That feeling when you’ve just finished the last book of the trilogy which you’ve had a love/hate relationship with but you kept greedily devouring for the past few weeks because no book gets left behindand no matter how you feel about the writing or the book itself you have to find out what happens, because you just do, and it would drive you nuts if you didn’t, because although it’s not always been the best book ever you’re still invested in the characters and you still need to know what happens to them, but it’s ok because the plot is clearly building towards the final all-out explosion which means no matter what you will finally know what happens, so you’re sneak-reading in lunch breaks, and you rushed to the shop to buy it in hardback despite how expensive it was because ‘why not, it’s the last one’ and it’ll finally be done with- to realise it’s actually not the last one, it’s a series, and maybe you should have actually checked it was a trilogy before becoming this invested and tormenting yourself that it was all going to end in this bookand the infuriating wait is not. Over.

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