Rain clawed at the window.
Cold wind slipped through the cracks in the rotting wood, whispering like ghosts. Lucien stood still, his breath fogging the glass as he watched the children below play in the mud their laughter hollow, their smiles stitched on like masks.
This was the only world he'd ever known: gray skies, cracked concrete, and the quiet decay of forgotten children. The orphanage reeked of damp clothes and broken promises. No one here dreamed. No one hoped.
Lucien's fingers curled against the cold frame of the windowpane, tracing the raindrops as they blurred the view of the courtyard. The children ran and stumbled, their faces streaked with dirt, their clothes soaked through. They moved with restless energy, as if the constant mud and rain might somehow wash away the weight pressing down on their young shoulders.
He swallowed hard, a knot tightening in his stomach. The orphanage was a cage not one with iron bars, but one made of neglect and silence. The staff barely noticed the children beyond what chores needed doing or which beds to make. Most of the kids drifted like ghosts, shadows of childhood trapped in a place too heavy with loss.
Lucien was no exception. He didn't belong anywhere, had never known the warmth of a family or the safety of a home. His past was a faded whisper, a blank space erased by time and pain.
"Lucien! Come help me here, please."
The voice came from down the hallway soft but insistent. Mary, the woman who managed the day-to-day work in the orphanage, was one of the few kind faces Lucien had ever known. She wasn't a savior or a hero, but her presence was a small beacon in the cold. Her voice cracked slightly under the weight of exhaustion, yet it carried a gentle care that few others could muster.
Lucien turned away from the window reluctantly and padded toward the sound, the wooden floor creaking underfoot. The corridor smelled of damp fabric and old wood polish, mixed with the faint scent of Mary's worn lavender soap.
The kitchen was dim and cluttered, lit only by a flickering overhead bulb. Mary stood at the counter, wringing out a rag and glancing up as he entered.
"Thank you for coming, dear. The laundry's piling up again. It never ends." Her tired smile was faint but genuine.
Lucien nodded silently and bent over the basket of wet clothes. The fabric was heavy and cold, a dull reminder of endless rainy days and the orphanage's endless cycle of chores. Folding shirts and socks, he let his thoughts drift.
He thought about the children outside about Tommy, a small boy with too many bruises, who often cried himself to sleep in the corner of their shared dormitory. About the girls who whispered secrets but never trusted anyone enough to share their true fears. About the older boys who had stopped talking altogether, lost inside their own silent battles.
Lucien's eyes wandered to the window again, catching a glimpse of the courtyard. A sudden gust rattled the glass, shaking loose a few droplets of rain that fell onto the floor.
His mind was a storm of feelings he couldn't quite name. Loneliness. Anger. A restless hunger for something more though he didn't know what that something was.
A loud crash echoed from the hall. Lucien snapped upright, heart pounding. He pushed the basket aside and hurried toward the noise.
Down the hall, he found Tommy cornered by two older boys. Their sneers were sharp and cruel, their hands rough. Tommy's eyes were wide with fear, his small body trembling.
"Leave him alone!" Lucien's voice was low but firm as he stepped between Tommy and the bullies.
The boys turned toward him, surprised by the sudden interruption.
"Or what?" one mocked.
Lucien's gaze hardened but he was still scared he did not know what to do next. "Or you'll regret it."
The bullies exchanged wary looks and started laughing.
"Are you serious the lonely abandoned boy Lucien thinks he can defend what a idiot.
Lucien feeling the pain of those words wanted to cry but he held his ground and showed a bit of confidence.
The bullies saw this and got angry the leader Meso took the first punch hitting Lucien then they all started stomping on Lucien and Tommy then they left them alone. Tommy started crying because of the pain Lucien also feeling the pain did not cry but just accepted it then went to check on Tommy then he helped him up and stopped him from crying.
Tommy blinked up at Lucien, his small voice barely audible. "Thanks."
Lucien shrugged, heart still racing. Helping someone felt strange like stepping out of the shadow he'd carefully built around himself.
Later, back in his room, Lucien sat on the edge of his narrow bed. The single candle flickered, casting long, wavering shadows on the cracked walls.
The room smelled of damp blankets and faded memories.
He pulled the thin blanket tighter around his shoulders and stared at the ceiling. The faint sounds of the orphanage settled into the background whispers of dreams that had never been dared.
Lucien's thoughts circled back to the boy he'd helped, to the brief moment when someone had looked at him with hope. It felt fragile, like a glass thread woven through the thick darkness.
Was hope even meant for kids like him? For children born into a world of cold rain and cold hearts?
He didn't know.
But as the rain continued its steady assault against the window, Lucien closed his eyes and let the small flicker inside him burn a little brighter.
For tonight, it was enough.