Episode One (1)

Franciose stood at the mountain top, gazing at the sweeping landscape of France—her homeland. A cigarette rested between her fingers, while a small spirit bottle dangled loosely from her other hand. She wore a loose white shirt tucked into tight, fitted brown trousers, topped with a long brown leather coat that pulled her look together. Her jet-black hair fell loosely around her shoulders, framing the large necklace she wore, its cross-pendant glinting faintly.

It had been years since she left France. After joining the Sisters of Light, she had traveled across the globe on countless missions, yet never once had she been sent back to her homeland. Now, on the cusp of retirement, the Head Nun had seen fit to give her a mission that led her straight back to her roots. Considering her backstory, stepping onto French soil again was the last thing she wanted.

“Sister Franciose,” a feminine voice called, dragging her back from her thoughts.

She immediately dropped the cigarette, grinding it out under her boot. The spirit bottle disappeared into the folds of her coat as she turned toward the voice, masking herself with a practiced smile.

“I told you to call me Franciose,” she said, dusting off her Timberland boots.

“You’re older than me. I can’t address you by just your name,” the young woman replied. She was tall, though not as tall as Franciose, lean, and marked with freckles across her face. She wore the official uniform of the Sisters of Light: a long, flared navy-green gown with long sleeves that stopped below the knee, paired with a matching veil that hid her hair.

Franciose had never worn that uniform on missions. To her, it felt ominous.

“The car is fixed and ready. The others are waiting,” the nun—Maria—said.

“Oh, okay. Let’s get going, then,” Franciose replied.

Together, they began the descent down the mountain toward the vehicle: a 2001 Mercedes-Benz. Two other nuns sat inside, dressed identically to Sister Maria. Franciose slid into the front seat, while Maria joined the others in the back. The driver started the engine, and the journey continued.

Soon, they arrived in front of the guest house where they were to stay until their mission was complete. The ride there had been quiet—Franciose was never much of a talker. The two nuns in the back busied themselves with the rosary, lips moving in silent prayer, while Sister Maria hummed faintly along to whatever was blasting through her headphones.

Franciose was the first to step out of the car, followed by the others.

“Pick us up by evening,” she told the driver before he pulled away.

“I thought we’d rest first and prepare for what’s ahead?” Maria asked, adjusting her veil.

“Evenings are the best time to look around and notice if anything feels off,” Franciose replied as she dragged her suitcase inside.

The guest house was in pitiful shape. The walls were faded and covered with crude graffiti, the curtains torn, and the air reeked of ale, mead, and old vomit. Maria gagged, nearly retching, but forced it down as they approached the receptionist’s desk.

An old woman—well into her seventies—sat there, half-asleep.

“Excuse me?” Franciose called.

No response.

She slammed her palm against the counter, making the old woman jolt awake.

“Careful, she’s old,” Maria whispered.

“Hello, Sisters,” the woman greeted with a crooked smile, revealing teeth stained brown from years of caffeine.

“We need keys to our rooms, old lady,” Franciose said flatly.

The woman chuckled. “Call me Maggie. I don’t need reminding I’m close to the grave already.” Her eyes fixed on Franciose, lingering too long, making her uneasy.

“Maggie, the keys, please?” Maria cut in gently.

“Sorry, Sisters. It’s just—this one looks oddly familiar.” Maggie’s gaze stayed pinned on Franciose, who lowered her face.

Finally, Maggie handed Maria two keys. “One of you will stay alone. The others can share.”

“Thank you, Maggie,” Maria said, steering the group away.

In the hallway, Maria tried to break the silence. “I heard you’re from here.”

“Let’s not talk about that. I’ll be in my room.” Franciose took her key and walked ahead.

Her room was worse than the lobby. The sheets were stained, cobwebs clung to the corners, and the flickering bulb barely lit the space. She frowned, regretting again that she hadn’t turned down this mission. But the dream—the dream had brought her here.

And she prayed no one would recognize her. The last thing she wanted was to relive the incident from forty years ago.

She slumped onto the bed, closed her eyes, then snapped them open with a sigh. Rising, she walked into the bathroom.

The sight was ghastly: tissue scraps scattered across the floor, a sink and toilet left filthy for who knew how long.

She would not be spending another night here. By tomorrow, she would begin what she came for.