Chapter Twenty Three

I’ve always wondered if fairytales were real—or could be real at some point without the magic and glittery stuff. But as I grew older, I realized there are no real fairy godmothers (of some sort), or a prince charming that would suddenly save me from every little thing I’ve been through.

Maybe because they’re all fiction—too unrealistic. They’re just that—meant to be read and watched by kids. Anything fairytale does not even apply in adulthood anymore—if back then we survived as kids because we only thought about castles and fairies and all that grandeur stuff, but adulthood was the reality—it was a harsh slap that woke me up from my dream.

Ah… fuck being an adult. Every day makes me want to commit a crime or fake my information and marry a conglomerate heir and then live my life in lies for the rest of my life—well, at least I’d be sad and rich.

I’d probably never understand how it f