break your glass slippers

my value doesn’t go down when my weight goes up.

villains almost never look like cackling witches, cruel stepmothers, or bratty stepsisters. they’re so much quieter than that, & i think that’s what makes them so menacing. in some chapters of your storybook, you’ll find them hiding everywhere—even in the faces of those you hold dearest. they never reveal their true intentions until you’ve already trusted them too much, & just like that, everyone you know has turned into a stranger

whenever somebody asks her how she’s been holding up, she can never bring herself to tell them how she’s truly feeling inside. it’s always fine or great or amazing, but how are you? the last thing she would ever want to do is inconvenience them—or worse, seem self-involved.

—she just wants one person to catch her in the lie

you are limitless.

you can have the lipstick.

you can have the sword.

sometimes her mind goes to the darkest of places—that place where she wonders if any of them would notice if she disappeared altogether one night.

inside the cramped fitting room, she slips into dress after dress as if she’s trying to slip into someone else’s life.

—much to her dismay, her reflection stays the same.

it has

never been

within

your duty

to be

pretty.

when he comes back, he comes back missing her body, but not her—never her.

he always keeps her waiting, & she pretends she doesn’t mind at all, but deep down, she does.

when he calls her by the wrong name,
she pretends she doesn’t notice.