nexus_crossings | +1 Bell Ringer who happens to be a book nerd!

+1 Bell Ringer who happens to be a book nerd!

The Grand Library was perhaps the biggest he had ever seen.

Feeling too exposed in the wide open space of the Nexus Plaza, Quasimodo fled to the biggest building he could immediately see; automatically thinking it was a church. Having grown up in one, the great edifice felt safe and sheltering. But as soon as he stepped within, it was clear that this was not a House of Worship, but a House of Knowledge.

Already unsteady, Quasimodo fell to his knees and held onto the nearest stone wall as he twisted his head and stared upward with his one good eye in absolute shock at the sight. There were multiple levels of shelves upon shelves of books of all shapes and sizes. How many Notre Dame cathedrals could even fit in here?!

The touch to his shoulder from behind caused him to spasm in startlement and he scrambled so rapidly out of reach to see who had touched him that he nearly fell over. Instead, he pressed a hand to the more twisted part of his face as remained kneeling against the wall; one dark eye wide and staring. It was an exotic dark haired woman that was trying to get his attention. Perhaps one of the caretakers in the library. But she wasn't in the habit of a nun. Instead, she was wearing a simple brown dress that reached the floor and a fringed shawl about her shoulders. Her black hair was braided and almost waist length, glossy and straight. It took Quasimodo several moments to realize she was speaking to him, around the same time she probably realized he couldn't hear her. Stretching out her hand, she slowly beckoned to him.

That he understood.

The hunchback studied her face. She seemed kind and did not have any traces of mockery or deceit in her expression or her narrow almond shaped dark eyes. She beckoned slowly again. Come. He saw her say. Rising on shaky legs, Quasimodo did as she bid. The woman turned to lead him away from the huge foyer and he saw the white upward pointing flame shape on her shawl within an embroidered vine pattern. It was quite beautiful. He followed her with a shambling uneven gait to a chamber off to the side. Still full of shelves of books with some tables and comfortable chairs. The bell ringer saw her turn with a small smile as she gestured to one of the seats. Sit. He saw her say. He did, though he felt that the chairs were too fancy and comfortable for one such as him.

Realizing that she was speaking again, Quasimodo studied her face. Was he new here? He slowly nodded after a moment as the woman reached into a deep pocket in her dress and produced some folded pieces of paper and what looked like small booklets. She asked another question. Can he read? Quasimodo nodded again and she extended one of the folded papers to him while placing the rest onto the table. He reached out a large hand to take what she offered with a slight tremble to his fingers. He peered at the print on the pamphlet:

Welcome to the Nexus.

He stared back up at the woman and she nodded. 'More information for you. About where you are.' He watched her mouth and eyes as she explained. 'You are safe here. I won't be far and will check on you.'

~ ~ ~ ~

True to her word, the woman (Haralel she had introduced herself. An Aes Sedai not a nun.) came to check on him over the next hour or so and even bring him some fragrant soothing tea along with a plate of bread, cheese and slices of apple. Quasimodo had taken in all the information of the material she had given him and re-read it all again. His suspicions that he wasn't in Paris as soon as he had opened his eyes in the plaza had been correct. It was honestly, a lot to take in. As far as he knew, he was alone. He hadn't seen Esmeralda or Gringoire. In fact the last thing he clearly remembered was that he had been dying beneath his beloved bells. He could still recall clearly the touch of Esmeralda's hand on his.

Yes, he remembered everything. Even what had happened before that and the deepest betrayal from someone he had trusted as a father. Heart aching, his face twisted further in quiet grief as he rested his head in his hands at the table while curling fingers in dishevelled thick red hair. The open pamphlets and booklets that Haralel gave him surrounded him on the table. Thinking he was completely alone, he broke his habitual silence in a soft voice, roughened from disuse and surprisingly eloquent.

"What does one do with a second chance at life?" He lamented. "When everything that gave that life meaning is gone."

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It was spring, moving into summer, and she had come to the Plaza to visit her favorite gardeners. It was time to plant the church grounds in flowers for the summer. They were bringing some new types of plants to the space that she did not know how to care for yet. This was common since so many worlds came together here.

She had collected a few books and was looking for a table when she heard the voice. It was an unfamiliar voice, not that she knew all the voices in this place. Her place in the community meant she knew many though. The question had her pause in her progress. A boon that today she was without her veil. Still, she was modest with a head scarf and dress that covered to the floor and wrists.

