Review by Scribe After Five
Oct 16I devoured One Dark Window — and before the echoes of its last page even faded, I was already cracking open Two Twisted Crowns. No breaks. No breathing room. I was ready.
While the romance in One Dark Window felt like a subplot, I still found myself expecting more yearning between Elspeth and Ravyn in this sequel. But to my surprise, even with less focus on their romance, the story never lost its grip on me. If anything, it tightened.
Rachel Gillig’s prose continues to be gorgeously sharp — lyrical, poetic, and deliciously gothic. Every riddle, every whisper of the woods, every chapter felt drenched in her signature atmosphere. The tone stayed true to the duology’s heart: eerie, romantic, and darkly enchanted. Despite the scattered riddles and layered lore, the pacing never faltered. Everything flowed naturally. The shifts in POV were seamless — interconnected, alive, like veins of the same story pulsing beneath the surface.
And the lines. There are so many that hit like a blade made of beauty. A few of my favorites:
“To anyone who’s ever felt lost in a wood. There is a strange sort of finding in losing.”
“Here we are, my darling girl … The end of all things. The last page of our story.”
“Be wary, Be clever, Be good.”
“You did not come all this way to yield to despair.”
“There were not enough pages in all the books Elm had read … just how beautiful she was.”
Elm. My god, Elm. He lived rent-free in my mind and refused to leave. I knew he’d play a bigger role here — I just didn’t expect him to steal the spotlight. His arc is everything. He rose above what everyone thought a Rowan could be. Beneath his charm and romantic prose, there’s a sincerity, a noble kind of brokenness that makes him magnetic. His brotherhood with Ravyn? Perfect. His growing tenderness for Elspeth? Heart-wrenching.
Every character’s flaws felt earned, believable. Hauth frustrated me endlessly — which only proves how well Gillig wrote him. I despised him on behalf of everyone.
The relationships in this book are layered and deeply felt: Elspeth and the Shepherd King (their farewell absolutely destroyed me), Elm and Ione (their love story was to die for), Ravyn and Elm’s brotherhood, the tangled webs of family and fate — all of it tied the story together in ways that felt rich and real.
The worldbuilding was once again spectacular — eerie and vivid, grotesque and enchanting. The magic system remains one of the most creative I’ve read in a long time: dark, ritualistic, but deeply emotional in its consequences.
And the ending… bittersweet and beautiful. I actually cried. The kind of crying that feels like closing a chapter on something sacred. I wouldn’t have ended it any other way.
Two Twisted Crowns is a masterclass in gothic fantasy — a perfect blend of tragedy, whimsy, and wonder. It explores toxic family legacies, the power of found family, loyalty, grief, and the quiet kind of love that grows in the dark.
If I could give it six stars, I would.
I devoured One Dark Window — and before the echoes of its last page even faded, I was already cracking open Two Twisted Crowns. No breaks. No breathing room. I was ready.
While the romance in One Dark Window felt like a subplot, I still found myself expecting more yearning between Elspeth and Ravyn in this sequel. But to my surprise, even with less focus on their romance, the story never lost its grip on me. If anything, it tightened.
Rachel Gillig’s prose continues to be gorgeously sharp — lyrical, poetic, and deliciously gothic. Every riddle, every whisper of the woods, every chapter felt drenched in her signature atmosphere. The tone stayed true to the duology’s heart: eerie, romantic, and darkly enchanted. Despite the scattered riddles and layered lore, the pacing never faltered. Everything flowed naturally. The shifts in POV were seamless — interconnected, alive, like veins of the same story pulsing beneath the surface.
And the lines. There are so many that hit like a blade made of beauty. A few of my favorites:
“To anyone who’s ever felt lost in a wood. There is a strange sort of finding in losing.”
“Here we are, my darling girl … The end of all things. The last page of our story.”
“Be wary, Be clever, Be good.”
“You did not come all this way to yield to despair.”
“There were not enough pages in all the books Elm had read … just how beautiful she was.”
Elm. My god, Elm. He lived rent-free in my mind and refused to leave. I knew he’d play a bigger role here — I just didn’t expect him to steal the spotlight. His arc is everything. He rose above what everyone thought a Rowan could be. Beneath his charm and romantic prose, there’s a sincerity, a noble kind of brokenness that makes him magnetic. His brotherhood with Ravyn? Perfect. His growing tenderness for Elspeth? Heart-wrenching.
Every character’s flaws felt earned, believable. Hauth frustrated me endlessly — which only proves how well Gillig wrote him. I despised him on behalf of everyone.
The relationships in this book are layered and deeply felt: Elspeth and the Shepherd King (their farewell absolutely destroyed me), Elm and Ione (their love story was to die for), Ravyn and Elm’s brotherhood, the tangled webs of family and fate — all of it tied the story together in ways that felt rich and real.
The worldbuilding was once again spectacular — eerie and vivid, grotesque and enchanting. The magic system remains one of the most creative I’ve read in a long time: dark, ritualistic, but deeply emotional in its consequences.
And the ending… bittersweet and beautiful. I actually cried. The kind of crying that feels like closing a chapter on something sacred. I wouldn’t have ended it any other way.
Two Twisted Crowns is a masterclass in gothic fantasy — a perfect blend of tragedy, whimsy, and wonder. It explores toxic family legacies, the power of found family, loyalty, grief, and the quiet kind of love that grows in the dark.
If I could give it six stars, I would.
