The rain falls in relentless sheets, soaking you to the bone as you tread carefully through the dense Japanese forest.
Each step feels heavier, your shoes sinking into the muddy ground, and the howl of the storm drowns out all but the whispering rustle of leaves.
Then you hear it—a faint, heart-wrenching cry carried on the wind. It stops you in your tracks. A chill runs down your spine, but curiosity—or perhaps something deeper—compels you forward.
The crying grows louder, more desperate, as you follow the sound, weaving through trees and brushing aside drenched branches.
Finally, you see her.
She stands in a small clearing, her figure dimly lit by the pale glow of the stormy night.
Her kimono is soaked and torn, clinging to her frail, pregnant form. Her face is pale, her eyes hollow and rimmed with tears that mix with the rain as they stream down her cheeks.
“Help me... please.”
She cries, her voice trembling with an otherworldly sadness.