Kris Francoeur’s The Stained-Glass Window opens like a whisper from a gothic dream — fog, a decaying Victorian house, and a shadow behind the window that seems to breathe. From the very first page, the script promises a psychological slow burn, something hovering between romance, self-discovery, and the uncanny. What’s interesting is that this story doesn’t rush to show its darkness. It seduces the audience first — much like the mysterious stained glass itself — before revealing that what glimmers with colour can also fracture light into madness. The story follows Lily Brannan, a successful writer paralysed by a crippling case of writer’s block. Desperate to reclaim her voice, she seeks distraction in fleeting encounters — including one with her ex-husband. Just when she’s about to give up on writing, her lawyer calls with unexpected news: her great aunt Helen has passed away, leaving her an old Victorian house in Vermont. Though Lily’s relationship with Helen was complicated, curiosity pulls her to the estate. The moment she arrives, she’s enchanted — the house feels alive, whispering to her creative soul. Determined to make it her new sanctuary, she hires a local contractor, Tom Givens, to renovate the property. Tom’s charm and quiet depth soon give Lily another reason to stay.

Her world brightens further when she bumps into Tiffany, her childhood best friend, at a local bakery. The reunion stirs warmth and nostalgia — emotions Lily hadn’t felt in years. For the first time in a long while, she feels she’s exactly where she’s meant to be. Then enters Roberto Romano — magnetic, mysterious, and almost too perfect. He sweeps Lily off her feet, his tragic backstory and adopted son only deepening her fascination. But as their romance intensifies, Roberto’s charm turns into possessiveness. Lily, fiercely independent, begins to push back.

She turns once more to Tom — and during a tour of the nearly finished house, he leads her to her future bedroom. There, behind a false wall, Tom reveals a hidden stained-glass window. The moment Lily gazes into its colours, something shifts — reality bends, shadows stir, and the story circles back to where it began: the shadow that started it all.

The writing is lean, cinematic, and immersive. Francoeur crafts a world that feels both vivid and claustrophobic — every frame dripping with atmosphere. You can almost see the fog curling around the old Victorian house, hear the groan of its ageing floorboards, and feel Lily’s heartbeat quicken as she crosses its threshold. Beyond the haunting setting, the dialogue is crisp and intelligent, striking that perfect balance between realism and wit. The exchanges between Lily and her agent, ex-husband, or lawyer reveal a dry, understated humour that subtly humanises her amid the darkness. Stylistically, the tone echoes shows like Sharp Objects and The Haunting of Hill House — blending sharp female introspection with a slow, simmering psychological tension that lingers long after the scene fades.

The pacing of the story is exceptional. Despite running nearly 50 minutes, the script never feels sluggish or overstretched. Each act unfolds with emotional precision, delving deeper into the complexities of human — and specifically female — psychology. From Lily’s impulsive intimacy with her ex-husband to the unsettling possessiveness of Roberto, every moment is filtered through a distinctly feminine lens, grounding the narrative in authenticity and emotional truth. The climax — when Tom unveils the hidden stained-glass window — lands like a perfectly timed curtain drop. It’s cinematic, eerie, and thematically resonant. In that instant, the story transcends its surface narrative and slips into a richer psychological realm. The stained-glass window becomes more than an artefact — it transforms into a powerful symbol of the subconscious, a mirror where beauty and darkness entwine, and where everything repressed finally flickers into light.

If this script were picked up as a streaming pilot, it would slide seamlessly into the lineup alongside You, Behind Her Eyes, or Tell Me Your Secrets. The story skillfully blends multiple storytelling threads — psychological tension, erotic undercurrents, and a brooding gothic atmosphere — creating a narrative that’s both seductive and sinister. It keeps the audience hooked not just through mystery, but through emotion and unease. In the final pages, the script peels back its most haunting layer: Lily’s buried trauma. Her turbulent history with her great-aunt Helen — marked by emotional manipulation and control — resurfaces with ghostlike intensity. That unresolved pain begins to distort Lily’s perception of reality, blurring the line between psychological breakdown and the supernatural. The result is a finale that feels both chilling and heartbreakingly human — the past bleeding into the present, just like light through stained glass.

I’d rate The Stained-Glass Window a solid 4 out of 5 stars — a hauntingly crafted psychological thriller that blends elegance, emotion, and unease with remarkable finesse.