nature of inviting .
Mostly posting this to view it in a different light then in Microsoft Word. I haven't looked at this in awhile and hopefully the feelings I had over this, I've finally gotten over them.
Title: Red
Summary: A retelling of Little Red Riding Hood as a gift for another student.
Notes: Probably the most emotionally taxing thing I had written in a long time. I've essentially memorized the score of Amélie due to how much I've played the pieces trying to get it right. The person this was intended for never saw it- it was too long at eleven pages. It was written to correspond with images they had drawn, thus some details are not as great as they should be. One day I'll rewrite this and expand this, the universe crosses over with other works in progress I have. Once again, thank you balfonheim for helping edit/workmiraclesmygod with this. <3
The book was thick and heavy and she felt her arms strain temporarily at the unexpected weight of it. A few more were piled on and she leaned forward, her arms seizing as she tried to keep her balance and hold them. Another was added and the local witch only known as Grandmother clicked her tongue and gently scolded her for her lack of strength.
"Put them on the table dear," she said and quickly bustled to another bookcase. Red couldn't restrain the sigh she gave when she let the books drop heavily on the wooden table. It trembled and stiffened as she leaned on it as she watched Grandmother reach for another book.
"Don't act like that, dear, it's-"
"Unbecoming of a witch," she replied, her words accented by her rolling her eyes skyward. The old woman paused in her quest for the right book and glanced at her, shook her head and went back to looking. Red rolled her eyes again and looked around Grandmother's cottage, wishing that they could do something else. They had spent months working and making medicines and talismans, but where was the magic? She had heard of Grandmother performing real spells and brewing true potions, but where had that been? She hadn't even seen a drop of something magical or strange since taking on this apprenticeship and she cursed herself again for not taking up with the local seamstress.
The other girls always had questions about her chosen job. Were there any fairies? No, of course not. The only thing that came close to living in this cottage that bordered on squalor was Grandmother herself and the few plants she was drying out. Were there any magic toads or magic wands? Grandmother had screamed at the sight of the last toad months ago. The closest thing that came to a magic wand was her infamous ladle which in many occasions Red's head and hands had met plenty of times. The only thing strange she had noticed had been the odd trinkets Grandmother would hold for dear friends: fistfuls of spinning needles, strange apples, a spindle of hair, a bag of beans and a bag full of straw. The strangest of these trinkets had been a pair of glass slippers that seemed too small to be worn and a book of recipes, the title of which had been How to Build the Perfect Confectionary Home!
In the candlelight, Red tiredly rubbed her eye and turned away from Grandmother and began to place the books on the table. A few heavy volumes crashed to the floor behind her; she decidedly didn't look back. The mess would be there for her to clean whether she looked or not, she surmised and lazily flipped open the first book and glanced at its contents. So far the only thing good she had gotten out of being the witch's apprentice was the ability to read and write. Though, much to Red's continued embarassment and frustration, it hadn't been from a potion or eating a magical apple. It had come from studying, just like any other high born. Her mother had seen it as an admirable trait though not really useful. Everyone else had seen it as a product of her ineptitude at magic and had reduced to viewing her as just one of them, nothing to celebrate.
She closed the first book, the second and third, the fourth and fifth. The sixth she had gotten through glancing at the first three pages and prayed that wasn't going to be her next assignment. The seventh of the eight gave her pause. It was older than the others. The cover was stiff and thick with strains on its surface, the edges appeared worn. She dragged the tips of her fingers on the cover, reveling in the softness as she made lazily circles with her index finger on it. With the same hand she cradled her chin to lean upon the table and was startled by the touch. She lifted her head briefly to touch the surface of the book.
Strange, they feel about the same, she thought, glancing over her shoulder. Grandmother had moved into the deeper part of the cottage, her thin arms weaving between the many jars she kept. The low hangings of various flowers and plants made shushing noises as her arms moved. Looking back at the book, Red opened the cover and gave a sharp intake of breath at the bookplate. It was the rough beginnings of a drawing, the charcoal seemed fresh as dust appeared to be scattered throughout. The edges of the page were heavy with it, dark and unattractive, as if to give a heavy unnecessary border. Red leaned in close and with her fingers hesitantly traced over the outline of a woman facing to the side, her eye closed with something strange obscuring her face.
