The air inside the little Lucien's ward was dark and murky, and an unpleasant rancid smell lingered in the air.
Under the faint light, his father was talking, mumbling indecipherable words. His eyes are not trained to the little Lucien, only to the head of his beloved.
"How about we start over, my love?" His father mumbled faintly. Then his eyes that was reflected in the glasses glint darkly. His gaze was transfixed on little Lucien. In his hand was a sharp knife that was hidden in the fold of his clothes.
"I will be happy to take you with us." He smiled. "I'm sure you will be happy, right?"
The man put the head of Lucien's mother aside and slowly stood up. On his side, he pulled out the knife that was still tainted with Lucien's mother's blood.
Lucien's gaze stopped at the little Lucien, who noticeably paled in his seat. His hands that gripped the handle of the crescent blade started to tremble.
