Autumn of the Grimoire (Sisters Solstice, #1)
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Read between February 10 - February 17, 2025
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She had chosen the Forest of Tombs because no one wanted to venture too far from a beloved’s gravesite in a place of the dead. Witches had hung from the alder and oak trees that rose between the ancient gravestones; feet swinging and life leaving. No, it was not a place many frequented.
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It’s good for the soul to have something to crave; to tend; to strive for.
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a fuzzy black form flew at her face. Agatha laughed and nuzzled Mabon before he settled onto her shoulder, leathery wings folded primly in place, his oversized ears lost in Agatha’s long hair.
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She lifted her face and let Madam Moon’s enchanted beams fill her with courage for what came next.
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“And what would you have me do, then? Throw myself at your feet and argue that I am worthy to be your bride?”
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The delicious warmth of the bakery kissed her cheeks like an old friend, cinnamon, nutmeg, rich butter, and a hint of honey enveloping her first. With all the high class of a farm girl, she gaped at the rows of sweets. The baker stood smiling at her with a hand on one hip. She was a woman well-on in years, but the vibrancy she exuded was breathtaking.
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“Goddess, Agatha.” He ran a hand through his wild hair, shifting on his feet. “I’m not questioning you. If we’re to be married in less than a fortnight, I’d at least like to know something about you.”
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“As a boy, my father as well as my tutors incessantly chastised me for being too stoic, too serious, too grim. Eventually, it became what I was known for, and as any other pet name originates—what I was known by.”
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Ghosts of ancient magic whisper that a storm is nigh. -Writings of Ambrose Joubert
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Kindness is a strength all its own. Peace and tranquillity should never be misinterpreted as meek or feeble. -Writings of Ambrose Joubert
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He smelled of clean soap, musk, and coffee. It was the perfect storm and it left her head foggy.
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“You look like the Underworld held you hostage all afternoon, dearest husband.”
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Grimm leaned on the open door, his hand braced on the knob. “You let Tindle dress you in finery equivalent to a mouthy stance against my mother and suddenly you care what she thinks?”
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If I must be the villain, the black knight, so be it. I’ll see my people freed, no matter the cost. -Journal of Thackery Peridot III
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He let out a long breath. “I am a Marchand de Mort.” Agatha staggered back. “You’re a reaper?”
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Agatha glowered at them both. “This is all very chivalrous, but I’m not asking permission from either of you, and I don’t need protection. I’m a goddess damned witch and I can wield my own sword.”
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She placed her palm on his cheek and another tear slid down the side of her face. It took every ounce of strength he possessed not to do something, anything, to take away her sadness. “You chased them away, Grimm. After a hundred years of nightmares, you chased them away.”
Kiwi
💕
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“Whatever you’re made of, I am too,” she breathed against his lips and kissed him softly. “I’m immensely certain, reaper.”
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“Mm, little witch,” he murmured against her lips, his fingers between her thighs and her hands gripping his muscled back. She couldn’t take it any longer.
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From my earliest memory, I recall a gaping void. Not one that always was, but one of something ripped from me before I was yet born. -Journal of Agatha Joubert
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“Don’t you dare leave me here, reaper. If I’m alive, so are you. Our grave will be dug as one, and we’ll climb in together. Do you understand me?”