Fairy Tales for the Brokenhearted

Once upon a time, I had it all. Then reality hit. So here I am, winging it—literally.

They say a fairy’s wand only cracks when her heart breaks first. And mine had splintered under the weight of forgotten dreams.

I knelt beneath the sprawling branches of an ancient oak, Oldwood’s towering guardian, leaves shimmering silver under pale moonlight. The forest breathed gently around me, nocturnal creatures murmuring their quiet lullabies. Crickets chirped, owls rustled softly through branches, but tonight the comfort wasn’t there. Tonight, the forest was watching. Waiting. Holding its breath, as if sensing the first ripple of something darker stirring beneath its roots.

And me…
I was center stage.
With a broken wand.
Great.

In my shaking hands lay the wand, once glowing and strong, now cracked and dull. The crystal at its tip, previously dazzling as starlight, had turned cloudy gray.

No magic. No sparkle. Just a useless stick.

Lovely.

I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping tighter. My knuckles whitened around the fractured wood.

"Come on," I whispered desperately, voice shaking, barely a…