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I think I have a new favourite genre of romances.
Sapphic cozy witchcraft books that in reality rip out your heart and stomp on it, then heal it again.
Don’t mind me, I just finished reading The Honey Witch and sobbing for four hours.
You can’t love anyone without the fear of losing them, without the forethought of grief. There is an inherent loss in love, but that does not mean that love is not worth it.
The Honey Witch by Sydney J. Shields