In the quiet village of Starbrook, where ivy chokes ancient stones and fog clings like a secret, ten-year-old Isla Wren Thorne discovers something buried beneath her family's floorboards: an enchanted feather, a brass key, and a journal penned by Evelyn Thorne-her mother's mysterious predecessor-trapped for twenty years inside the fabled Eye of Astariel. When phantom bells toll out of time and the iron fence at the old graveyard breathes her name, Isla must learn to wield the Spiral's power: a pattern of memory, sacrifice, and ancient hunger that binds every soul in town.Guided by whispered voices from forgotten wells, haunted chapel ruins, and shadowed cellars, Isla races to reclaim stolen stories before the devourers-creatures born of silence-wake hungry. Each ritual of salt, chalk, and song peels back another layer of Starbrook's dark past, revealing lost children, spectral echoes, and a gate of iron teeth that guards memory itself.Perfect for fans of Victorian Gothic fantasy and atmospheric supernatural mystery, The Mouth Below is a haunting tale of inherited magic, the price of remembrance, and the bravery of a child who must become the keeper of every forgotten name. I've always been drawn to the forgotten corners-the chipped tea cups, creaky staircases, half-finished letters, and the feeling that something-or someone-is waiting just out of sight. All of my novels come to me in the stillness, when my life feels anything but quiet.For a long time, adulthood was a storm I didn't know how to name. I lost pieces of myself in the noise, in the surviving. But stories, somehow, kept their light on. That healing doesn't always look like a triumph-it sometimes looks like a warm kitchen, a handwritten note, or a house that remembers you when you don't remember yourself.When I'm not writing, I'm dreaming up strange little worlds, whispering secrets to my cat, Luna, being a mother, or making something beautiful out of the broken bits. This is one of many novels. It comes with every part of me I had to reclaim just to write it.There are more stories coming. And I'm not afraid of the quiet anymore.- Priscilla Ann Smith

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