Amount of times this book made me cry: [redacted]. It is a sum equal to or only slightly less than the amount of times it made me cackle, gasp, and yelp.
“I cannot behold that apocalypse, Harrow. I think you are one of the only Lyctors who can really and truly understand apocalypse… It is not a death of fire. It’s not showy. You and I would almost prefer the end if it came as a supernova. It is the inexorable setting of the sun, without another hope of morning.”
And just… incomprehensible (at first) dream sequences. Half of it in second-person narration. Unreliable (possessed) narrator. Tamsyn Muir has balls to pull it off, and mad skills. Puzzle-book worldbuilding at its finest.