He forgets that he was someone's dream once, himself.

...He is sure that the Bailey he is now is closer to the Bailey he is supposed to be than the Bailey he had been before

And there are never really endings, happy or otherwise. Things keep going on, they overlap and blur, your story is part of your sister's story is part of many other stories, and there is no telling where any of them may lead.

And now, I'm a best selling author, a different sort of fairy tale that I still sometimes wonder when I'll wake up from.

You send me all these roses. Every time I think the last bouquet has arrived, finally, another turns up. I’m running out of vases. I didn’t know roses came in so many colors. You say they’re the perfect symbols of love because they have thorns and love is pain. I say life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something. And you don’t get it. You say you love me, but you don’t speak my language. You don’t even realize I’m an orchid girl.

To be rather than to seem.

I didn't know your identity, but I had an impression of who my opponent was, being surrounded by things you made.