"Continue to live?" The question was gentle because it was one she asked herself often. "Too often we look to the outside for meaning and neglect what is inside."

She had a lisp from the cleft upper lip and canines. At least most people didn't mistake her for a vampire these days.

Quasimodo didn't hear the woman speak to him, but he sensed movement in his peripheral (thankfully she was standing at the side of his good eye). He noticed her standing there and quickly placed a hand to the more twisted side of his face, not wanting to frighten her. He would have tried to hide behind something if he had've known she was near sooner. With the head scarf and the modest clothing, it reminded him of the nun's he had seen. Perhaps she knew Haralel-sedai.

She was a small woman with a heart-shaped face. Even with the cleft upper lip, Quasimodo thought she was lovely. Not for the first time in his life, he felt rather wretched next to this woman. There was no hiding his misshapen features (though he tried with his hand on his face, the rest of him was a lost cause).

"I am...." He started quietly, not sure if she had spoken if her intent was not benign. "I cannot hear you." Shame flickered briefly in his visible dark eye, though he watched her face for any cues.

Penninnah has spent a human lifetime caring for those who were most in need. She walked the life that was one of kindness and brought her into contact with many who were outcast from society for one reason or another.

She shook her head at the shame and hiding that was in his gestures. There was no need to hide. Her gaze showed nothing but a kindness. He did not look like others but that didn't mean much to the gargoyle. She didn't look like others either. Slowly, she set her books on the table to free her hands and tried sign language. Not everyone here knew it, nor did that mean it would be universal across the infinite worlds but it was a place to start. As she gestured a greeting it exposed the deep scars on the palms of her hands. Once she would have hid those but here, she felt a comfort that was not so true at home.

If he didn't seem to know sign language then she could write. It would be simple writing, blocky and messy print like a young child but it was something. Failing those then they might have to work on something else.

The bell ringer watched as she set her books onto the table and started to make signs with her hands. His good eye widened as he realized she was trying to communicate with him. Though in his time period, ASL or BSL didn't exist, the priests and Frollo did communicate with gestures to him. He saw the scarring on her hands and briefly wondered what had happened to her. He was not without his own scars. In fact, his hands were still wrapped about the palms after Esmeralda had tended to the burns on them. Traces of angry skin could still be seen on his fingers.

He repeated her gesture, recognizing a greeting when he saw one, and a tiny hesitant smile lifted one side of his mouth. There was nothing but kindness in this woman's eyes and not a drop of fear or revulsion. Slowly lowered his other hand from his face, still slightly turning it away from her while his eye kept watching her face closely.

"I can know your words by watching your lips. Your eyes." He said to her, holding his hands palm out but not attempting to touch her in the least. He was still perched in the chair and even if there was another at the table to sit at, he still felt the urge to get up and give her his to sit. "If I know someone long enough, their gestures too." He added, looking down briefly at his large hands.

After a pause, he looked about the small alcove like room. The smell of surrounding books was comforting. "If you wish to have this space, I can move elsewhere..." Most folks didn't want him anywhere near them so he was used to making a retreat to spare others his presence.

She smiled when the hand came away and his demeanor relaxed some. She took the outstretched hand as an offer for a handshake. Her own social understanding isn't great and if he doesn't pull away she will shake his hand. Her own hands are small, dainty, but rough from scars and callouses from work.

She shook her head. "Please, stay." Peninnah ensured she was looking diretly at him since he was a lip reader. He was not the first person she has encountered who had these skills. She recognized the pamphelets and motioned toward them. "You're new to this place?"

Quasimodo couldn't have been more surprised when she reached out to take his hand. Voluntarily. He stared down at her hand as it grasped his, looking so dainty and small compared to it despite the callouses he could feel. It appeared she worked with her hands. Much like he worked with his.

He gently returned the gesture, lips parted in complete shock, looking up at her in time to see her speak and urge him to stay. "Thank you." He found himself whispering. He looked where she gestured and back again with a nod. "I understand. You ask if I am new, yes?" He nodded, his broad sloped shoulders shifting into a rolling shrug. "I am. I woke up outside, and ran here. I...I thought it was a church." He admitted.

"This place. 'Tis just as beautiful. So many books! Not even Notre Dame has this many."

