Childhood trauma through the eyes of a girl never chosen by the right ones. Uncle Andrew masquerading as Prince Charming—until the façade cracked wide open.
Author’s Note
In The Magician’s Nephew, part of The Chronicles of Narnia, Uncle Andrew is a man who cloaks manipulation in sophistication. He sends children into danger to serve his own curiosity, claiming it’s progress. He doesn’t see himself as evil. No, just above consequence.
In this poem, Uncle Andrew becomes something more:
A symbol for those who abuse power behind polished faces.
A stand-in for the men who take what isn’t theirs, then vanish.
Only to reappear in different forms, in different years, wearing different disguises.
This piece reimagines fairy tale tropes through the eyes of a girl who was never chosen, never saved, and forced to build her own survival from what remained.
If you know, you know.
If you don’t, well—
You’re lucky.
As a little girl,
As a little girl,
You hummed sweet lullabies about love—
But it was the unreachable that thrilled you.
The quiet rush of slicing through Uncle Andrew’s façade.
The rush in your heart,
The chills in your spine,
Unfolding the skeletons he folded so neatly in his closet.
You watched the dresses twirl in the spring wind—
All the chosen Cinderellas in the schoolyard.
No one came looking for you,
No matter how many damn times you asked that mirror if you were fair.
The magic spell the good boys were under—
You didn’t have the dust.
It wasn’t meant for you.
Not even before midnight.
So you bit the apple of truth,
Let it rot sweet and slow on your tongue,
And watched it suffocate your hope—
Banished to the realm of rotted pumpkins and mice.
You knew, the moment he took you—
And the others looked away.
You kissed the face of evil
And prayed your lips were poison.
You were forced to give what wasn’t his,
And too ashamed to show the blood—
Soaking the hem of your white dress.
No fairy dust.
Just the tears of innocence.
And blood.
Maybe it was then you knew—
No Digory would ever come.
Uncle Andrew was your fate.
You ached for love so loudly,
You forgot how to whisper.
You didn’t have the courtyard decorum for Prince Charming—
So you crafted your own.
His charm swept you off your feet,
But you already knew what lived behind his ribs.
Secret-keepers recognize their own—
Even in the eyes of someone else.
He gave you the signs,
Waved the cotton,
Stained in red—just like your dress.
You didn’t have a fairy with a wand,
Just eyes that learned to read lies.
Like you did
On the bed,
When you kissed him goodbye.
They said it was mercy.
Closure.
Forgiveness.
But you knew:
Uncle Andrew never left.
It was the same man, all over again—
Just back in a different disguise.
You were just hoping you could change him.
A broken—but nonetheless—
Happily ever after.
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