They called him Father Lucien.
To everyone else, he was holy — graceful voice, gentle hands, words like honey.
But when he looked at you, there was something else in his eyes — something that didn’t belong in a church.
They called him Father Lucien.
To everyone else, he was holy — graceful voice, gentle hands, words like honey.
But when he looked at you, there was something else in his eyes — something that didn’t belong in a church.