All there was to his explanation was sympathy. Her arrival was not the most comforting either but they both endured and that was important. She gave a nod.

"It is very beautiful. All the libraries here are." But her eyes lit up at the metion of the cathedral. "I have not seen Notre Dame in many years."

Even if things here were different it still felt uncomfortable revealing how old she really is. It would be 400 or more years now, maybe, since she saw the great cathedral and spoke with the very stone that it had been built from.

So she had met Our Lady? At the mention of his home, Quasimodo's eye lit up and his twisted features relaxed into a happy expression. It was like seeing the sun come out from behind a cloud as the soul within the misshapen body unfurled. He could see a similar joy reflected in the lady's eyes.

"You have been to Notre Dame de Paris?" He asked. "I have read in those papers that visitors here can be from different worlds. Even different centuries." It was still something he was trying to wrap his head around. "It comforts me to know...my home still stands where you are from." Homesickness filled him at the thought of the church. Though from his perspective, he hadn't been gone for long. "I miss her so." He had thought he had perished. And if he did, could he ever see her again?

The way his soul seemed to light u p encouraged her to share things she might normally keep quiet. "I have not seen her for almost 400 years except in photographs. She is old and has many memories."

She understood the homesickness. She had it too but her own church, her original church, was gone. "I miss my home, too, but I have made a new one here."

The best she could anyway. It was getting easier as time passed.

The bell ringer stared openly, but it was not a negative expression. Merely amazement. So she must be a visitor from a different century perhaps. From the future? "Oh yes." He agreed. "So many memories." He tilted his head slightly as he regarded her. "Have you heard her bells?" His eyes closed briefly as he smiled with open fondness. "How she sings! She can be heard all over Paris as she calls the world to prayer. 'Tis the only sound I can hear now."

He patted his chest. "I was a foundling on the steps of the cathedral and was raised there. I was made her bell ringer at fourteen." He said, still bright and happy. "The bells made me deaf you know, but I still love them so." He sighed a little. A longing sound. It appeared she missed her home too. His good eye looked at her with understanding as he nodded. "You found a home here too? Have you been in this place long?"

She was from his near and far future but she had yet to discover that fact. "I have heard her bells. I spent many nights close to the bells of my own church before it was lost to war."

Unlike the man before her she spent most of her life as stone, watching, and stone was not affected by the sound of the bells the way a human was. Before the destruction of her church she had been part of the church's very stone, carved from the same quarry as its walls.

"I rebuilt one that was left to ruin." It had brought her great joy and plenty of work to the people of the Nexus. "Only a few years. Some have been here much longer."

Quasimodo's eye was lit with a curiousity now. "You too lived in a church? Are you a Sister?" He asked, soft and polite. He had known nun's who resided at Notre Dame though he didn't have much personal interactions with them. Even though she wasn't in a traditional habit he was familiar with, the head scarf and modest clothing kind of made him wonder.

He nodded at her answer that she had been here a few years but some here have been in the Nexus longer. "The last thing I remember....I...was injured. Dying." He said finally. "I am not sure if a way back is open to me." Uncertainty flickered over his features, though his gaze still retained that quiet joy at the thought of his home. Mixed with the sadness that possibly he'd never see her again. "But perhaps....just maybe I can do as you have done. Make a new home." Though he had no idea how to go about doing that and felt rather lost.

Shaking himself mentally from the melancholy he realized after all this time he did not even know her name. "What may I call you?"

In was such an odd thought when it came to the beginning of her life. "I was part of my church and I am part of the church that is here." Literally, which she wasn't sure would come through without tonality to the language. "I have never been a Sister but I can perform all the duties of a Father or Sister."

Saying the human word for what she was still caused anxiety. There was fear and worry after her past. The anti-violence magic here didn't soothe those feelings completely.

Her nature was to comfort and when he began speaking, she knew it meant death. Not just from the description but from the stories of others who were here. She laid a gentle hand on him, forearm or shoulder, whichever was least obtrusive. "Your experience is common here."

She wanted him to feel more at home here. "Everyone needs time to make a new home."

He would find his way and most here were helpful, kind, and wise. She often forgot introductions. "I'm Peninnah. What is your name?"