Red internally jumped for joy. Finally, something that might hint that she would learn some magic! Yes, it was just a drawing but maybe it would lead to something more. She flipped to the next page, then the next, only receiving blank pages before she finally reached something new. There was large, heavy calligraphy at the top of the page that disappeared to give way to smaller, neater font. Looking back one more time, she bit her lip and with her finger tried to read what the page was telling her. Leaning closer still she could barely manage to read-
"Red," Grandmother called and Red gave a startled squawk and turned quickly, so quickly that she knocked over a chair and startled some of the bottles on the table. Grandmother only stared and looked at the chair and shook her head. Red replaced her startled look with one of a cringe worthy smile.
"You better go home for the day, dear, it's becoming dark out," Grandmother said, turning away and quietly muttering. Red suddenly felt weary and turned to collect her things. Her shawl was still with the basket that had carried the day's meal in it. Picking up both, she looked at the table. The book still sat there open. She walked to it, quietly flipping the page to see more words and felt her heart leap. Would Grandmother notice…? The woman in question was gone from the room, outside from what Red could hear. On impulse she quickly piled the book in the basket, covered it with a small handkerchief and briskly walked out. The books on the table quietly joined the ones that had been on the floor and floated gently back into place.
Grandmother told her to have a good night and quietly watched her depart.
-
That night Red patiently waited for her mother to go to sleep, relief flooding her when she felt her mother beside her drift into dreams. Quietly, she shuffled over to her basket; the book was still hidden underneath the handkerchief. She sat cross-legged in front of the fireplace and rested the book between her legs. Back hunched, she quickly opened the book. She admired the bookplate once again, the dark charcoal drawing still present. The dust was still collected at the corners and she turned the page, eager to return to the one she had tried to read.
She began her work that night, her fingers stained with still warm charcoal from the fire. Her back ached as she leaned down to clearly see the page and write correctly on the packed earth beside her. Her markings were sharp and bold, the elegant curves standing proudly in the firelight. She would freeze when she heard her mother move behind her on their bed pallet, her hands locked in position as the brittle charcoal cracked from pressure. The air in her lungs would catch as she swore several times that she would be caught with something she had taken from Grandmother. By the morning, she had copied down her translation on a few pieces of parchment that she gathered from Grandmother previously and tucked them away.
This continued for the rest of the week; Red worked for Grandmother and in turn Grandmother was quieter than normal. Red pushed down the feeling of guilt during this time as she continued to notice the one opening in the myriad of books. Every time she glanced at it, she could feel a tight knot of guilt growing and the weight of Grandmother's quiet patience weighing down on her. Every night, though, the knot would disappear and be replaced by euphoria. After every word she read and translated, she swore she saw new things appear across the pages. In the beginning the bookplate had been nothing more than a sketch - now it was a true drawing.
The pools of charcoal that had been in the corners were gone, leaving behind an intricate and thin border. The dusts and flakes of charcoal had gathered and expanded, creating depth and warmth to the initial sketch and detailed it into a portrait. The woman's face had filled, the charcoal giving her the sense of being real, as if Red was looking at a real person, not a picture. The strange thing that had been covering the picture turned into an intricate feather, the likes of which she had never seen but heard Grandmother talking about - a peafowl feather she believed it was called. By the end of the week she was able to translate, to best of her ability, what the book was trying to tell her.
It was the story of Garou, she realized belatedly. In the firelight, she glanced back at her mother as she gathered the scraps of the story. The guilt she had been feeling for the past few days was tempered at the knowledge that she was finally done. She shuffled the papers hoping to get the story in the right order. She could barely remember the story of Garou; it had been a folk tale her father had told her when she had been a child and she had not heard it again. She remembered that it was a story of a crazed wolf that rampaged across the countryside, one that took disobedient children into the woods, never to be seen again. In the notes before her, it seemed like an entirely different story.
