Magic, Fairy Tales and Happy Ever After

“I do believe in Magic,” he said slowly. “And fairy tales are in fact the real stories of someone’s pain dressed up as moralistic bedtime stories for little children.” He turned to look at her, his green eyes glowing in the dim light. “Happy ever after, however, does not exist.” He paused and sighed. “At least, not for me.”

“I do believe in Magic,” he said slowly. “And fairy tales are in fact the real stories of someone’s pain dressed up as moralistic bedtime stories for little children.” He turned to look at her, his green eyes glowing in the dim light. “Happy ever after, however, does not exist.” He paused and sighed. “At least, not for me.”

“I do believe in Magic,” he said slowly. “And fairy tales are in fact the real stories of someone’s pain dressed up as moralistic bedtime stories for little children.” He turned to look at her, his green eyes glowing in the dim light. “Happy ever after, however, does not exist.” He paused and sighed. “At least, not for me.”

“Happy ever after, however, does not exist.” ... “At least, not for me.”

“You are wrong, you know. Magic isn’t wishful thinking. Magic is very real. In this city alone there are several hundred people using magic everyday.” He straightened up and looked her in the eye. “And I am one of them.”

“This is almost perfect,” he said. She looked up at him through half opened eyes. Harry was stretched out lazily on one side beside her on their bed, his head propped up on one hand, the other draped in a gesture of casual possessiveness across her naked hip.

Debbie had always wanted to be in control of her own life, charting her own course, never needing to totally rely on anyone, just in case they weren’t there. … …

“Debbie stopped walking at the word ‘magical’, a sudden chill going down her spine. ‘And what makes you so sure the baby’s … magical … like you?’ she asked, speaking carefully and choosing her words with care, avoiding the words spinning through her mind like strange, unnatural, freaky.”