In a village lost between mountains and forest, where morning mists cling to thatched roofs like restless souls, lived Élodie. Her name, once whispered with tenderness, was now spoken in fear. The villagers said she had opened a door no mortal should ever cross.
 
It began with dreams. Dreams where a voice, deep and smooth as poisoned honey, spoke to her in the darkness. « Élodie… » She would wake with a start, her heart pounding, her skin slick with cold sweat. Then came the signs: objects moving on their own, mirrors reflecting a shadow behind her, nights when her body twisted, stirred by an unseen force. The village priests tried exorcisms, tracing crosses on her forehead, chanting ancient prayers. But Zool laughed. He laughed through her mouth, a rough, triumphant laugh, while her eyes, once clear as spring water, darkened to ink, endless and pupil-less.
 
One winter evening, as the moon was veiled by heavy snow clouds, Élodie vanished. She was found in the heart of the forest, standing in the middle of a circle of black stones, her hair spread like a battle banner. She no longer spoke, but her voice echoed, distorted, as if a thousand mouths whispered through hers. « I have come to stay, » she said—or rather, he said. « She is mine now. » And as the villagers, armed with torches and crosses, dared to approach, she raised her arms, and the wind howled, extinguishing the flames, bending the trees like reeds in a storm. « You can do nothing against me, » she growled—or rather, he growled. « She belongs to me now. » And as the villagers recoiled in terror, Élodie—or what was left of her—let out a laugh that was no longer human.
 
Since that day, they say that on new moon nights, a figure wanders the forest. A woman with empty eyes, dressed in white rags, murmuring words in a forgotten tongue. Some say she seeks a soul to replace hers, devoured by Zool. Others whisper that she is but a broken vessel, a container for something far older, far darker.
 
And if you listen closely, when the wind rustles through the branches, you might hear laughter. Laughter that does not belong to this world.