#this is the same w like circe. the whole thing abt the birth and stuff and feeling like its all so horrific and unknowable and grave

[whoviandoodler]

rereading the raven cycle as someone who is no longer seventeen really just sheds light on how much of a metaphor for being seventeen it is. the feeling like you're running out of time, like your whimsy of the past has been nothing but meaningless wandering, a waste, the anger that is about to overflow and both drown you and choke you because you cannot keep doing what you've always done and what's expected of you, you cannot, and the fatigue that drags on your shoulders, the sudden waves of horrified conviction that you have no idea who you are or who your friends are or what your purpose even is- these are all things that are both the magical Unknowable and the mundane Knowable, and with every page I just have to marvel at the cleverness of intertwining those two so organically.