St. Trudy & Spotted Jinx

In the smoke-choked ruins of the Great War, where reality frays like rotting cloth and men die not only from bullets but from things best left unnamed, whispers creep through the trenches of St. Trudy — the Patroness of Cats, Plague, and Lost Souls. No one remembers when the first sightings began. Some say she walks the no-man’s-land in the hour before dawn, her tattered nun's veil soaked with blood and mildew, her eyes like twin lanterns guttering in the wind. She speaks in a tongue older than