Novel & Cerita Fairy Tale Writers

Ellie’s POV “Who are you?” Ora asked me. It’s a reasonable question. All she knows is that I invaded her mind while she wasn’t awake. It’s difficult to talk about my past. But if it helps my cause, I have to do it. “Once upon a lifetime. I, Eleanor Walker, was the eldest child of Wolf King Angarr and Witch Queen Iduna. A princess by birth and the heir to the Scandinavian kingdom.” I bite my bottom lip when I mention my parent’s names. I miss them so much. “Usually, witches don’t show any signs of power until they approach their 18th birthday. An elemental gift can appear at any point after a witch turns seventeen. I’ve had my elemental power from birth. Which was why my parents hid me away.”

he spoke without hesitation. Everybody seemed perplexed by his answer. He was a fantasy writer. How many personal real-life experiences could have happened? “How is that possible?” The same girl asked, mimicking my thoughts. “You’re a fantasy author, so your writing is fiction.” “It depends on your definition of fiction. I have a broader sense of the word. What makes something fiction? Just because you can’t see something with your eyes, doesn’t make it not real.” “Like air…” I found myself talking softly from the back of the room, getting Joseph’s attention.

one of them asked. "Absolutely," I replied, weaving the tale to accommodate their input. "The princess, her teddy bear, and their newfound friends embarked on a daring quest to face the dragons and bring peace to the kingdom." With each word, the children became active participants in the story, offering suggestions and fueling their collective imagination. Laughter and excitement replaced the earlier sadness, and the weight of their circumstances momentarily lifted. As the fairy tale reached its climax, the children's eyes began to droop, their exhaustion finally catching up with them. Soft whispers of appreciation and gratitude filled the air.

So often I felt like I was walking around in a fog, waiting to start living. Until Arthur, that is. He makes me feel like I’m really alive, like I’ve fallen into one of those stories. The problem is, not all fairytales have happy endings. In fact, most of the early tales were quite gruesome morality tales designed to warn and scare. They were never meant to be a guide for how to live your life. I take a sharp right turn down a long corridor of books. I know my way by heart and soon find my favorite bench, near a window, with all my favorite books. Today didn’t feel like a fairy tale day. I feel like fantasy has failed me.

The girl stared at me puzzledly while I stared at the person from one of my favourite story books Scarlette gave me. Scarlette gave me a book once. She said it was a fairytale book for kids but I truly enjoyed it. The story was about the sugar fairies in the land of sweetness. Sugar fairies mostly live to bake pastries and sweet things. They literally live for happiness and celebration, and were the creators of the sweet people. The story was about Apple, the princess of the sugar fairies and her sister, Candy. The Sugar Emperor had two wives and both had daughters on the same day but Apple was older. At first, they grew up as sisters who loved each other until their brother and heir to the

???'s POV Hazel grew up watching fairytales on Disney. She puckered her lips and kissed the Frog Prince with Tiana, just like Belle, she fell in love with the Beast. She and Gabrielle danced with Pocahontas in the wind, and she can't forget when she fought a war with Mulan. Fairytales had always been her thing. So her imagination conjured up what she thought the Fae World would look like; gold, silver, and shimmer everywhere. She even pictured pink talking clouds that tasted like cotton candy. But to her dismay, she wasn't prepared for the truth.

That drove her to work harder until she could take care of herself. Going into the main world outside the four walls of the orphanage, she knew life was more than what she imagined. She wanted to express herself. She wanted to have her own fairytale that she always end up imagining when she is alone. She picked up her pen and wrote it all in a book. Her fairytale. The life she imagined and her stories got her into the top ten best writer, giving her quite a comfortable life. She got a boyfriend even though it wasn't like her fairytale romance, he was her first love. He gave her the shoulders she longed for.

The pages crackled, a dry, comforting sound. "This isn't a fairy tale," Emma read. Her voice was strong, carrying the cadence of the courtroom where she had spent her career fighting for families. "Fairy tales have magic wands. This story has work." She looked at the children. "Your great-grandfather Noah didn't have a wand," Emma said. "He had a hammer. He built a wall to keep the bad things out. But he learned that walls don't work unless you put a door in them."

I said to her and she just gave me a smile that I couldn’t read about. “Sometimes you need to believe some fairy tales, my dear child.” “Yeah, that once upon a time there was a poor girl that dreamt of being a princess. I am still wishing it would happen…” I smiled sadly because I am referring to my poor life. “Remember this always… Once upon a time, the Creator created many beings to occupy the world He perfectly created. Once upon a time, before Adam and Eve were created to live in the Garden of Eden… angels and animals were created first. As well as dragons, werewolves, fairies, elves, dwarves, mermaids, vampires, and any other being that we only thought were just mythical and pure imagin

I asked. Elara's form seemed to shudder. "If the Archivists are the librarians, taxidermying dead stories, the Weavers are the authors. They do not preserve narratives; they write them. They impose plot, structure, and ending on living worlds. They are the reason some species have inexplicable golden ages, or suffer tragic, repeating falls. They are the architects of fate. And they despise free will more than the Archivists despise chaos." The scope of the war expanded dizzyingly in my mind. We weren't just fighting jailers. We were fighting the universe's would-be authors.