Rebecca wasn't born to Elizabeth and Daniel Hawthorne, and she knows this absolutely. But she doesn't know any other mother and father. Their son, James, just six months younger than her, with blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes, had called her sister from the moment he met her. When all of her seven year old self had climbed through his bedroom window seeking shelter from the storm. And for ten years, from seven to seventeen, her life had been nothing short of perfect. Ordinary, dull, absolutely perfect. Hawthorne House was a Manor on the outskirts of Oakhurst, a small town named for the Woods it was built in. And in the Manor she found safety and peace. But the worst thing she had never thought to imagine in any moment happens. And Rebecca follows two boys almost men she'd never met before that day out of a graveyard she would rather just be buried in. Boys with scars and black ink not quite tattoos, who smell like burning fires. One threatens to kill her and the other just might. And its insanity and recklessness and the only choice she has. Just so she can know herself. And what it means to be Brightly Burning.