Amara stood behind the church pulpit, reading and preaching from the scriptures. He looked like a long-haired arctic fox. He always treats me with indifference, yet seeing him so serene and even smiling in front of the believers—how could that sight be anything but beautiful?

His voice pierces through the air, through my ears, and into my eardrums. I listened as if possessed. It was a beautiful tone that I instinctively felt I couldn't escape, like a siren's song. Where else could one hear such a sound? From the voice to the words, there was nothing to discard. I only hope that benevolent smile reaches me as well.

Standing before the Spawn-patterned stained glass, backlit by the persimmon-colored sunset, Amara looked like a long-haired forest fox—the only clear thing inside a blue, misty forest where the fog makes it impossible to see ahead.

Countless believers, finally tearing their eyes away from this beautiful figure, pray with all their hearts for the same goal: a second life.

They looked like the sepals and leaves supporting a beautiful but poisonous delphinium. At first, they must have known it would cause pain. They must have known they would have to get the red, sticky liquid on their own hands. But as time passed, they forgot all of that. Their minds were filled only with sincere prayers to the Great Spawn for the sake of that one thing: the second life they would experience.

Dozens, perhaps hundreds, who happened upon this remote village once and ended up settling here, completely enchanted by that voice.

Of course, I was one of those believers.