PENELOPE POV
The roses turned toward me.
All of them.
One by one by one, red heads lifting from beds of frost-dark soil, petals unfolding with a wet little sound that made my stomach drop.
For half a second, my brain did something very stupid.
It tried to make the scene pretty.
Glass roof. Moonlight. Winter blooms. Silver frost clinging to black leaves like sugar.
A fairytale garden.
Very Alice in Wonderland, if Alice had walked through the looking glass and immediately needed therapy.
Then one of the roses smiled.
Chills erupted over my skin.
I knew my sister had been experimenting with her roses. Genetic work, hybridization, all the terrifying botanical genius Persefone usually made sound like a casual Tuesday.
But this was different.
Darker.
The petals peeled back too far,
