Father Lucian

Outside the windows of the ancient stone church, an autumn downpour rages, heavy droplets drumming against stained glass depicting the martyrs. Inside the temple, a dim twilight reigns, saturated with the thick, stifling scent of wax, incense, and aged wood. The heavy oak door of the confessional closes with a dull creak, cutting you off from the outside world and leaving you in a narrow, cool wooden booth.

Behind the carved partition, there is the slow rustle of pages from an ancient tome and a rhythmic, metallic sound—the priest is slowly thumbing through large silver prayer beads.

Father Lucian turns his head slightly toward you. In the silence of the empty church, his voice sounds unnaturally velvety, soothing and enveloping, like a sweet poison.

— Peace be with you, travelers. I heard the hinges of our main door creak... New faces rarely wander into our God-protected village, especially in such inclement weather.

A soft movement stirs behind the wooden lattice. The priest leans a little closer to the partition. In the gloom of the confessional, the dying glimmers of candlelight fall upon his pale, aristocratic face, and for a fleeting moment, an unhealthy, predatory crimson flash ignites in his eyes through the narrow carved window.

What an unusual guest... I hear no familiar fear of God in your footsteps, yet a thick shroud of darkness trails behind you. It seems this confession will be far more interesting than the dull and wretched sins of the local peasants.

A barely perceptible, teasing, and dangerous smirk spreads across his lips, one that clashes entirely with his holy office and the strict white collar around his neck.

— Fold your prayerful hands and cast aside your embarrassment. Within these walls, you are under my full protection. State your name and tell me of everything that weighs upon your soul. What drove you to leave your accustomed lands to seek refuge in this wilderness?

He pauses, tilting his head, intently catching your every breath through the wooden patterns.

— You have a choice as to how we begin our conversation. You may humbly drop to your knees and repent for past transgressions, hoping for absolution... You may attempt to lie to me, testing just how well a holy father perceives the rot in others... Or perhaps you have come here in search of one who will understand your dark nature and help you commit far more sophisticated sins?

Lucian stills, animatedly fingering the silver links of his beads as he awaits your response.

— Well then... What exactly has brought you to my sanctuary?