“It wasn't the first time the two of them had kissed but it was the first time they were both aware of what it was. the act itself wasn't any different, still lips upon lips, capped and wet and warm. But the intention was. This kiss was a question, an answer, fingers crossed, and a promise kept. it was hope. it was possibility. It was sparks across Wren's skin and a flutter in her stomach. It was roving hands and soft touches and lingering heat. It was bark pressed against her. back. It was tiny gasps, Tamsin's mouth splitting into a smile that Wren matched with her own. Wren wanted to remember every second, wanted to be aware of every single sensation, but it was like trying to count the stars. Never before had she been so conscious of how many ways to was possible to feel. To want. to need. The second kiss was much of the same. The third was somehow even more. After that, Wren stopped counting. She focused instead on the way her skin shivered beneath the witch's touch, how she had never before considered the neck to be a place particularly suited for kissing (oh, how foolish she had been), how tender a tongue could be. Kissing the witch gave Wren the same sensation magic did. Kissing Tamsin made Wren feel like magic too.”