Strangled on a snowy night, 18-year-old Persephone O’Leary remains a mystery. Her younger sister, Sylvie, is finally ready to find some answers.
Convinced she caused Persephone's death, Sylvie has never forgiven herself for locking their bedroom window that cold night 16 years ago. But she had grown tired of covering for her sister’s lies—she shouldn't have been sneaking out with Ben Emory since their mother, Annie, had forbidden Persephone to date. And Sylvie had grown tired of covering her sister's bruises—every night Persephone returned with Ben's fingerprints blossoming through the skin of her wrists, her ribs, her hips. Sylvie painted over the bruises, transforming them into beautiful temporary tattoos. That fateful night, though, after Persephone could not climb back in, she ran back into the night, into the clutches of her killer. In luminous lines aching with loss, debut novelist Collins deftly re-envisions this Greek myth of Persephone. Annie may have named Persephone after the myth, noting that her absent father didn't deserve her, yet after her death, it is Persephone’s sister who solves the puzzle in this tale, releasing her back to the truth. Sinking into alcoholism and a strange certainty that Persephone's death was inevitable, Annie never recovered from the tragedy. Pushed away, emotionally rejected, Sylvie made do with her Aunt Jill as a substitute mother, biding her time until she could escape Spring Hill. But now Annie is sick and Aunt Jill can no longer care for her, so Sylvie must come home to drive Annie to her chemotherapy appointments, to keep her sober, and to find out what really happened to Persephone. The secrets she uncovers, though, will shatter every memory she holds dear about her sister, her mother, and even the man she believes killed Persephone.
A bewitching thriller with surprises detonating in nearly every chapter.