Love goes beyond being a feeling; it entails a conscious effort to grasp, to rediscover a tenderness in palms calloused in sin. Find yourself in the harsh reality of gaining independence, in an era that proves brutal for the unprivileged. Wallow in the conundrums of man, an exploration of the darkest psyche, a romance built on trust alone.

She had leaped. In the depths, Charlotte is drowning in the consequences of betrayal and emotional confliction, but a renewed sense of hope ignites the hearts that had wilted in anger, taking refuge in the doctrines of trust. She is forced to form a cooperation in the middle of an island, confined to another arm, in a dent of soil, surrounded by maggots, and a previously unassuming Irish mouth, unexpectedly unleashing a torrent of words.

Quickly, Charlotte is becoming aware, love goes beyond being a feeling; it entails a conscious effort to grasp—a commitment to learn and make an attempt, and that very foundation of trust is feeble beneath the burden of trauma.

Torn between vulnerability, nostalgia, and a past still kindled, she finds herself in the harsh reality of gaining her own independence, in an era proving challenging to do so for an unlettered woman. She is met with new characters; some stuck in vile prejudices, others enduring them, and others still nursing on the blood of purity; all dwelling amongst lurking entities bound to a greater evil.

Amidst her journey, she unravels hints of a past others refuse to recall, rediscovering a tenderness in the palms that had calloused in sin. Yet there’s traces of harrowing occurrences that cling onto walls in whispers and flitting shadows, in the echoes of footfalls that vanish in her own denial. The corridor is dark and lonesome where she finds herself trudging through, but in its void, there is a tale.

Art depicted: Slave Painting, by Miroslav Pecho