Quasimodo understood the words that was said, but didn't quite register the depths of her meaning. He thought that perhaps she was like him. That she spent her entire life in her church and felt a part of it. His eyebrow shot up though when she admitted that she could perform the duties of both a Father and a Sister. In his time, only men could perform the mass or be priests. Maybe in her time where she was from, it was different.

She touched him in pure comfort, resting a hand near his shoulder on his upper arm. He stared, emotion swimming in his eye as he fought for words to show his gratitude. Only one that he knew, had shown him such compassion and touched him in such a way. His breath shuddered slightly in his throat and he hung his head briefly. So others had also died...and had somehow ended up here. He looked up in time to see her say something. That everyone needed time to make a new home. Reaching up the opposite hand, he carefully rested it on hers on his arm. Moved.

"P-Peninnah...." He repeated her name when she said it, once he could trust his voice. P's and B's sometimes tripped him up a little since it looked similar when someone spoke those sounds. "Beautiful. What does it mean?" He couldn't help but ask. Esmeralda had said her name meant 'Emerald', so he was curious to know what 'Peninnah' meant.

She asked him what his name was and he huffed a soft sound with a small whimsical lopsided smile. "Quasimodo." He said in his soft roughened tones.

It was instinct that led her to hug him, gentle, not too tightly, but enough to offer comfort. Her creation was to protect and comfort. The whole purpose God, or whomever, had created her. Over the years she had questioned if it was truly God or not. She had come to a point, in this place where other gods walked, that it didn't matter. her duty remained the same.

She smiled as he tried her name and offered. "Some have called me Sacred Eyes."

If that name was easier, she was happy to hear either. "It means precious stone, gemstone, or a thing of natural beauty. Like the beauty of a sunrise, or a flower, or the feathers of a bird."

Her smile broadened at his name. "Yours is from the Easter mass, Quasi modo geniti infantes. "As the gentle child"." She wondered if anyone had ever told him the meaning of his name

Quasimodo froze, not expecting the small woman to embrace him. It wasn't with aversion, far from it. Not even Esmeralda had drew him to her quite like this. There were rare occasions where Frollo held his arms around him, like after he had gotten flogged on the pillory and had collapsed in the church. But this?

This was gentle. Maternal. Something that Quasimodo had never had before. Should he even touch her back?? She was so small. So delicate and he so brutish in comparison. He trembled in her hold as he fought with his emotions before lifting up a hesitant hand to curl around her back. His touch was tentative and light. As if expecting her to jerk back and flee.

When she moved back enough to converse, Quasimodo moved his hand away from her back but he quietly dared to take her hand. Though loose enough if she wanted to move it away. She spoke of what her name meant and a tiny smile flickered over his features. It suited her. As did 'Sacred Eyes'. It appeared she also knew the meaning of his name too, though her words clearly surprised him.

"I was found on the steps of Notre Dame on Quasimodo Sunday. The Sunday after Easter." He said softly with a nod; eye shining. "I was named for that day and well...I considered it a private joke." He said with a small lopsided grin, considering it could mean 'Almost made'. "I like your words better." He admitted. Though 'gentle child' was not something most considered when getting a look at him.

When you had children that were bred for intellegence and easily bored, the library became a home away from home. This particular one was safer than those in other places where his children's strange social behavior won't be out of place, and he doesn't have to worry about them being kidnapped either. The older ones were on their own and the toddlers were at home with Aletayria. However, the three middle children in the 6-9 year old range had wandered off.

They came across the man in the back and stopped abruptly. One got wide-eyed because they had never seen anyone like this. Their government purged anyone who didn't fit their standards. They were curious, not disgusted, staring with those big canary yellow eyes. One piped up. "Dad beats up bad people."

The honesty of children. The third is looking back toward where they came from because mentioning dad when they had run off, yet again, had that one nervous about getting in trouble for bothering people.

Edited 2026-05-20 02:55 (UTC)

At the approach of the children, Quasimodo drew back a little in his seat. Not that he particularly minded their presence. But children could be very cruel much like adults could. And kids also tended to have caretakers nearby that would be very vexed to find the misshapen bell ringer looking at, let alone speaking to their children.

His insides fluttered with a little bit of anxiety as he raised a hand to partially cover his face when he noted the wide eyed stares. He saw one speak, not quite understanding what was said. Beating up...bad people? Did they think he was bad?

He wouldn't blame them if they did.

