Bearclaw Valley no recall or intervention can work in this place

sickness swept over her like dark waves against pale shores. almalexia dreamt of her islands. in her waking hours she was silent. she turned gaunt even as her body began to contort to accommodate new residents.

solitude became akin to drowning. only the presence of her captor quieted the endless surge of agitation. disintegration; the only word for what the prophet experienced in the silence of this den. day by day, she fell to pieces.

but she would not bow to him.