Garou, a woodcutter, had been a man without equal, a man with the strength of twenty men, who with one swing could fell forests left and right. No other man could challenge him. When word reached him that another proclaimed he could best him at a cutting, he had leapt at the challenge, unable to repress the urge to prove he was the best. The two met in a glen and the villagers stood by and wondered who would fell the most trees by daybreak. Garou with ego proudly proclaimed that he would win while the challenger had been silent and had only received only a few customary cheers and good lucks.
By sunrise the challenge had ended and the winner was a surprise, Garou had lost. Consumed with rage, Garou swore that he would beat the unknown man at another cutting but the man was gone. Angered, Garou disappeared into the woods, never to be seen by his village again. Day and night, he searched for his challenger, traveling across many forests and valleys until he came upon a witch.
"Give me the strength to fell the man who beat me." Red whispered in the dark, she looked up from the book at the fire. The fire gave no response and she looked back down.
The witch had only scoffed at him, saying she had no time for him. In frustration Garou killed the witch. With the witch's wand, he continued his search, traveling far and wide and was still unable to find his opponent. On one of these nights, Garou came upon a pack of wolves. In hunger he attacked and at moonrise Garou stood amongst their broken hides, his lust barely sated as he cried for the challenger to come to him. From the forest came another witch and this time, she gave him reprieve. She would give him the strength to kill his opponent but before she could give her condition he agreed.
From a bag she had been carrying she withdrew a book, heavy and new. She created a pen and a contract formed on the pages and without looking, he signed his name and sealed it with blood. From the wolves he had slain, he was given their speed and strength but in return he would bound to her and her book. When he realized his mistake, Garou had howled and the witch had laughed. The witch transformed then into his opponent and Garou cried out. From then on, Garou travelled the countryside with his opponent, unable to do what he pleased. The passage continued on briefly, making short mentions of the witch terrorizing various villages and families with more than one wolf being bound to the book.
She shuffled her notes, checking the backs and unfolding any creases to see if she had missed any words. Nothing else appeared and she put them down, marveling at the book’s pages. A thick swirling border decorated the pages of the story and she gave a faint smile. There really was magic! The smile turned into a grin and she rocked forward and back, unable to contain the excitement as she tried to quell the urge to shout. All of it was real! Not just the potions or the magic items but everything! Spells and enchantments, fairies and strange creatures! Behind her, her mother shifted on the pallet and she couldn't stop the urge to giggle. She flipped past the still empty pages before the story to look at the bookplate. Nothing had changed and she gathered the edges of the book pages and idly flipped through. The faint clapping noise matching the low snap and crackle of the remaining logs and a few ashes lazily danced in the warm air.
She caught a glimpse of ink, the third and fourth time she flipped through the book and it gave her pause. Was it another story? Her smile brightened, as she began to turn the pages, not caring if her mother could hear it. A new story seemed to be appearing in the book, separated by a blank page from the first. She watched in wonder as the black ink started as a black dot in the top right corner, the size of an inkwell. Like a seed that was taking root, it spread in thin tendrils throughout the page, curving and twisting, creating new words and small illustrations to accentuate them.
Only when the ink had stopped and proceed to dry did Red try to touch the page. She was surprised at the warmth it gave. The area where the inkwell had been felt like a smooth heated stone, the new words and illustrations feeling just the same.
"Why didn't Grandmother show me this?" she asked aloud and was startled when her mother gave a confused sound. Without hesitation she closed the book. Her fingers caught in between the pages and she winced, looking back. Mother was sitting upright. Her narrowed red eyes looked at Red in sleep-induced confusion.
"What are you doing?" The older woman's voice was rough and Red quickly pried her fingers out the book, twisted and crawled over to her mother.
"N-nothing," she stuttered and put an arm around her mother and brought her down against the pallet. "I was just checking the fire."
