A librarian I once knew (who's no longer alive), an alternative press champion, referred to zines as "precious." That is "precious" in the sense of affectedly or self-consciously dainty, but you know what, many zines are "precious" in the sense of valuable and rare. Ofrenda is a zine you feel lucky to read, and a zine you wish came out more often.
Like many zine creators, Celia has a thing for Washi tape. The cover of O3 is adorned with a length of glitter snowflake tape across the top. When zine makers add personal touches like that, where you know that they're spending time handling and creating each individual copy, it makes the zines all the more precious. There are colored-in illustrations throughout, and the zine content is handwritten, making the whole thing feel like pages from the author's personal diary/sketchbook.
This issue is bookended by quotations from Celia's friend Travis Fristoe*, a fellow librarian zine maker and zine librarian who died this year. His death was a suicide, which Celia took hard. Even so, the quotes may make you feel more wistful than sad. She pulls off a similar trick with the first essay in the zine, a Christmas memory starring a father who never gave Celia a Christmas gift. There's pain in the story, yet you can still somehow admire or forgive the man who was such a familiar mystery to his children. Celia illustrates the story with classic, but somehow sinister holiday clip art, like a 19th century boy holding a tree in one hand and an ax in the other and an unsmiling Santa with an open pocket watch.
I could share close readings of the whole zine, but I think you should examine the primary source yourself, right now. It comes with a quarter size, hand illustrated book log that gives 35ish reading recommendations. Buy Ofrenda #3 from Celia's shop for $2.
*PS Travis worked closely with the librarian who called zines precious. The "precious" guy didn't love zines himself, but he still championed them.