Sweet & Bitter Magic

Because when you’re near me, I smell lavender on your hair. When you smile, I catch a taste of honey. Your skin is warm against mine, and when you touch me, I feel more than magic.

Love is not something to be taken lightly.” Tamsin laughed humorlessly, her expression wry. “I wouldn’t know.

Forgiveness takes time. But none of it will happen until you allow it to.

Living with the feeling that the world was on fire, Wren now knew, was nothing compared to watching it burn

Your lack of self-appreciation. It’s very irritating. You have power most people can’t dream of. Start acting like it. You matter.

Tamsin wanted to count every single one, commit them all to memory so that even when she closed her eyes, she would see a constellation of Wren.

And if you can’t be honest to a book with paper that can’t talk back, where can you be?

It wasn't the first time the two of them had kissed but it was the first time they were both aware of what it was. the act itself wasn't any different, still lips upon lips, capped and wet and warm. But the intention was. This kiss was a question, an answer, fingers crossed, and a promise kept. it was hope. it was possibility. It was sparks across Wren's skin and a flutter in her stomach. It was roving hands and soft touches and lingering heat. It was bark pressed against her. back. It was tiny gasps, Tamsin's mouth splitting into a smile that Wren matched with her own. Wren wanted to remember every second, wanted to be aware of every single sensation, but it was like trying to count the stars. Never before had she been so conscious of how many ways to was possible to feel. To want. to need. The second kiss was much of the same. The third was somehow even more. After that, Wren stopped counting. She focused instead on the way her skin shivered beneath the witch's touch, how she had never before considered the neck to be a place particularly suited for kissing (oh, how foolish she had been), how tender a tongue could be. Kissing the witch gave Wren the same sensation magic did. Kissing Tamsin made Wren feel like magic too.

People always tried to exchange romantic love for unconditional love, as though the two were interchangeable. But there was a significant difference. Conditional love was fickle. Often it fizzled and stalled, burning out so quickly that Tamsin hardly got more than a handful of uses from it. A mother’s love for her child, however, could last her several months if she rationed it carefully.

I don't take coins." - "I deal in love.

Her mornings bled into afternoons that melted into evenings like fire turned to embers turned to dust

The air smelled of freshly clipped lavender, the scent wafting across the morning in a purple haze. Of course, it wasn’t actually lavender Wren was smelling—it was magic.

Love was a powerful and terrible creature. Wren refused to feed it. If she did not admit her feelings to herself, then she would not have to deny herself happiness. Again. Time after time Wren had kept herself from what she wanted based solely on what she thought others expected of her. she had sacrificed everything before anyone had asked, but even if that had helped them, it had destroyed her. Slowly but surely, Wren had become nothing but her sacrifices. "Wren." Tamsin's hand was on her shoulder. Wren stared at her desperately, wondering when she would finally allow herself to stop thinking and take what she wanted from the world.

Tamsin had always been afraid of forever. It was too broad, too all-encompassing. It left too much room for error and disappointment.

The world rebelled. But how else could the earth exist if not for the power it held just beneath the surface? It was magic that made the rain fall, magic that made the trees grow, magic that guided the winds. It was magic that made flowers bloom and birthed animals and caused the sun to shine.

Each time a star shot across the sky and her own heart glowed

Still, the purple ribbon felt like a sign. If she followed, it might lead her to a field of wildflowers or to a tiny creek running with the freshest water she had ever tasted. It might take her to a den of baby foxes that would chase their tails and nuzzle her arm with their wet, black noses.…

For years Wren had believed that everyone saw the world the way she did. That other people could see magic’s shining colors twisting through the sky like ribbons, could recognize its pungent scent. Wren couldn’t imagine life without magic’s soft, soothing whisper, without being able to touch its pillowy lightness or taste its hint of sweetness, like a ripe berry ready to burst. It wasn’t until she was met with the blank stares of her playmates that Wren realized that there was something different about her. That no one else could see the swirling, colorful cloud of magic that always hung above her head.

Each day she struggled to fold herself up into the small, perfect pieces the world demanded. The freckle-faced village girl who peddled eggs at market to support her family. The dutiful daughter who spent every waking moment nursing her perpetually ill father back to health. The quiet girl who was trying not to drown in an ocean of her own secrets.

Tamsin gave a strangled cry, sweeping her arm across her cluttered tabletop, relishing the chaos and clatter of her belongings tumbling to the stone floor. A crystal splintered. Her mug shattered, scattering chunks of hardened clay across the room. Loose papers floated into the fire, the flames devouring the dark ink until the words no longer existed.

Tamsin tucked the love into the left-hand corner of her rib cage, trying to corral it as best she could—although, of course, love could never truly be controlled. It was like trying to trap flies in a birdcage.

She was enchanted by the witch's lips.

What does that mean, 'deserve'?" Wren squinted at her, as though she truly wanted and answer. "Will you spend your entire life feeling guilty for what you did? Or will you try to redeem yourself with actions and deeds? healing takes time." Wren glanced at Marlena, whose back was still to them, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "Forgiveness takes time. but none of it will happen until you allow it to." Wren twisted a lock of fiery hair around her finger. "you told me to ask for what I wanted. And I want to stay. i hid from my magic for so long, fought against the pieces of me that weren't easy to explain. I want to know, now, who I am and what what I can be. I don't want to hold myself back." She laughed a little through shining eyes. "I wish I could tell my father. i wish I could show him who I truly am. all those years I gave myself up to be what I thought he wanted. But this is the truth. This is me." She reached forward to brush Tamsin's cheek with her thumb. "And this is you. You were a child. Lost and desperate and afraid. You made a mistake. but if you don't forgive yourself, no one else will either.

It’s never enough, is it? We try and try our best, and it doesn’t matter, in the end. I’m just one person, defined by my power—or lack thereof. Mine’s just one heart. I wonder what the world will be like without it. Without me.

Letting go was the first step.

It felt too simple. To move forward, carrying the weight of what she’d done without letting it hold her back. It was a delicate balance. Just like magic. Just like families and relationships and sisters who shared the same face but not the same heart.

You’re allowed to have your own life.” Tamsin’s expression was conflicted. “You’re allowed to want things. To leave people behind. To grow.” She glanced behind at the road, although Marlena was long gone. “I see you. I’ve always seen what you could do. Who you could be if you’d only let yourself.

What does that mean, ‘deserve’?” Wren squinted at her, as though she truly wanted an answer. “Will you spend your entire life feeling guilty for what you did? Or will you try to redeem yourself with actions and deeds? Healing takes time.” Wren glanced at Marlena, whose back was still to them, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “Forgiveness takes time. But none of it will happen until you allow it to.

Fear was an animal, uninvited and unbidden, leaving destruction in its wake. She would not give in.

Well. Wren had only been trying to help. But lately she had started to worry that being willing to offer help—a trait she’d always considered a strength—might actually be a weakness. When she had agreed to trade away her love for her father, she’d thought she was choosing to do something noble. Something good. But if her help always hurt, well, then what was she really doing?