In the dark, her mother turned to look at her daughter. The faint light of the fire framed her features and she quietly hugged and kissed her and drifted back to sleep. Red ignored the urge to escape her mother's grasp and go back to the fire and quietly went to sleep. After her mother had left for the village but before Red went to visit Grandmother that morning, she picked up the book once again.
From the very top of the page to the very bottom, there was a list and to the right of it was one small paragraph. Next to the list, as small as possible but still visible were drawings of various phases of the moon. She wrote it all down as quickly and accurately as she could. While she did this she could not read the title for any hint as to what it was for, nor did any of the illustrations indicate what it was. On the bottom there were tiny pen scribbles that symbolized trees and the final lunar illustration of the full moon hung in the sky above it. When her transcription was done, she tucked the parchment away, closed the book and headed to Grandmother's.
-
In the morning Red returned the book back to Grandmother. Grandmother only shook her head and put it back in its place on the shelf. Her eyes were tired but not angry.
"You ask before you take things, Red."
"I'm sorry Grandmother," was all she could think to say. Throughout the day, she repeatedly apologized even though more than once she caught herself next to the bookcase, hand raised as if to take. The rest of the day Red was restricted to more herb naming and gathering, her back and arms aching when the sun began to set. At the end of the day Grandmother gave her a hug and Red eagerly returned it.
"I care not for what you've seen and read but Red, listen to me when I say this." Grandmother let go of Red and looked at her. Her eyes were still tired but pride now shone with it as she gently touched her face.
"Do not do anything you saw in that book. Nothing. No good will come out of it, my dear." Red stared in confusion, the image of the hidden parchment coming to mind. Grandmother repeated for her not to do anything foolish and hugged her tighter.
"That book belonged to an acquaintance. Leave it for now Red. We will both go over it when it is needed. "
Grandmother quietly escorted her out of her cottage and bade her good night. Red reflexively returned her goodbye, but her mind was still on the parchment hidden in her cottage.
She was able to ignore it for a week before reclaiming it from its hiding spot.
-
Some of the words on her parchment had become indecipherable. Smudged or blurred, it had taken another session of hastily peeking at the book before she deemed it good enough to try. Now on new parchment, she set out to gather the necessary ingredients. She watched the moon, the feeling of excitement growing as the last week of the month approached, signaling the beginning of the various tasks she needed to do.
"I have to go." Grandmother told her the day before she would begin. The announcement had caused Red to nearly upset the delicate balance she had of maintaining several jars and bottles in her arms. Before the day's end Grandmother was gone. Carrying only a sack of necessities, her ladle and a strange cat that was attempting to walk upright. Red retreated back into Grandmother's cottage and looked around herself. Every nook and cranny, every available space, was crammed with ingredients and texts. A few mice squeaked in a nearby corner and one of Grandmother's acquaintance's gifts, a single rose, was still nestled in its spot, next to the folded coat of donkey skin.
A bright smile appeared on her face and she jumped for joy. Yes! A few of the bottles trembled as she jumped again before spinning quickly to pull out the book. Placing her own work beside it, she quickly pulled out the necessary ingredients needed later on that night. By the time the moon had risen she was prepared for the first task. Quietly, she worked under the moonlight and hoped everything would turn out all right.
No longer did Red have to wait till the middle of the night, quietly plotting how and when to gather the necessary things. Now during her days her tasks were before her, ingredients present. In between the times the village women visited her for herbal remedies or for advice, she would pull out more books and discover more ways or new ingredients for making the spell more potent. The first week, nothing seemed out of place or strange, everything was still in harmony. At nights she would return to her mother. The older woman worried that her daughter would be seen unfit to marry if she cooped herself in Grandmother's cottage all day.
"There is nothing wrong with me Mother," she would whine, her hands whirled as they quickly braided roots.
"Promise me you'll go to the festival this season," Mother pleaded, her own hands measured a length of linen. The pair stalled their work and looked at each other, Mother's eyes worried and Red's irritated. Before Mother could say another word however, the irritation leapt away as Red stood and hugged her.
