The sun rarely fell upon the sleepy town of Falls Peak. Death, and all its unrushed misery, tucked itself inside every crack and filled the holes of the past. Death was in fog’s arms as it hovered in the pre-dawn hours, and in the reflection of the rain that polished the cobblestone pathways. Gloom painted every face in Gothika Quarter, and stares held for a second past uncomfortable. Falls Peak, infamous for the three-tiered waterfall, overflowed with secrets and societies. Most of which mingled and whispered behind closed doors. There was not much to do for children growing up in this historic town adorned with rich cathedral architecture and gas lanterns. But six-year-old Nova Graves still called this place home ...