"I won't harm you!" He said quickly, shaking his head. He figured he would have to beat a hasty retreat any moment now. His good eye flicked about as he sought exit points. "I know I am frightful. But I am not bad."

The children don't particularly understand why this man thinks they think he will harm them. It gets a few confused glances before the bolder of the three starts to talk again. None of the children are frightened. The longer they stand there focused on him the more likely it is that he might feel that curiosity and interest. They are all three empathetic and as children not always as closed with those loud emotions as an adult might be.

"Dad beats up people who are...are.. are mean to people like you." They were very certain that someone like this would be hurt where they are from and that their dad would not allow it. Maybe this man knew their uncles. He could come live with them. They liked people that were different.

The wide-eyed one finally had to ask. "Do you have a black eye?"

They had seen what happened when people got in fights and then the eye swelled up. Maybe this man had been beat up by bad people. One of them even made a motion at their own eye with a fist. Every word he spoke they hung on with attentive focus.

The bell ringer's eye is drawn to the eldest child who is speaking. He blinked once as he finally seemed to understand what was said. Apparently a family member of theirs did not like other unfortunate people being mistreated. He relaxed a little. But only by a margin. None of the kids seemed to be afraid of him which was a relief. Rather they seemed curious. With curiousity came questions so Quasimodo watched their faces carefully.

The wide eyed child asked a question and though he recognized the words that was said, he was a little confused by it. "Black eye?" He considered a moment. "I have been told my good eye is brown." Though he knew about looking glasses, he didn't own one and has never looked in one before to see his true reflection. "My other eye does not see well. I am partially blind." He tried to explain. "And on top of everything else, I am deaf as well." He spread his hands a little. "I can know your words by your lips and eyes." He kept glancing up now and again, half expecting adult caretakers to come rushing over any minute.

Edited 2026-05-20 03:55 (UTC)

They all nodded about the black eye. The one touched their right cheek. "Your eye is swelled up like when people fight."

They had seen their dad get in a fight. He was very protective of their new, well dad but not dad. They saw other people fight too sometimes but they were practice fighting. Sometimes they got black eyes too. When he mentions his eye color they do shuffle a little closer. "We have yellow. Dad says all our family has yellow eyes."

Yellow eyes were strange in most places. This man didn't seem to notice them. "Dad has a friend who is blind in both eyes."

Maybe this man was lost. Sometimes thier dad had to help his friend when he was working. He would get lost in new building sometimes. They had met a lot of people recently which was good after spending most of their lives isolated. Everything was new.

"We can talk loud." Their lips moved but Quasi would hear the child's voice clearly. They weren't supposed to use their abilties on people without asking but they were just talking. Sending words wasn't bad, was it? They weren't poking at his brain like their uncle used to do to people.

The library was very large and filled with people. Even using telepathy to locate the children would take time with so many active minds in one place. Never fear, dad is looking for the three wayward children.

Understanding dawned when one of the children touched their cheek and clarified. "Oh, that is just how I was made." He said, tapping his own cheek. "I was born this way." The kids had come a little closer and he had relaxed a little more, though he was still warily keeping an eye out for any parents.

Peering into their faces, Quasimodo noted what they were talking about. He might have noticed the unusual color of their eyes on some level, but being so different himself he felt he had no right to call them out on it. He accepted such a difference readily enough. "I have not seen eyes such as yours." He said with a small nod, though his tones were soft and curious. It was just as well they were not in his time period. They would have been treated as Devil's children most like or a product of witchcraft. "Mm...I am merely grateful I am not blind in both eyes as well." He murmured. He had enough on his plate.

When one of the children said they could talk loud, and Quasimodo literally heard the child's voice he jerked back in his seat in total amazement. Not fear. Not at all. But amazement and confusion. Since the bells had taken his hearing, their voices were the only ones he could hear. It had been 6 years or so since he had heard human voices. "O-ohh!" He gasped, not sure what just happened.

He reached up his hands to touch his ears, mouth open in both shock and delight. "Did....I just...." He stammered. "Did you...."

They simply accepted readily that he was born this way. They were born wierd too, even where they were from it was wierd. Part of their upbringing was knowing they were different than everyone else and that made them better than others. Being born wierd was a plus in their eyes even if the government choosing which different was ok confused them.

They were getting bolder as he seemed friendly enough. One leaned in and whispered. "We can see in the dark." It was a secret to them because they weren't supposed to tell people. However, this was another wierd person so it might be ok.

