Every time I open a book, my mind wanders to days where I would be much remiss to go play outside with other little boys and little girls, for I lived in a world alive with dragons, and monsters, and knights-in-shining-armor.

Knights-in-shining-armor have been my downfall. Their armor glints too much in the sun, distracting you, their horses much too majestic, and it is entirely unfair just how blinding their smile is.

So little girls who stepped on little boys' toes replaced images of magical realms and mythical beasts for a world of mundane simplicity, voluntarily because knights were so beautiful.

Knights pack up and leave. Did you know that? There are other damsels-in-distress, and most are much more beautiful than I. Most of them laugh at their stupid jokes and won't call them out when they're acting like a dimwit. Story books failed to mention that knights-in-shining-armor are half-wit fools who couldn't spot a princess from a frog, with a terrible personality to accompany it.

And they will pack up and do just that – leave.

So damsels-no-longer-in-distress are left in a mundane world where there is no magic, or passion, or spice, and find they have misplaced the spark that made them fall in love with knights in the first place. They've quite lost the talent for finding magic in mundanity.

Adults call it growing up, but I know better – it was all the knights' fault.

Every time I open a book, my heart aches for childish simplicity, almost completely eclipsed by a longing for snowy days tucked in a big leather armchair. My knight-in-shining-armor would be by my side, whispering secrets of the warriors of old, enjoying my smiles which his stories had foretold.

I fondly remember pages creased and worn, read over and over again, the beauty and eminence of the passage unsurpassed by anything that existed in this material world. Why little girls replace written word for the spoken one is beyond my comprehension.

Enchanters so often warned us that magic must be used for good, and not for evil. They never said one prophetical word about unfairness. They never mentioned the world did not make sense. Through every single story read, memorized, loved beyond comparison, not one word had ever been mentioned of the truth.

There is no such thing as a happy ending.

Princesses will grow up. They will see cruelty. They will see pain. They will cry. They will get hurt. They will get their hearts broken. They will fall down.

Princesses will stand up. Princesses will spit on the fallen image of their knights-in-shining-armor. Princesses will move on.

Princesses live their lives, finding their magic in mundanity.