When Anna was a little girl she loved fairytales. She loved them all. She loved the ones by the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Anderson. Most of all, she loved the old Irish fairytales that her mother used to tell her, about lovely fairies, good and bad. She loved the ones with fairies the most because they could fly, and she always used to imagine that she could fly, just like the fairies. When she grew up she wanted to be a fairy.
She loved the stories that pitted good against evil, because the good always won. She loved the thought of a beautiful fairy princess verses an evil witch. She loved the thought that someday, a handsome prince might whisk her away and save her from everything that might hurt or scared her.
Then, when she was nine, her mother died, and she stopped loving fairytales, because she stopped believing in happily ever after.