The banshee, once feared as an omen of death, drew her power from her voice an ancient wail that split the veil between worlds. Now she is twisted and distorted, transformed into something that can be seen but no longer heard. Meant to remain unseen, she is dragged into our presence, her power stripped through silence. The world looks at her without seeing her, weighing her down with a gaze that does not seek to understand but to possess. Each stare becomes a hand over her mouth; each assumption, a tightening grip around her ribs. She is reduced to an object, a silhouette, a rumour her song caged within her body. Once an echo that foretold death, she has become an echo trapped inside her own chest, an ancient wail forced into a whisper.