The Many Intricacies of Fairy Tales and Fire Kaylin (a lover, loved)
The clock strikes twelve, and the fairy tale turns to ashes. Its burning ablaze, perhaps a nasty metaphor for something you could likely imagine on your own — that they’re just that. Tales, fiction, fake. A fallacy for someone else’s mind, rather than your own. But is it really just as simple as that? Or is that how we make it to be, our own frankenstein? A good question. One we fail to always answer — and when we do, to answer truthfully. Funny how that works, isn’t it? A conundrum, entirely dull in prosaic prose suited for pretty ears and even prettier mouths. As if we paint them an ugly shade every time we lie.
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As if it’s something vile, or downright dreadful, a violent wish to know.