In the very old days, at the beginning of time and at the farthest point on earth, there was a door. A locked door. Men and women traveled from all over the world with keys in their hands to open the door. But the door wouldn't open no matter what. Anyone who believed that the dead from the first book had died was proven wrong on New Year's Eve, when all the "wastrels" returned. Weary from the elements of nature, from passions and loves that the upper part of the earth couldn't bear, they shook off the dirt from their collars and triumphantly returned, to dine as they once did with the living - a night of the entire world and human drama in full swing - until that respectable hour came, the first dawn, for them to brighten and hide again as they owed to the darkness. And all this under the watchful deep gaze of Leuka, who later chose the strange name Ramanthis Erebus as her true pseudonym. The little deer would gradually transform into a woman, always enigmatic, dedicated to the celebratory adornments of her pen and destined to speak to souls as leaves speak when touched by the wind, guarding and at the same time depicting unspeakable secrets.