Remember when . . . ? Stories like that were will-o'-the-wisps, glowing in the deepest, darkest parts of forests, leading travelers farther and farther from safety, out toward an ever-moving mark.

You didn’t get what you deserved, but you don’t have to live inside that one story forever. No one’s heart has to remain stone.

You don’t think monster girls and wicked boys deserve love?

He could no more lie than any of the Folk, but stories were the closest thing to lies the Folk could tell.

Every hero is the villain of his own story.