"Of course."
-
Into the second week, Red spied something curious happening to her village. Just in time for the festival that would come, visitors came to stay in the village. At first there was one or two, brewers or seamstresses from the neighboring one just down the road. They would come for gossip or planning but would depart again. By the middle of the week, Red spied as she whistled a tune that she had found in another book, there was a handful of them and instead of all of them leaving, three stayed, all of which being woodcutters.
The other girls in her village were in an uproar - three unmarried woodcutters! The men of the village only sulked or watch agitatedly nearby as the three were surrounded by the girls.
"My, what big arms you have!" one said as Red passed by that evening, her basket laden with a few preserves her mother needed. She had nearly tripped on an unseen stone at hearing it as the man laughed and the girls giggled.
"All the better to hold you with, my dear," he replied, his voice deep. It sent the group of girls into a righteous fit of nervous laughter and compliments.
The next group she passed as she headed to the forest path leading to the fork in the road, her whistle still on tune as she looked back at the previous group who were still laughing. Ahead one of the girls was cooing and reaching forward to touch the youngest of the three men. His face was flushed red at the attention and nearby Red could see a group of the village boys, their eyes dangerous.
"My, what big ears you have," the girl cooed. She neatly pinched his ear and the flush deepened. Red struggled to continue to whistle, the urge to laugh bubbling in her throat. The girls around the youth collectively pressed closer to him.
"All the better to hear with, my dear," he stuttered and Red ran then, the urge to laugh so great. The whistle barely finished when she entered the forest edge and she laughed her way to her mother's. She spent that night there, the memory of the woodcutters still in her head as she drifted into sleep.
-
Into the second week she was surprised to see that the book had changed again. When she looked at her list she noticed a new drawing was beginning to appear. It was only a large circle, drawn in ink, a few scratches here and there denoting something was to be sketched there. She looked at the circle and shrugged, then returned to finish the remedies for the day. By the end of the week, the circle's border had deepened and the outline of a face was beginning to appear. Her anticipation grew at the prospect of something new to try next and she continued on.
More woodcutters appeared in the village, more than even her mother could remember seeing at one time.
"Red-"
"No Mother," she sighed, carrying her basket laden with a pot of butter and bread. Her mother continued on.
"Surely, one of these men catches your attention."
They entered the village square and Red was temporarily stunned at the sight that greeted her. The previous day there had been eight woodcutters but now before her were twelve, sitting either at the fountain or walking or standing with a bundle of women around them. At the end of the week, the full moon and the festival would occur and Red told her mother it had to be for the festival that the men were there.
"That's not the point-"
"I'm going to the festival; maybe I'll like someone there?" Mother dropped the subject.
-
On the day of the festival, Red wished she could sleep all day. The last two days had required that she sit outside in the woods to finish the listed tasks. The frigid earth had numbed her legs and her heart had nearly given to fright at the sounds of some creature walking in the woods nearby. When she woke up in Grandmother's cottage near the hearth, she could only look upward and around. She looked at the mess that decorated the floor as if a living thing, at the still hanging flowers that stubbornly refused to dry. She lazily extended her arm forward, as if her hand could grasp and hold one of the heavier jars that stood on top of a bookcase.
Outside she could hear the morning birds chirping and she tiredly forced herself to sit up. Her excitement to see what would happen tonight returned during midday as she quietly cleaned the mess she had created in Grandmother's absence.
Where did she go? She thought as she took a rag and quickly wiped away spilled liquefied roots. She spent the rest of the available time weaving a bracelet of rowan and berries. She paused when leaving Grandmother's cottage for the day, her hand still on the latch as she looked at everything. The excitement was still there but with it came the feeling of dread. What if she had been wasting her time and Grandmother's resources? She shook her head, closed the cottage door and headed to her mother's.
-
A knot had begun to work itself in Red's stomach as she stepped outside of her mother's cottage and into the brisk night air. Along with her best dress she wore a short cape and hood, in the purest red she had ever seen.
