Lucia watched as the soldiers led the captives destined for sacrifice to the tallest building in the area; it had once been a temple once revered by many in the city as a sacred place. It was here that Maya Summers had once stood before the crowd, preaching as if salvation itself were flowing from her lips.
Her gaze lingered on the weathered structure. Twin doors towered at the entrance, each adorned with a small angel carved into the wood. Time and neglect had worn the engravings dull, their once-pristine features softened by years of decay.
A scoff escaped her lips. A false holy place for a false goddess.
Then again, Maya Summers and Alinna had always been cut from the same cloth. Timid yet vain, outwardly meek while harboring ambitions far greater than they dared reveal. Both wrapped themselves in carefully crafted masks, pretending to be paragons of virtue while chasing their own desires behind closed doors.
They might have been able to fool the world, but not Lucia.
