The Hanging Mother was a horror common in the Whispering Forest.
The old travel journal had mentioned them—vague, hurried scrawl between blood-stained pages. It even spoke of their weakness. A cruel irony, really… knowing what to do didn't always mean you'd live long enough to do it.
She was a monster that only reacted when observed.
To that end, it was eerily similar to a horror from Lysithara known as the Weeping Angel.
Once seen, it dropped from the trees.
And once it touched the ground… it killed everyone.
The only chance was to run before that happened.
Unfortunately for Damon and his party… they wouldn't be so lucky this time.
Perhaps their luck had run out.
But Damon wasn't about to let that happen.
He gripped the giant axe tightly, the hilt biting into his palms as the Hanging Mother began to fall—her hair like dried weeds, tangled and lifeless as she descended in silence.
Then she screamed.
A sound that carved through bone.
