I didn’t plan to write Fairytale.
It wasn’t crafted—it emerged.
Like most of my work, it arrived unannounced, pulled from somewhere between silence and frustration.
A reflection in the black glass. A question dressed as a story.

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This piece began as a feeling I couldn’t name. A weight in the chest.
The more I wrote, the more it spoke for itself:
About the masks we wear to sell ourselves.
About the scroll-induced trance we call normal.
About envy, ego, image, and the subtle violence of validation culture.

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It’s not a fairytale in the sense of magic. It’s the kind we tell ourselves to feel safe—
the myth of progress, the illusion of success, the dream of "becoming someone".
And yet, underneath the beat, there’s still a whisper of longing.
Still a soul trying to remember itself.

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“Staring at black glass... black mirror, here’s a fairytale.”

The screen has become the altar, the mirror, the myth-maker.
And we—still human—are trying to make sense of it all.

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This track is spoken word layered over melancholic piano and trap-leaning drums.
It’s meant to sit heavy. Meant to stir something.
If it does, I hope you’ll carry it with you—and share it with those who need to hear it.

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🎧 Listen now on your favourite platform.
Add it to your library. Share it if it moved you.
Follow to hear what comes next.