There is nothing to be afraid of in Amomoz. A sanctuary buried under the dribbling mist that sweeps the valley, surrounded by trees that do not dare to speak. The sheep can roam as much as they like, for there are neither hunger, wolves, nor uncertain roads for them to venture on. The air is fresh, the water is untainted.

Nobody knows what truly happened to Elinoire, the twenty-eighth daughter of a faraway town’s Matriarch. There had been nothing left of the daughter except her mangled head; her jaw beyond broken, mouth impossibly wide. Her mother soon vanished, and other telltales claim she returned to the woods that took her own daughter’s life and offered them her own, so that their souls could be together again.

Sometimes she hears Scorpio stomping angrily from the bedroom next door, a sound that has become familiar despite its irritating nature. Some nights, Echo is able to hear the soft incantations that Mom sings in the dead of night, but not this time. There is only the faraway thunder.