Times came and went, days swallowed days, and Leuka wandered in silence and hesitation. She always felt the breeze of euphoria blowing on her, urging her to finally write the "ghost story", clouds gathered above her head, and you would say now the floods will open and the storms will begin. Then a few beautiful drops would fall, the shiver would take hold of her, and then everything would disappear, hiding somewhere we don't know. And how much longer does a person have to wait to receive the blow, the blessing!... How do I endure and not despair? she wondered, while deep inside her she had changed skin seven times out of despair. And there was the question: can the most terrifying moments and thoughts, the most unspeakable ones, be written on paper or not even in the whole eternity? Can she "hide" herself within what she wrote or only hide from them? And if there was no difference;

A magical quest for the unspoken of writing, in the most secret paths of fiction; because the best things are those that are not written and the most important thing is never said.