"How did you..?" She had tried to ask her mother.
"It's only a mother's touch." Mother had said, kissed her brow and left. She was already in the village, her table laden with her wares.
The excitement had doubled, making her feel giddy but the knot in her stomach tied her firmly to the ground. The sense that something was not right hung in the air but she decided, it was only nerves.
"It worked." She said to herself, as she skipped down the forest path before she spun and skipped again. She felt like a child again as she turned to the fork in the road, one path leading to Grandmother's and the other to the village. She stopped in the center of the fork and looked up. The full moon hung high above, the tips of trees swaying toward it as if attempting to reach. She lifted her own arm and covered the moon with her hand. A snapping twig brought her arm down abruptly as she looked around the small clearing.
"Hello?" she called, her hand now against her chest. More twigs snapped then and the knot in her stomach suddenly felt taunt and tight, as if ready to snap. She took instinctual step back and from her right more twigs snapped, at first lower than higher until finally in the faint light she could see what it was. At once the air in her body escaped in one large sigh, her shoulders drooped as she cursed herself for being so scared.
Out from the forest came a wood cutter, his heavy axe resting against his shoulder. He paused when he saw her, his head tilting at an angle. For a moment Red thought she saw his eyes shine in the moonlight but only shook her head.
"What do we have here…" He started, scratching his head and looking around himself. He asked where she was headed. The excitement was thrown to the side as the knot in her stomach tightened harshly, making her breath stop as she stared at him.
"To the festival, my mother asked me to."
"Let us go together then, no sense in letting a girl such as yourself go alone."
He extended his elbow to her, his axe still in his other hand, the blade resting just over his shoulder. He did his best to smile for her, his face seemingly unused to such a task. She smile at him, hoping to put him at easy as they walked. In her head she quietly took counts to how long their short journey would take. Together they went to the festival, the smile seemingly permanent on the woodcutter's face and the knot in her stomach finding new ways to grow tighter and tighter.
The village was a vision of lights and sounds when the pair entered. The pub owner and his family were out and about, playing any and all instruments on hand. The baker and the butcher had their best before their shops and she could spy her mother a dozen feet away, standing with another woman as they bartered over a piece of embroidery. The woodcutter let go of her, the sound of the clapping and gurgling water making her stomach quiver.
Her previous excitement was nearly gone by the time midnight was coming to toll. Half an hour's time till the hour and still nothing had happened. In one of her pockets she palmed the bracelet, the last of all the tasks the list had told her to do. At midnight's time it had said, she would need to put it on and only look at the moon. But what if she needed to do something else? What if she had missed something? Her anxiety gave strength to the knot in her stomach and to settle it, she had gone to the pub owner and taken a heady drought of their finest beer.
"My, what bright eyes you have." The words next to her ear startled her badly. The remaining alcohol left her glass as she swirled around to see the woodcutter who had brought her into the village.
"Am I that surprising?" He laughed, his voice rang against the cobblestone of the street and in her head. She felt the headache that had been there in the morning, return.
"No, come back, come back." He beckoned, his hand motioning for her to return. She turned to move away but was met with the back of one of the woodcutters who had come earlier in the week. He stood with one of the village girls, the other woman continuing to talk while he only looked at her. Red blinked tiredly at him and turned to go another direction but was met with another woodcutter.
She stopped then and turned around, her woodcutter was still smiling, his hand still beckoning to come.
"One dance. Just give me one dance." He said and his hand stopped motioning. She bit her lip, the headache grew worse and she reached out to him. A grin appeared and she distantly thought a grin suited him more than a smile.
They danced together near the fountain. Her head felt lost, adrift as he pressed her close to him. The alcohol worked in her system and she winced as she remembered Grandmother's warning on alcohol. One dance he said and they continued to dance for more than one. After their fourth dance she stopped him, her mind whirling, her head weak on her shoulders. He set her down gently on the edge of the fountain, off to find water, he told her.
