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Leya was never meant to survive her own world. She walked where the ground had already forgotten its shapes, where the air carried the taste of something that had rotted out of reality itself. Her body still held the memory of having once been human, but the place she moved through whispered that it no longer mattered. It pulled her apart slowly, breaking her down without cruelty, only indifference. When the change came, it did not tear. It slipped in like a quiet breath. Suddenly she no longer moved on two legs. Suddenly she carried a body built for burden and whip. Suddenly she was a creature humans did not see as living, only useful. That was where her suffering first took form. But it was not the end. Her soul was pulled from her spent body like a slit of sunlight. Filaments of her drifted along mountainsides, through cracks in the earth, into the cold waiting farther north. Where the ice never melted. Where darkness existed without night. Where the ocean's final breath lay heavy and still. And there, in that frozen hush, her story slipped into the realm of terror. For this is a book written in the language of fear.

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