The Perfect Fit was… not perfect. Not even close. But did I inhale it like it was the last brain cell keeping me alive? Yes. Absolutely yes.

This book was pure serotonin. Pure chaos. Pure “I have no idea what’s going on but I’m having the time of my life.” The plot? Held together with dental floss and hope. The character development? Nowhere to be found. The twists at the end? I’m convinced the author pulled them out of a bingo spinner.

And yet. AND YET.

I could not put it down. I was giggling. I was kicking my feet. I was feral.

Lily was somehow so compelling despite being written like a woman whose primary superpower is “walks into a room and immediately gets railed.” The men were hot in that unhinged, borderline-delusional way that makes you think, yeah, I could fix him or make him worse. Preferably both.

Was the plot unhinged? Yes. Was there any emotional arc? Kinda. But did any of it make sense? Not even a little. Did I consume it like an energy drink at 3 AM? Yes. Would do it again.

I was unwell in the best way.

This book is basically junk food romance: no nutritional value, absolutely no depth, but oh my god the flavor. The endorphins. The AUDACITY.

I had the best time. Three stars, but like… the most affectionate three stars ever.

I loved this book so much I could cry. Actually, I am crying a little. Vespertine was everything: eerie, emotional, gorgeously written. I’m still reeling. This isn’t just a story; it’s an experience that seeps into your bones.

Margaret Rogerson’s writing breathes atmosphere: shadowed cathedrals, restless spirits, candlelit prayers, and that quiet tension between faith and fear. The world feels alive; every shadow breathes, every prayer echoes, and I never wanted to leave. I savored every single page.

And Artemisia. My poor, sweet, socially awkward, feral little saint. She broke my heart in the most tender way. She’s one of the most quietly brilliant heroines I’ve ever read: neurodivergent, awkward, brave in a way that’s soft and unshowy. Her journey felt real. As someone who’s watched a young girl navigate the world with that same tenderness and overwhelm, seeing a protagonist like this meant the world to me. She’s proof that you don’t have to be charming or effortlessly understood to be powerful or worthy.

Then there’s the revenant. Oh, the revenant. My dramatic, snarky little eldritch menace. He’s terrifying, hilarious, and somehow one of the most emotionally compelling characters I’ve met in ages. Their dynamic carried the story, equal parts eerie and heartwarming.

Every element (the prose, the pacing, the tension, the emotion) was just so good. Rogerson built something truly special here, something that lingers long after the last page. I read it slowly because I didn’t want it to end… and now I just want to start over.

I loved this book. Completely, achingly, reverently loved it 🥹🩶