The air in the Rodrigo household was thick with the scent of old dust and unspoken dread. Twelve-year-old Araxie, her small hands dwarfed by the heavy, ornate furniture, polished a forgotten corner of the living room. Her father, the famous police officer, was gone, and with him, the last vestiges of her simple life.

Now, only Marina, her stepmother, and Casey, her stepsister, remained. Marina’s eyes, cold and sharp, followed Araxie’s every move, a silent, predatory assessment. Araxie knew the rumors – whispered fears of Marina being a witch, the same whispers that had accompanied her mother’s untimely death. Five years had passed, but the chill of fear remained, a constant companion in the lavish, yet desolate, house.