I hadn’t been a real reader in years.
Not since high school—since I was sixteen or seventeen, back when reading felt like part of who I was, not something I had to schedule, justify, or feel guilty about. Somewhere between graduating, going to college, navigating expectations, getting married, and becoming a mom, reading slowly slipped out of my life. Not because I stopped loving books—but because life kept demanding space I didn’t feel like I had.
And still, I missed it.
I missed the calm.
I missed disappearing into another world.
I missed that feeling of this is mine—something that existed just for me.
Every now and then, I’d read an old favorite on Wattpad or binge something familiar, fast and safe. But deep down, I knew I wanted more. I wanted to come back to the things that once made me feel grounded, imaginative, and fully myself.
At the time, I had an Instagram account dedicated to nails. Then nails and makeup. Then… nothing that really felt aligned anymore. My creativity was there, but I wasn’t fully present in it. Between marriage, motherhood, and daily responsibilities, I didn’t feel like I had room to rediscover myself—until a family vacation changed everything.
We were at Disney and Universal, living our best chaotic theme park life, when my Instagram algorithm quietly shifted. Suddenly, my feed was full of books. Dark romance. Recommendations. BookTok creators explaining where to start if you were new—or returning.
One video stopped me in my tracks.
A creator named @pbsquamer1 casually said something along the lines of: “If you’re getting into dark romance, you need to start with Lights Out.”*
So I did.
I bought it on Kindle, thinking I’d read a little here and there. Instead, I couldn’t stop. I read in line for rides. I read while waiting for food. I read whenever there was even a spare second. That feeling—the one I hadn’t felt in years—came rushing back.
That strange, beautiful mix of nostalgia meeting the present.
That I need to know what happens next urgency.
That moment where you realize you’re not just reading—you’re inside the story.
I’m an empathetic reader. I don’t just observe characters; I become them. I feel everything. And Lights Out pulled me in completely. It reminded me how powerful stories can be when you let yourself fully experience them.
When I finished, I wasn’t done. I couldn’t be. I immediately bought the audiobook and fell in love all over again—because hearing the story added a whole new layer. Then I saw that Caught Up was coming out the same year, and I pre-ordered it without hesitation.
From there, everything spiraled—in the best way.
I went from Navessa Allen to Avina St. Graves, to Brynne Weaver, and suddenly I was deep in a genre that felt like it had been waiting for me all along. I realized something that made me laugh and ache at the same time: I had always been a dark romance girly. I just didn’t know where to look.
Reading again wasn’t about escaping my life or replacing anything I was missing. It was about experiencing other lives, other kinds of love, other expressions of desire, devotion, obsession, and trust. It was about imagination. About curiosity. About letting myself want something just because it felt good.
And Lights Out was the spark.
This book didn’t just get me back into reading—it started a journey that eventually became The Gilded Grimoire. A space where I don’t just recommend books, but curate experiences. Where stories inspire creativity, conversation, art, and connection. Where reading isn’t something you rush through, but something you savor.
I’m starting from scratch, intentionally. Slowly. Thoughtfully. And I’m starting with the book that brought me home to myself.
So thank you, Navessa Allen—for writing the book that woke something up in me.
And thank you, @pbsquamer1—for unknowingly lighting the match.
If you’d like to read my full thoughts on Lights Out, including why it still lives rent-free in my head, you can find my Goodreads review linked below.
Welcome to the beginning of my reading era.