A story isn’t supposed to start with ‘And they all lived happily ever after’. Once the cinder girl marries her prince, or the pig farmer grows into his blood, it’s supposed to be over.

There aren’t supposed to be dragons, or witches, or armies from the North armored in the winter winds and riding wolves the size of oxen. No dogs with dinner-plate eyes or foxes that spend their days as women. The magic is supposed to be done, seeped back where it came from; no more curses or wishes or blessings or luck, just plain old ordinary lives.

It’s supposed to be happily ever after…

But fairytale kingdoms live by fairytales rules and the Fae have never been ‘happy’.