They said that Ophelia had killed herself. In her grief and madness, brought on by the prince’s betrayal, she had thrown herself into the water, drowning herself in the shallow river. They’d found her body among the thick reeds of the shore, it was a reasonable assumption to make. But they had not seen the lights. The amber glow beneath the surface, brightening and dimming in time to Ophelia’s heart beat, tugging her toward the shoreline, closer and closer with every pulse. And then they sang to her—sweetly, hauntingly, in her head. She had no choice but to follow.