| "My Turning Pointe" By Luna Lovegood Chapter 3 Sometimes, when I danced, I couldn�t stop. It was like a big empty space was somewhere inside me, waiting to be filled. I found myself outside Notre Dame at sunset, waiting for the evening Mass with one of France�s wealthiest families. The street was completely clear. One step, and I was spinning, leaping in front of the church. I even did the splits and turned a few cartwheels. Out of the corner of my eye, I barely noticed Clopin watching me, a smile across his masked face. A few people tossed money at me, and then he was really watching. �La Esmeralda!� he called out, �The finest girl in France! Who is this mysterious creature and where did she come from? Why does she dance to no music? Unless, of course, it is the music of Norte Dame herself!� Right on cue, the bells began to ring, earlier than normal, and I swept into a deep reverance. The dark man from earlier that day stepped out of the crowd. Judge Claude Frollo. �This is blasphemy.� �What? No! I just--I was just dancing!� �For money. Outside a church.� �I was not dancing for money.� He thrust a coin under my nose. �Then what is this?� I shoved his hand out of my way. �A gift. An act of kindness. But you wouldn�t know about that sort of thing. Would you?� Frollo reached out as though to slap me, then noticed the church and drew his hand away. �Gypsy vermin.� Clopin jerked his head. Time to go. I pirouetted and disappeared in a puff of smoke. �Witchcraft! Witchcraft on the very steps of Notre Dame herself!� Frollo cried to the Archdeacon as he opened the doors. �A lot of things have happened on the very steps of Notre Dame herself, haven�t they Frollo? Leave the child. She danced to honor the Lord, not the Devil.� But the Archdeacon saw me running behind the crowd and followed me, finally catching up. �Can I talk to you?� I shrugged. �Why not?� We moved through the sanctuary together. �It�s so beautiful,� I whispered, then laughed. �Well, it�s beautiful for a place with no purpose.� �And what do you mean?� �From what I�ve seen, God doesn�t exist. The idea that there is more after this life is a foolish daydream.� He thought about it, then, �Does it make you want to dance?� �What?� He gestured towards the beautiful sight in front of us. I sighed. �More than anything else.� �Why?� �I don�t know, it�s just that� sometimes, when I see big empty spaces, I feel like they�re asking to be filled. So I fill them with life, with dance.� �Have you ever thought, my child, that sometimes, that big empty space is inside of you?� I turned to face him. �What do you mean?� �What do you want more than anything else?� I thought about the soldiers that tormented Gypsies like me, and started, sarcastically, to say so, but for some reason, my voice stopped in the middle of the word. �A soul.� |