When people turn to fictional characters, it’s often because they want an escape. The stories of these people shelter us from the storm of our daily lives; they save us, if only for a little while. But when we really give in, become invested, let ourselves be vulnerable, something changes. We begin to feel that we know them. It’s no longer just an escape, but part of us, something that makes us who we are.
These characters teach us that incredible adversity can be overcome. That people can love each other forever. That life can be an adventure. That magic can be real. And even if these miracles have never happened to us, we begin to go through life believing that, someday, they could.
If anybody ever tells me that storytelling isn’t important anymore, I’ll show them this post.
Let’s be honest here, I would make such a shitty companion.
03/30 pictures of Darren Criss being flawless.
Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort as dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy’s shell.