[She could keep him going about it the wrong way, if she wanted. The mistake he made is subtle but significant: he said your story, as though that's the problem. As though she thinks there's a story for her and she doesn't fit into it, when it's not really about her reality at all, but everyone else's.

Except that's not the point. It's a technicality, and she doesn't want to dodge the question badly enough to rely on obfuscation when it's the spirit of the question that matters.]

...I've wanted to be the protagonist of most of the stories I'm aware of. And I'm aware of a lot of them. Mostly I wanted the denouement of it. The sleeping girl wakes up, the apple gets dislodged from her throat, the prince finds her in the ashes and the lost shoe fits. I wanted to think I was like that. The kind of person that things like that happened to.

[She shrugs a little, closing her eyes.]

It's worse to believe that. Better to just understand that my story isn't like others, and accept it. Things like that don't happen for me, and that's just how it is. It's better to just acknowledge that, rather than hoping for something that's never going to come.