In the cursed region of Evia, where forests bleed and villages pray to gods that never answer, there lies a town forever marked by tragedy: Vaneka.
For generations, supernatural creatures -lunar vampires, mud witches, werewolves, and ancient horrors- have ravaged its fields, consumed its prayers, and drained its history of hope.
But now, someone walks among the bones.
A woman.
A hunter.
A curse made flesh.
Damira Jerovic, also called Damara, Damar, Damaris, Damra...
She is Vaneka's final answer.
Skin pale as porcelain.
Eyes red as cursed embers.
Hair as black as a falling shadow.
And a rifle loaded with redemption.
They call her the Vampireya,
but she is neither saint nor monster-
Damira is the blade that cuts the impossible.
Surrounded by a forest teeming with enemies -the Malkian, the cosmic entity Zoryax, and the obsessive werewolf Valmor Luarcão-
and a village that fears her more than it fears its own executioners,
Damira becomes myth, weapon, and ruin.
This book contains elegies, poetic visions, dark tales, and the testament of a woman who does not fight for glory...
but because no one else will.
A gothic horror story of cursed love, impossible redemption, and obsessions that leave no survivors.
A cross soaked in blood.
A scream Vaneka never dared to voice.
This is not pretty poetry. These are truths I was never taught to speak.
Here lie the words I swallowed, the pain I buried, and the questions they told me not to ask.
For the unheard. For the unseen. For the ones who feel too much in a world that tells them to feel less.
I write for you.
I write for me.