertained concerning Mademoiselle Albrecht. She was cold, unforgiving, did not mind getting dirty and enjoyed the torture of others as one would a drink of the finest of wines.

And men fell at her feet.

Quite literally.


Clopin Trouillefou was known by almost all. If not by his name, then by his face.

Even though every time he performed, be it in his caravan telling stories to children or in the middle of the enormous buzz of the Feast of Fools, he wore a purple mask, everyone identified him.

As if the mask was part of himself, actually. He was Clopin, the Puppeteer.

However, this was the face seen by the Parisians. Down in the Court, with his people, he was a completely different person.

A ruler. A king.

Mind you, he wasn't the usual type of king. He was the king without a crown. But was definitely a leader, doing everything to protect his people, putting their good alongside his.

He did know how to be cruel.

During the executions they held in the Court, an almost mad, and sadistic glee could be seen in his face.

He, despite all his flaws, was quite sought after by the women and coincidently, he was a complete ladies' man. Disappearing with one woman and reappearing with another.

His charms weren't reserved for the lovely gipsy women, though. They were extended to the Parisian women as well.

Oh yes…

Clopin Trouillefou was a known man indeed.


Anais Albrecht and Clopin Trouillefou. Each at the top of their worlds.

By day something, by night another.

Here, my friends, I shall tell a tale…

Of the Lady of Paris and the King of Thunes.