Marta gathered the terrified families in the church square. The moon was a perfect, cold coin in the sky.

The first victim was Rafael, the blacksmith鈥檚 son. A strapping lad of twenty, he was found in his cot鈥攏ot dead, for his chest still rose and fell, and his cheeks held a faint blush. But no shaking, no burning feather under his nose, no shouting of his name could rouse him. His eyes were closed, a serene smile frozen on his lips. The doctor from the next town declared it a coma. Marta, who hobbled to his bedside uninvited, whispered, 鈥� O sono da morte. His soul is dancing in the old forest.鈥�

They thought it was folklore. A tale to scare children into finishing their chores. They were wrong.

That night, the sleep came for the whole village. A warm, velvet fog rolled down from the mountains. One by one, the villagers felt the irresistible pull. Most succumbed, smiling as they slid into their chairs, their beds, even the cobblestone streets.

Marta鈥檚 eyes were wet. 鈥淵ou cannot fight her. You can only refuse her gift. When you feel the sleep coming鈥攖he heaviness in the bones, the sweetness behind the eyes鈥攜ou must bite your tongue until you taste blood. You must think of something ugly. A spoiled harvest. A broken nail. A lie you told. The silver meadow is beautiful, but beauty is her hook.鈥�

鈥淚t is not a death,鈥� she would croak to anyone who listened, usually only the stray cats. 鈥淚t is the sleep of death. The soul takes a holiday. The body forgets to wake.鈥�

After seven days, they stopped breathing. Their bodies remained pink and warm, but their chests no longer rose. Their smiles were fixed. In the silver meadow, the moonlit woman had three dozen new guests, and for the first time in a thousand years, she was no longer lonely.

In the village of Santa Eul谩lia, nestled in a valley where the mist clung to the pines like a shroud, old Marta was known for two things: her herbal remedies and her unnerving prediction of rain. But when she spoke of o sono da morte , the younger villagers would cross themselves and hurry past her stone cottage.