Ferron took the drawing, studied it in silence for a beat or two and then tore it in half.
Mirela flinched away.
“This,” he said, dropping the ruined paper at her feet, “is indulgence. You look down upon the world too long, and you begin to crave it.”
“I do not crave it,” she whispered quickly, shaking her head, trying not to lock eyes with him.
But she noticed when Ferron turned on her. She raised her gaze only to find that his expression shifted from anger to disappointment.
“Do not lie to me,” he said. “I rescued you from fire. And this is how you repay God’s mercy?”
Her chest tightened. “I am grateful,” she said at once. “I pray every night. I thank Him. I thank you.” She lied. She didn’t pray. She couldn’t bring herself to thank a God that kept her locked in, that kept her at the mercy of a man, that didn’t give her the emotional strength to leave… to walk out… to live.
Ferron was pleased with her words. The change was both immediate andterrifying.
He stepped closer, his hand lifting to smooth her hair back from her face. His touch lingered a little too long as his fingers brushed the edge of her scarred skin.
“My little miracle,” he murmured. “You are so easily led astray.” He got closer, close enough to press a kiss to her brow.
Mirela stood perfectly still, eyes fixed on the stone floor.
“You must remember your place,” he continued gently. “The world below is not meant for you. You were spared for a reason.”
His grip tightened on her shoulder, just enough to remind her that mercy was conditional.
“You belong here,” he said. “With me. Watching. Repenting. Being useful.”
“Yes, Master,” she breathed.
Ferron released her and turned away, ignoring the fact that she had once more, frozen in fear of even breathing. He paused at the door, glancing back once more.
“You are safe because I allow it,” he said. “Never forget that.”
Mirela nodded as the door closed. She sank slowly to the floor, her knees giving out beneath her.
When he left, silence claimed her again. It pressed against her ribs until she whispered to the stones just to hear a voice. She spoke to herself, to the saints, the pigeons, the gargoyles…
From the rafters, she listened to the prayers of others and learned their words. She mimicked the priests’ readings, the nuns’ lessons to the children. Her voice became an echo of the world she’d never touched, only saw from the edges of the outside of the bell tower.
Sometimes she dreamed of stepping beyond the cathedral doors. She imagined sunlight not filtered through stained glass, wind not tainted by incense, faces not twisted by pity. But she never dared.
Ferron said the world would judge her, mock her, recoil at her scars. The right side of her body bore the marks of fire, the cruel baptism that had stolen her mother and half her sight. He told her to stay in the tower where no one would harm her, and she believed him.
Until belief began to crack.
Until the ache to see the world outweighed the fear of it.
Her only comfort in the growing loneliness was the choir. Their hymns rose like the doves through the rafters, filling the hollow air with something beautiful. She would close her eyes and let the voices carry her where her feet could not go.
One morning, as sunlight touched the spires and her stomach knotted from hunger, Mirela heard a new voice among them.
It was defiant, and heartbreakingly human.
It was the sound ofher.
Chapter two
Claire
