05/04/2026
There is something sacred about a bookstore,like stepping into a living grimoire where every shelf holds a doorway.
This one, tucked away in Brisbane, felt like returning to a place my soul has always known. The scent of paper, the quiet hum of stories waiting to be chosen, it’s never just books. It’s possibility. It’s memory. It’s becoming.
As a child, reading did not come easily to me. With eyesight challenges and dyslexia, the words didn’t flow the way they seemed to for others. I had to fight for it. Line by line.
I wanted it so deeply, to understand, to escape, to enter worlds beyond my own. Then one day, something shifted, the struggle turned into devotion.
I fell into language like it was magick. Into the rhythm of William Shakespeare’s sonnets, into the steady wisdom of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations. The English classics captured my heart in a way nothing else could. The haunting beauty of Anne Brontë, the depth, the emotion, the quiet power of words that linger long after the page is turned.
And still I wander.
From the old worlds into the modern spellwork of stories like The Night Circus, where reality bends and imagination breathes.
Books didn’t just teach me how to read.
They taught me how to see.
Every time I walk into a place like this, I remember that girl who refused to give up and I honour her.
Because somewhere between the struggle and the story, I found myself.
Brisbane what a beautiful magickal place 💜✨ Reel created by our magickal Kiah
