Someone still needed to save the monsters.
I could not live with the [knight-princess-monster] triangle anymore. I didn’t need magic to redeem the ugly—it was only necessary to care.
I hungered for a world that was unashamed to show it cared. Stories where the ugly and bad things were also true things. Where the real spells were laid in forbidden names and shapes, the misbegotten claws and teeth of my childhood.
My hungers, too, were undergoing a new transmutation. I was in the market less for the redemption story that never was, and more for the narrative that would show me how to live as a monster. Maybe even a happy one.
May Peterson on monsters.
It’s probably not a secret that pretty much the only story trope I’m interested in is the monster “redemption” arc. And I mean literal monsters–things with fangs and horns and claws, things that don’t look like the “accepted” norm–and the sort of redemption that means being both loved and being able to love without having to compromise that authentic, physically non-conforming self.
On the one hand, I suppose I’m nothing if not predictable. And on the other… sorry not sorry, basically.