The days after Davis's departure were heavy with sorrow.
Anna rose each morning to an empty house, her husband's absence pressing against her like a weight that would not lift. The debts he had left behind came like vultures, creditors knocking at her door, demanding what she could not give. She sold what little remained of her jewelry, then her fine clothes, until even the walls of her home seemed bare.
Often, she sat by her small window, staring into the streets of Cural as life passed her by. Children laughed and ran, women carried baskets of food, men returned from their labor—but Anna's world was filled with silence. Her hands trembled each time she lit the lamp at night, and sometimes, in her solitude, she wept until her pillow was soaked with tears.
But even in her struggle, she did not fall into shame. Friends brought her bread, neighbors offered her grain, and sometimes a stranger pressed coins into her hand, whispering, "Stay strong, Anna." She carried herself with dignity, her beauty still radiant despite her suffering. Yet inside, her heart ached for something more—something beyond survival.
Then, one night, the skies opened.
It was midnight, and the rain poured in relentless sheets, drumming against rooftops and flooding the streets. The city of Cural, usually alive even at night, was hushed beneath the storm.
But not all was still.
From the depths of the rain, a black shadow moved. It crept through the alleys, gliding like smoke, formless yet heavy, as though the storm itself had birthed it. No torch could hold it, no watchman's eye could see it fully, for it seemed to slip between light and darkness with ease.
The shadow wandered the city, circling the marketplace, brushing against temple walls, pausing at street corners as though searching for something—or someone. Then, slowly, it made its way toward the outskirts, where Anna's modest compound stood silent against the storm.
When it reached her gate, the shadow stirred. It twisted and coiled, gathering itself until, with a sudden shift, it took form.
There, in the downpour, stood a woman.
She was no longer shadow but flesh—a middle-aged woman with eyes weary from unseen battles, her face pale, her lips trembling with hunger and exhaustion. Her garments were drenched, clinging to her frame, torn as if she had wandered far and suffered much. She looked neither witch nor spirit, but human—fragile, desperate, and near collapse.
Dragging her feet, she pushed the gate open and stumbled into Anna's compound. Each step was heavy, her breath ragged, until at last, strength abandoned her. She fell forward, collapsing onto the doorstep with a faint cry, her body shivering from the cold.
Inside, Anna stirred at the sound. Alone, with the storm raging outside, she rose quickly, a lamp in her hand, her heart pounding. When she opened the door, the sight before her stole her breath.
A stranger—a woman unknown, broken, and drenched in rain—lay at her threshold as though fate itself had carried her there.
Anna knelt down, the lamplight trembling in her hand, as the storm roared around them. In that moment, she did not yet know that her life, already marked by sorrow and loss, was about to change forever.