All those fairy tales you read as a child, they were lying to you. Those happy endings never lasted. Cinderella? Her stepmother went insane and killed everyone in the kingdom, killing Prince Charming right in front of her eyes, tying her up so all she could do was watch in horror as her once so handsome prince was mangled, torn to pieces from limb to limb. Snow White? One day, the dwarfs were mining in a questionable cave area. Dopey cut his finger off with a bear trap that was placed in the cave, screaming at the top of his lungs. The cave collapsed, leaving Snow White alone with only her prince to comfort her. Turned out, he was in on everything with the Evil Queen the whole time. He killed her a week later with a poisoned apple, one poisoned with lead, a dusting deadly enough to kill her. Alice? She wasn't in Wonderland, she was in a coma. When she fell down the rabbit hole, the paramedics found her. The whole time she mumbled something about Wonderland, hallucinating a whole entire world. She died within a few days of the fall. I am my own unique case, so let me tell you the tale I have about myself. My name is Ciara Hollows, and I was told many of these stories as a child. This is the story of how I knew all these sad endings. And why my last name is Hollows, if you please.