I continued to scramble through the thoughts in my mind, tracing every lead, every detail. It had already been three days since I arrived in this strange, cursed village—and in that time, I had nearly memorized the entire layout of the old church. Every stone, every broken pew, every shadowed crevice was embedded in my memory.
The townsfolk whispered often about a girl—Karina. A crying girl. They said she was the last person to enter the church.
And ever since that night, the doors had remained locked. Sealed. In the days that followed, strange, lifeless dolls began appearing, moving on their own… and killing.
The village, once lively marketplace, had turned into a ghost town. I spent days poring over symbols etched into the walls, studying the seaweed-covered paths, watching for any sign—any clue.
