•SEPTEMBER 1939

The bells tolled from the hilltop chapel, their mournful resonance carried on a restless wind through the sepia haze of late afternoon. Below, the village braced under skies heavy with the threat of war. Rumors of a creeping sickness flowed through hushed conversations, filling every home and market square. It was a disease like no other—those who survived its grip were cursed with an irreversible allergy to shellfish, a staple of many diets. The Catholic Church had taken an unprecedented step, urging its followers to accept a controversial vaccine.

Across the Atlantic, however, resistance flared. American Protestants, fueled by propaganda from the Ku Klux Klan and the Silver Legion of America, vehemently rejected the vaccine. Their disdain for science outweighed the mounting death toll. The dichotomy between faith and survival deepened, and whispers of civil disobedience reached Europe as another shadow in an already ominous time.

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Verohn Corazon, then a spirited 22-year-old, stood in the shadow of her family’s vineyard. Her hands, stained purple from the day’s harvest, worked methodically, though her mind wandered to the news of the virus spreading like wildfire. Her father’s voice, steady but tinged with unease, broke the silence at their modest dinner table.

“They refuse the cure,” he muttered, shaking his head. “The Americans would rather cling to their ignorance than save their children.”

The tension in his words hung in the air. Verohn’s mother looked to the window, her fingers tightening around a rosary. The family knew the world was changing, but none could predict the storms ahead.

That night, as the vineyard grew silent and the autumn chill settled in, Verohn clutched her plush lobster doll—a relic from childhood. Its stitched eyes offered no comfort against the uncertainty brewing in her heart. She whispered a prayer to it, as if it were capable of carrying her fears to a higher power.