At nine, Superman’s cape tore. After waking one night to parents fighting. From then, heroic stories sounded false.

We’re born believing life follows predetermined scripts. Heroes exist, villains exist, happy endings exist. But reality is an unresolved novel where characters are grey, plots lack divine justice.

Fairy tales’ cruelest deception: the belief that suffering has noble purpose. That joy follows sorrow. But much pain has no meaning, no redemption.

Adulthood means understanding we lack protagonist privilege. We’re all background characters in our own lives. No destiny exists, only consequences.

Yet fairy tales’ death isn’t complete loss. From their ashes emerges deeper truth. Magic comes from internal transformation. The hero’s journey lies in self-rescue.

Hardest realization: we are simultaneously our own villain and hero. Accepting this duality is true maturity.

When fairy tales die, life’s real story begins—chaotic, imperfect, but infinitely more authentic.