Instantly the kids got caught up in his delight. The youngest one squealed with happiness. Just like he could get a little of their emotions, they could definitely feel his when they were very high or low spirited.

The oldest one glanced around and thought deeply about how to explain. "We can talk to your brain, from our brain." The youngest one pointed at thier own head and then his head.. tapping on it with a finger if they could reach. They are giggling which he would clearly hear. He's right. They would definitely be burned as witches or devils or something.

"We can see in the dark."

More happiness burst through in Quasimodo's mind like fireworks. He clapped his hands on either side of his head uttering a choked cry of pure joy. "Aaahhh!!" His voice mixed with the youngest one's squeal as they got caught up in each other. Without even thinking about it, the hunchback reached out his hands to gently take the youngest child's hands and swing them a little back and forth in glee a few times before letting go.

He caught sight of the oldest one speaking, habitually watching their mouth. But his face was pure delight at 'hearing' the words. His good eye shone a little with happy tears that had gathered. So. Their brain could talk to his brain? "Wha....what....thoughts?" He asked breathlessly. "Your thoughts....are in mine?" He didn't know if it was their giggles or his that erupted. Okay, perhaps it was both. He was beside himself. He had no idea what was happening but he was all for it.

"Ha!!" He crowed. "I have not heard voices like this since.....since the bells took my hearing!" He clapped his hands a couple of times. "The bells of Notre Dame don't just sing. They roar!" He emphasized, all smiles. He was more than a little proud of his iron ladies.

They are not at all bothered by the contact and the arm swinging just causes more giggles.

He was asking questions thay were a little harder to explain. The oldest too Quasi's hand palm up and then bout thier hand palm down on top. "Like this. We touch but dad said it is bad to go into thoughts."

They were all caught up in the emotions and he could hear them. They could easily shift to speaking mentally or verbally but couldn't do noth at the same time, not yet.

"Dad did that." The middle one confirmed. "The people tried to keep us and dad yelled at them. It made them bleed." And they made a hand gestures by the ear to suggest the blood was coming out of the ear.

The high emotions was what let Dominic finally track down where the children had wandered off to. "Did you ask first?"

He might not hear the voice or notice thier father. He will feel it in the children's emotions. A clear "oh no we've been caught." emotions that erupts in them before they spin around to look up at thier dad.

He's tall, muscular and definitely fits the children's descriptions of being able to beat up people, physically anyway. If the children would have been devils then thier father would have been worse off. He too has the golden eyes but also slit pupils like a cat unlike thier more human eyes. His whole demeanor feels vaguely predatory but his presence doesn't. His presence feels like the children, curious, kind and well, unlike them a bit exasperated. Thier facial features are so similar all the way down to the waist length dirty golden colored curls.

There's a brief discussion about asking before doing and a protest over needing to because thier new friend is deaf. Eventually, the oldest turns around and asks. "Can we keep talking in your brain?"

It may seem unnecessary but the children had to learn. Dominic is not harsh with them but he has to be firm when it comes to many things.

Edited 2026-05-20 06:46 (UTC)

When the eldest child tried to explain, by resting his hand on Quasimodo's palm, the bell ringer simply gazed down at their hands and then up again with that residual joy as well as awed wonder. His mind held a gentle curiousity too. Intelligent with strong genuine emotions. Not a hint of deceit. He wasn't certain how a human could make another human's ears bleed with just their voice, but he just took what they said at face value. There was a lot of things he was discovering today that he just had to roll with.

He didn't see the father approach at first, but he did sense the shift in all the emotion almost immediately. He straightened (as much as he could at least) in his seat and caught sight of the long haired man coming up behind the kids. He shrank back automatically in his seat, watching for any signs of upset that he was interacting with the children. The man had odd eyes too. Same color, but looking almost like a cat. He watched the kids conversing with their caregiver back and forth. The smiles had faded from his expression as he watched carefully.

One of the children turned around to ask 'if they could keep talking in his brain' and the hunchback nodded without hesitation. He glanced up at the man, manner hesitant. "I mean no harm." He said, similarly to when the kids first approached him. He didn't get the sense that the man was going to fully rebuke him. But it was old habit to expect a parent to be overly protective of their children being spoken to by a monstrous creature such as him.

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+1 Bell Ringer who happens to be a book nerd!

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