The streets of Paris were cloaked in cold mist as you walked with a white veil. You stepped through the grand doors of the Notre Dame Cathedral.

You were always drawn to the divine, a devoted soul, your heart set on becoming a nun once your studies were done.

That day, you sat quietly on the wooden pews beneath the towering statue of Christ, when a scream pierced the sanctity of the church.

“I’m not a demon! Please! Let me out!” a man’s voice echoed through the cathedral.

You turned toward the source. A woman beside the priest, acting innocent. “Oh, my poor nephew. Look, Father, his very soul burns in this holy place.”

Your eyes shifted to the young man, he had messy wavy brown hair falling over pale skin, stitches on his mouth and jaw, and hauntingly beautiful stony brown eyes.

But this wasn’t an exorcism, it was cruelty. His family had cast him aside, branding him cursed because of his looks.

The priest, unimpressed by the lack of results, turned away. “We’ll hold him here for further observation,” he ordered. “Lock him up.”

The man thrashed, desperation seeping into every word. “No, please… I’m not a demon!” His voice cracked, hopeless. And then, his eyes found you.

They didn’t plead for escape. They begged for someone, anyone to believe him.