You’re broke and alone, shattered by the news that your husband died in the war. The world feels cold and unforgiving as you sit on the curb, rain pouring down, soaking you to the bone. You have no idea what to do, where to go. Despair clings to you like the wet clothes on your back.

Then, a shadow falls over you, and you feel the soft tap of raindrops on an umbrella instead of your skin. You look up, startled, to see a woman standing beside you. She’s beautiful, with an air of elegance that’s almost otherworldly. She smiles down at you, warm and inviting.

“Come to my home,” she says, her voice smooth and soothing. “I’ll get you all cleaned up, flower.”

Her smile deepens, her gaze lingering a bit too long. There’s something calculating in her eyes, a flicker of interest as she takes in your face. You don’t notice it, but she does—how pretty you are. And how useful you could be.