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Summary
"When she was younger, the winter had been a time of innocent boredom, of complaining about the inches of snow keeping her from climbing trees and racing around with her cousin. Now that she was older, the winter was a time of loss, of death, of suffocation. It’d been good for a few years, and now everything she’d ever loved about it was gone.
Maybe that’s why she’d run from the city she’d grown up in, chasing the promise of forgetting to a new city, a new country, a new world. Rifthold never snowed. Its constant heat promised constant life, constant freedom. And the world of film promised constant distraction, an easy way to be anyone but herself."