At about three in the morning, my door yawned open. Half asleep, I fumbled for the light. Soft footsteps limped across the wooden floor toward my bed and all I could think of was Neph's story of Francis.
The bed creaked as someone's weight came down on it.
Fumbling with the light, I managed to turn it on.
Persephone lay on the bed, her hands and face covered in blood, one eye swollen shut and her mouth working like she wanted to say something but couldn't.
I screamed.