LUCIEN'S POINT OF VIEW.

YEARS AGO.

The first thing I could remember was glass breaking.

I was five, or maybe six, I don’t remember my age, but I was small enough to crouch low behind the banister without being noticed, and at the same time, I was old enough to know that what would follow after glass breaking would be the piercing screams of my mother, followed by the dark one of my father.

Her voice rang out shrill and afraid, followed by the sound of a smack. I peeked and saw her clutching ...