I started out loving this book, then found myself getting bored and just tolerating it; fortunately it picked up towards the end. Harrow painted herself into a corner by making her characters obvious archetypes; as such they could never really grow as characters, just asymptotically approach their fated roles. Although the language was lovely and poetic, the book couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be a fairy tale (in which every encounter was fated) or a story in which the characters could pretend to have agency, instead of just making their peace with their foreordained roles.