you're only ten. you're just a baby.
you're alldressedup {with no place to go}.
&& there's a sea of firecurls and snowyskins.w.a.l.l.o.w.i.n.g. you up.
it's your birthday party, but you just wish they'd g o a w a y .
you wish they'd just leave you alone [liketheyusuallydo].
leave you with your fairytalebooks, full of dashingprinces && damselsindistress.
knights in shining armor. tyrannical kings. fiery dragons.
darling, you just want to escape.
-:-
you're still hanging onto prince charming.
{haven't you realized, though? prince charming doesn't exist.}
at fifteen, you still curl up with your batteredbrokenbeaten copy of sleeping beauty.
you still lose yourself in stories of castles and knights and [real] witches.
because the magic that you're taught is fake.
[real] magic is more than waving around a simple stick and saying a few funnywords.
expelliarmusexpectopatronumacciocrucioimperioavadakedavra.
{but, sweetheart, the things you r e a d in your silly muggle books are fake, too…}
-:-
you meet handsomeamazingwonderful Lorcan Scamander in your seventh year.
he's Roxanne's exboyfriend, but that didn't matter, now did it?
his bluebirdeyes crushed your defenses, toreapart your army, smashed the castle walls.
little girl, you fell hopelessly in l-o-v-e with a not-quite prince charming.
-:-
it's your twentieth birthday party and {everynow&then} you'll break out your batteredbrokenbeaten copy of sleeping beauty and get lost in the story.
princesprincesseskingsqueenscastlesfairieshorseswitchesdragons.
it's [real] magic {at least to you}.
-:-
"This isn't working, Dom."
you stand there, awestruck, his taste still on your pinkpinkpink lips, as he untangles his long arms from around your waist and throws open your bedroom door.
his blonde curls are hanging innocently in his bluebirdeyes as he walks away from your own personal fairytale, and you can't help but think he looks like a [fallen] angel.
you think, in the dark silence of your empty bedroom, you hear your heart s h a t t e r.
-:-
you snap the thinthinthin thread that prince charming is dangling off of.
prince charming nevernevernever existed, did he?
{fairytales are for storybooks.}
-:-
you pack up everything you own {except for that horrid book} and take off to Greece.
you think you can lose yourself in the whitehot sand and the icyblue waves.
&& anyways, fairytales don't exist in Greece.
its all mythmythmyth; no castleskingsqueensprincesprincesses.
just godsgoddessesnymphspegasiclouds.
for once, your sick&&tired of happyendings.
[a/n]: Anything you recognize, I don't own. Reviews are like Fred never dying.–R.