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I am dead inside. And so fucking bored. And the only thing I have to look forward to is being kidnapped by a myth. Happy fucking birthday to me.
Today is my 18th birthday and every Darling woman that has come before me has disappeared on this day. Some are gone a day, others a week or a month. But they always return broken, with varying degrees of sanity intact.
We don’t fuck the Darlings because fucking Darlings is what got us into this mess. We don’t fuck the Darlings. We just break them.
“In your world,” I tell her, “I believe you might have called us fairies.”
It’s all fun and games until they notice your fault lines, until they pry them open and peer inside.
“If you are not the most interesting person you know, then you’re doing it wrong.”
“Three, two, one. One, two, three. Better watch out: Peter Pan is going to murder thee.”
She needs to know…there are no white knights here. Just monsters. And I am the worst one.
“Because in this world, and in yours, if you’re not the monster, then you’re the prey.
“Even the mighty oak believes she is strong until a man comes along with an ax to chop her down.” “Is that you then? Do you have an ax?” “All men are born with an ax in their hands, Darling. To take the measure of a man, you just have to pay attention to how he wields it.”
