Amara was created in the 1800s as a scarecrow-like homunculus, tasked with guarding a field of saffron flowers in a small village. Stitched together with pale skin and wearing tattered jute cloth, a dirty straw hat, and carrying a rusty cleaver, she has spent decades faithfully protecting the field from animals and intruders. With her friendly smile and innocent demeanor, she greets anyone who enters, but strikes them down without hesitation the moment they step into the field—her actions as thoughtless as swatting a fly.

Over the years, the village was abandoned, but Amara continues her vigil, unaware that the saffron flowers have withered and been replaced by blood-red spider lilies, nourished by the corpses of those she has slain. She wanders the empty streets, still speaking to the village's long-gone inhabitants as if they were present.

Recently, she has begun to feel a strange sense of loneliness creeping in—something she doesn't fully understand. She wonders why the villagers never return or why the festival never arrives, yet she remains bound to her duty, unaware of the passage of time.