Disclaimer: The Hunchback of Notre Dame originally belonged to Victor Hugo, but this here is the Disney version that I'm molesting. Enjoy.
"Confiteor Deo Omnipotenti, Beatae Mariae semper Virgini, Beato Michaeli archangelo, sanctis apostolis omnibus sanctis
Et tibit Pater
Quia peccavi nimis"
"Dimitte me, Domine, ego peccavi nimis…" Lord Claude Frollo made the sign of the Trinity across his chest as he opened his eyes to see the last flames licking away at the purple translucent scarf he had thrown there earlier. "Mollere mea culpa, sanguinem Esmereldae dedo…"
She would burn. That… that girl, she would burn for this. If… if he could bear to let her go. What a thought, what a trial. Throughout his long, sad life, he had never felt this way; a man consumed as he was now. Desire raged through every vein until he felt too hot to be in this enclosed space, so hot that the fabric against his skin burned him…
How he wanted Esmerelda. Heaven damn her - damn her! A witch, she was a witch in a saint's clothing, one of the Temptations come to torment the good Christian Frollo.
…He hadn't despaired this much since his parents died in his youth, leaving him with a younger brother Jehan, a fierce sense that they had been punished for sins committed and an intelligence rating so high that it was bordering on insanity anyway. Now he despaired for… everything. He despaired that he would never have Esmerelda, that he would never feel her gentle touch, nor be able to touch that smooth skin… he despaired that this lust would cause him to topple into Lucifer's clutches.
What made it worse was that… she was a gypsy! The very messengers of Beelzebub, who stole and tortured and murdered in the streets of Paris, that was what gypsies were - and they were slippery, too, even when he had some in his grasp, ready for the gallows, they somehow slid through his fingers.
Just like Esmerelda.
Damn her to hell!
… No, he… he didn't want her to burn! It was too pretty a face to spend eternity screaming. He could save her. He could save her from Lucifer's clutches, if she would just choose him to…
"Father, forgive me!" He cried, dashing his hands against his head to try and rid himself of these thoughts. The devil, she was the devil, casting spells on him, trying to turn him to darkness when he had spent all his life in the light! "No more, witch! No more!"
It would never be. He and she would never be. That touch of hers would not, could not be his. It would violate every rule of God's that he had followed for his priesthood. It would violate the oaths he had taken! If he submitted to Lust… he was damned.
The black robes he wore seared into his skin, burning him, driving him crazy as he cried to the heavens: "Mea maxima culpa… Esmerelda! Burn, Paris! Burn until you are the hell that she will find and that I will be free of!"
It began to rain again outside, as though Heaven was responding to his order of flame by drenching the ground. Standing at the open window, Frollo felt gentle drops upon his flushed cheeks, cooling his raging temper and soothing his heated skin.
"Esmerelda…" Feet soft against the stone floor, he crossed again to the hearth, where the last smouldering flame had died, leaving ash and the tiniest fragment of purple. "Beata Esmerelda." Lord Frollo picked up the purple scrap and brushed it to his cheek before tucking it safely away against his chest again. "Esmerelda… mea."