This isn't a love story. This is a death story.

My parents were burdened with two baby girls. Yes, burdened. A son would have been a blessing, but a daughter was only an expense.

They didn't have a legacy to carry on their name-they'd have to pay a dowry and fund an elaborate wedding.

I was forced to marry a stranger, though my parents assured me I'd learn to love him.

But worst of all, the man I'm being forced to marry is my dead sister's husband.

She left our home in a wedding dress and came back home in an urn.

But once I moved into the tattered estate with my new husband, I realized maybe my sister wasn't dead.

Maybe she's still here after all...