During the Mexican Revolution a family is torn apart. They were a large family, once but cursed with a brutal mother in league with undead Witches who traffick in missing children. For gold coins the youngest daughter Dorotea was sold to a Vampire Sorcerer Barstowe, an ancient criminal in service of the ancient Demon-king Solomon and Devil-God Yaldabaoth. Dorotea was trapped in a hellish underworld of Zion, where biblical purges rage on into eternity. Meeting Ashotoreth, Hermes, Artimis and Persephone, Dorotea was able to return to the world of the living with her soul broken from finding the secrets of the universe were not as she believed as a child. Deep rooted beliefs ripped from her like a teddy bear dug out of a plague hole, where thousands lie silent and even children toys hold bacteria that causes lungs to bleed and skin to fester in boils. Putrid rot fills Dorotea’s nose, like phantom limbs… eating into her sleep as no scripture helps free the torment of not knowing. Dorotea thinks back to the day she lost her Three Older Sisters Carolota, Carmen and Rosita to a Vampire Curse. Brought on by an ancient monster named Barstowe who ran a traveling Circus, and travelled with Three Djinn who were mystical Vampires, The Abyssian, The Arabian and the Hindu Aghori-Sadhu. Little girls aren’t supposed to experience war, come of age powerless to the whims of wicked souls enslaved by gold coins. Deep in the sanctum of the soul, something is missing. A aching vacuum where her childhood ambitions used to be. She whimpers in the blackness of loss, soiling her future with a damaged psyche, ideas not her own and contamination of self loathing that spills from her eyes like leeches on her soul. This knowledge of the evil nature of her mother, the self sacrifice of her sisters torments her. Temples burning, false gods lying in wait, eyes vacantly staring. Impotent stories built on generations of false witness, dishonest teachers and self serving censors. She came back to this world broken and alone. Feeling a trespasser in her own skin, a slave to her own dreams and a witness to impossibilities beyond human comprehension. Abandon all hope ye who enter here, for solace has no place among the withering wretches held captive by trapped loyalties to lost souls. Broken hearts keep a silent watch over the desolation of lost traditions, forgotten songs here only vultures croak and wolves howl. Feeling trapped in her own skin, she had night terrors of a burned cathedral with all the congregants mummified under funeral shrouds. Even the wind tormented her, ghostly voices call her name from the lonely wastes and shadows of night. All the things that she has done, things that happened to her in half remembered dreams flutter under her eye lids like regrets in the prayers of the dying. A young girl cursed with an eternal soul she isn’t even sure belongs to her. Angels with the heads of lions scream, saints with the heads of dogs lash out. Witches in perverse rituals whisper in her sleep. Ghouls of ageless lost come to her. Souls stolen from the light beg her for salvation or even just an honest burial in languages she doesn’t know. Cracks of thunder and cackles of phantoms call to her. Escape from this place and freedom to carve her own way is all she wants. Bliss away from memories of vampire predators, festive dealings and devil goddesses lost to time. Somewhere out there Dorotea knows her sisters are waiting with cold flesh and bloodshot, sleepless eyes. The uncertainty of what her newfound wisdom and shell shock really mean. Is she visited nightly by beloved Astoreth, terrible Persephone or noble mother Demeter? Wraiths of horrors unknown, misremembered melodies haunt every waking hour. Only the call of places she is now free to go, keep her from digging a dagger into her heart as she cries alone.