Unhappily Ever After

What Comes After the Fairy Tale

In a kingdom that had once been the backdrop for a dozen happily-ever-afters, something peculiar began to unfold—what came after.

Not the fireworks.

Not the carriage rides.

Not the rose-petal endings.

But the long, slow murmur of reality.

I. The Prince and the Village Girl

Once upon a time, a prince chose love over lineage. He married a village girl who made him laugh, who was not afraid of mud or truth. They danced barefoot in the gardens that first spring, and the people adored them for their romance.

But castles have ceilings—and the village girl soon learned they were made of glass.

She had once watched the moon from her rooftop. Now she stared at it from behind velvet curtains, too high up to hear the owls. Her name was Ellie, and she missed dirt under her fingernails. She missed walking without guards. Most of all, she missed becoming. The castle was a place for those who had already arrived.

And the prince—he loved Ellie because she had once been unattainable. But he did not know what to do with something he already had. His love turned to restlessness, and then to distraction.

II. The Baker and His Wife

The baker had strong arms and a generous laugh. His name was Thom. He married Mira, who had grown up counting coins and chewing stale crusts. He offered warmth, stability, and always, always bread.

She said yes.

But four years in, Mira had not grown full—only tired. There were no children, despite months of charting moons and herbs. And Thom began to wander inward.

Once content with her beauty, Thom now felt its edges. He began visiting the market more often, mostly for produce—but eventually for someone new.

He met a young widow named Rachel, whose husband had died in the war. Rachel laughed easily, cried quickly, and reminded Thom of someone from before. But Rachel had caught the eye of someone else, too—a doctor who had longed for quiet love.

Jealousy overtook the doctor’s heart, and he gave Thom the wrong medicine when he caught wind of their affair. Just enough to make him sick—not enough to kill.

Mira noticed his decline, but did not grieve. The prince, bored with the castle, had begun frequenting the town. One morning, he entered her bakery. Mira caught his eye. She handed him a cinnamon roll, and he looked at her like she was an unsolved riddle.

He felt that familiar ache of unattainable love—the thing he was always missing.

III. The Palace Thief

Ellie was still married, but restless. One night, while wandering the lower halls, she caught a glimpse of someone slipping through the shadows: a palace thief, nimble and laughing under his breath, as if he knew all the secrets of the world.

She did not stop him.

Instead, she began dreaming of him. Of jumping over rooftops. Of stealing back time.

She met him once in the gardens. He took nothing but her name and disappeared. That was enough. The dreams grew louder than the palace music.

IV. The Businessman and the Mistress

Next door to the bakery lived a wealthy businessman who had everything he needed—except excitement. So he kept a mistress, a dancer named Sylé, whose eyes burned with a desire for more. She loved the businessman’s gold, but longed for the prince. The one who had even more. The one who now wandered into town like a man lost.

The businessman knew, but said nothing. Not out of love. Out of fear that if she left, he’d have to face his own emptiness—and his wife.

V. The Monk

Into this tangled web came a monk.

Not a miracle-maker. Not a prophet. Just a man who had lived through too many seasons to still believe in fairy tales. He traveled with silence and soup. He noticed how the prince no longer looked at Ellie, and how Mira now dressed in silks that didn’t match her eyes.

He saw the baker coughing on his porch, and the doctor watching Rachel from a distance. He saw Sylé twirl—not for love, but for power. He saw a kingdom tired of pretending.

One by one, he found them. Not to preach. But to ask:

“What did you think would save you?”

The prince said desire.

Ellie said adventure.

Thom said beauty.

Mira said security.

Rachel said someone to stay.

The doctor said control.

The businessman said money.

Sylé said power.

The monk smiled.

“And what did you lose trying to earn those things?”

Their answers were quieter.

VI. What Came After

Ellie left the castle one morning before sunrise. She didn’t run away with the thief. She didn’t leave a note. Just a seed, pressed into the prince’s palm.

“Plant something,” she said. “Wait.”

The prince didn’t chase her. For once, he let something go.

Mira traveled east, away from kings and kitchens. She began crafting wind chimes and letting them sing her to sleep. She never remarried. She never went hungry again.

Thom lived. Barely. But Rachel stayed—not out of guilt, but because she chose to. The doctor moved away. Years later, he became a midwife in a quiet town.

The businessman lost everything in a bad trade deal. Sylé took what she could carry and disappeared. They were last seen, separately, on opposite sides of the river.

And the monk—he walked on.

VII. Not Quite Ever After

They all learned that love cannot be won like a prize, and safety is not the same as peace. That beauty fades if not met with care, and desire consumes without direction.

The kingdom survived. The people whispered stories, not of kings or dragons, but of the ones who tried to find happiness in all the wrong places.

Not all stories end in sorrow.

But some do not end in joy, either.

Some just continue.

And perhaps, that is the most honest story of all.

Inspired by a chat with Athena, age 9, who’s never been convinced that “happily ever after” tells the whole story.