In Hollow, Ruth Teegarden is living proof that the road to hell is paved with good intentions—and occasionally sprinkled with magic dust and a few blood sacrifices. What started as a father’s heartfelt wish (cue the violins) to save his daughter from death ended in centuries of horror, a body count high enough to merit its own true crime podcast, and a girl who should’ve been studying algebra instead of feeding coeds to a djinn. Immortality, dear reader, sounds great until you realize it doesn’t come with an off switch. Or a therapist.
Fairy tales have always played this game. Someone’s about to die—tragic!—so a well-meaning fairy, sea witch, or cursed amulet steps in with a “solution.” But what they’re really selling is an eternal trap wrapped in shiny paper. Sleeping Beauty was supposed to die, but thanks to some magical meddling, she got stuck in a century-long nap that doubled as social exile. The Flying Dutchman skipped out on divine judgment, only to become the undead captain of a floating ghost cruise. Even Peter Pan, that charming eternal child, gives off big “this boy will never commit” energy when you realize he’s doomed to an eternity of emotional stuntedness. Cute at first. Creepy forever.
And here’s the kicker: somewhere along the way, these immortal types stop being victims and start being villains. It doesn’t happen overnight. Ruth wasn’t born a monster—she became one after centuries of outliving everyone she ever cared about. The human heart isn’t built for endless goodbyes or eternal self-preservation. Without the finish line, you forget how to run the race. Eventually, the only thing that matters is survival, and everything else—empathy, compassion, basic decency—gets tossed overboard like unwanted cargo.
So what’s the real curse? Not the magic itself—but what it does to the soul. These stories, and Ruth’s especially, are cautionary tales about the cost of denying nature’s plan. Death, inconvenient as it is, has a purpose. Immortality sounds glamorous, but it comes with side effects: loneliness, detachment, a growing fondness for morally questionable decisions. Fairy tales knew the truth long before we did: sometimes, the most loving thing you can do… is let go. And sometimes the most cursed thing of all is getting exactly what you asked for.
Until next time—watch out for apples, avoid eternal curses, and remember: sometimes the scariest part of the story… is getting what you want.
Stay enchanted (but not too enchanted)!
Heaps of Love,
Lynda 🖤✨
