So, Claire did.
She pressed her palm against the wooden door and pushed it open. The hinges groaned softly, and the dim light inside revealed him.
Judge Claude Ferron was seated on a low wooden crate, his back straight. The gleam of an oil lamp caught on the silver strands of his graying hair. His robe hung from his shoulders, and the heavy golden cross around his neck reflected the flicker of the flames.
But it wasn’t the robe or the cross that froze Claire’s breath, it was his face.
It was sharp and severe. He looked like a man carved by years of evildoing. He seemed like the type of man that did anything and everything to stay in control. His eyes were the color of burnt coal. They were dark, bottomless, and merciless. There was no divinity in them, only a patient, poisonous kind of anger. His mouth curved in a grin that looked eerily like the gargoyles carved into the cathedral’s towers, almost inhuman.
In his lap sat one of Mirela’s sketchbooks. With careful, deliberate precision, he turned each page, studying the drawings one by one. His fingers never trembled. The sound of the paper turning was deafening.
On the nearby table, Claire saw the rest of Mirela’s work. There were all drawings of her, dozens of them. Every sketch Mirela had captured something about her. Her hair, her smile. Another one was of her with an arched brow and pursed lips…All the sketches were now piled carelessly in a corner.
He didn’t look up right away, but Claire felt his attention shift as his hand stilled mid-page. It was enough to make her spine stiffen.
Ferron didn’t look up at first. He turned another page, the soft scrape of parchment grating against the silence. Only when he reached the final sketch did he lift his gaze.When his eyes finally rose to meet hers, they glinted with an eerie calmness that turned Claire’s stomach.
“I was wondering,” he said slowly, “when my little miracle would finally come home.”
Mirela flinched. Claire reached for her hand, but Mirela couldn’t seem to move.
Ferron rose from the crate, his height casting a long shadow across the room. The golden cross around his neck gleamed in the candlelight. “You’ve been gone too long, Mirela. I waited patiently. Prayed for your return. Yet here you are… with a friend…”
His eyes slid toward Claire, assessing her. Claire felt the weight of that gaze like a hand pressed against her throat.
“I see now,” he murmured. “It was never God calling you back home. It was temptation.”
He tilted his head to Claire. His eyes trailed over her, taking in every inch of her body, lingering on her hips and chest. It was disgusting.Hewas disgusting.
“She is partly dressed as a nun, but my mind tells me she is anything but. Completely the opposite, I must say. To think I’ve tried my hardest to bring these women closer to God—“
“Don’t,” Mirela whispered, her voice breaking. “Don’t talk about her like that. She is not likethat.”
He ignored her. “You escaped my watchful eye… it reminds me of your mother, Mirela and how dangerous she was.”
At the mention of her mother, Mirela’s head jerked up. Her lips parted. “What do you mean?”
Ferron’s smile widened, though his eyes darkened. “It’s a pity you cannot remember much of her. She was a gorgeous woman, despite being a whore.”
“Don’t!” Mirela said again, more forcefully this time.
He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I found her in the streets of Paris with you in her arms and offered her a job at the orphanage. She tended to the sick, prayed with the weak. I offered her salvation and protection. But she denied me.”
He paused, his expression twisting between mock sorrow and pride. “She thought that having you in her arms would keep her safe.” His voice hardened, venom threading through every syllable. “She was wrong.”
Claire’s stomach twisted.
Mirela’s breath came out ragged. “What did you do?”
He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “I did nothing save for the Lord’s work. She needed to be cleansed of her impurities. She needed redemption. God told me to grant it to her… through fire. If her beauty would not belong to me, then it would belong to no one.”
It took Claire a heartbeat too long to understand, and then she saw it, the way Mirela’s eyes widened, her hand flying to the scars that marked her skin. Her heart immediately shattered into a million pieces.
“You,” Mirela whispered. “You burned her.”
Ferron’s smile remained. “I was merciful. Sadly, she was holding you. You were just a child. I could have let you burn with her, but I didn’t. I took you in. Raised you as my own.Caredfor you.”
“Cared?” Mirela’s voice rose, trembling with fury. “You locked me in a tower! You made me believe I was cursed! You told me God would hate me if I ever left!”