She looked at herself in the fountain, her eyes hollowed and in the rippled reflection she saw the full moon staring above her. In her pocket she felt the weight of the bracelet she had made. She touched the smooth roots and felt an electric shock. Her reflexes slowed as she felt the bracelet unwind itself and rewind itself around her wrist. The thin tendrils feeling slick and oily and she closed her eyes, the headache retreating and the knot in her stomach taking over. She closed her eyes, her breath becoming shallow as she felt the urge to vomit rise then fade.
She steadied herself on the fountain, focusing only on the sound of it. Her wrist felt warm, as if she had stuck it over the hearth fire; tiredly, she blinked and rubbed her eyes and turned to see where the woodcutter had gone. Her mind froze and the heat on her wrist suddenly brightened into pain. The air in lungs stilled and she felt the knot in her stomach snap. In her mind she swore she heard Grandmother's voice call her name.
A massive wolf stood on his hind legs two dozen feet from her. She kept blinking at it, feeling her mind race to understand what it was seeing. On four legs it would have been massive, its head easily coming close to her shoulder. Standing on its legs, it stood clearly above everyone present. Her mind raced then, seeing the wolf and she quietly looked around herself and the fountain. Unsteadily she stood up from it and stood upon it and looked about. All the woodcutters were wolves. All of them. None nearly so broad or tall as her own woodcutter, but taller than any she had ever heard of and all stood upright.
With the knot gone from her stomach, she felt peace settle over her as she took a step down from her perch. She thought of the story she had read in the book, of Garou and what he had done. She thought of what Grandmother had told her and cursed, the few people who had heard her looked.
Do not do anything you saw in that book. Nothing. No good will come out of it, my dear. Grandmother had told her. Why hadn't she listened? She moved quickly through the crowds then, her body feeling like a leaf in the air. She twirled and spun, moving this way and that, the woodcutters seamlessly directing which way for her to go. She did not need to turn and look back, she knew the woodcutter from before was gone.
She bit her lip until it bled and she silenced the hitching in her breath, as she entered the forest and headed toward the fork in the road. She looked at the forest around her, and nearly stopped when she saw the woodcutter. He watched her from where he was, axe over his shoulders, eyes glowing in the night. She wanted to scream at him 'You tricked me' and 'Why' but found she could no longer find her voice.
She headed straight to Grandmother's cottage, where the book still lay open on the table. A candle that never extinguished flickered glumly at her as the book stared up at her and she briskly turned the pages to the one that contained the list. She flipped one more time and this time could not stop the tears that had been threatening to fall.
It was her face on the page. Within the circular border her face appeared to be sleeping. She whimpered as she put pressure on her lip and the book did nothing. From outside there was a rap on the door.
"Who's there?" She had stopped the hitch in her voice except for the last word and she brought a hand to her mouth. Her question was greeted with a laugh that was echoed by many and she closed her eyes and the book. She felt his breath on her neck even though the door was still closed and the shaking in her had stopped. She turns to look at him then, the book in her arms and the table pressed into her back. She spoke the first words that come to mind.
"My, what big teeth you have."
"The better to eat you with, my dear."
Title: Red
Summary: A retelling of Little Red Riding Hood as a gift for another student.
Notes: Probably the most emotionally taxing thing I had written in a long time. I've essentially memorized the score of Amélie due to how much I've played the pieces trying to get it right. The person this was intended for never saw it- it was too long at eleven pages. It was written to correspond with images they had drawn, thus some details are not as great as they should be. One day I'll rewrite this and expand this, the universe crosses over with other works in progress I have. Once again, thank you balfonheim for helping edit/workmiraclesmygod with this. <3
The book was thick and heavy and she felt her arms strain temporarily at the unexpected weight of it. A few more were piled on and she leaned forward, her arms seizing as she tried to keep her balance and hold them. Another was added and the local witch only known as Grandmother clicked her tongue and gently scolded her for her lack of strength.
"Put them on the table dear," she said and quickly bustled to another bookcase. Red couldn't restrain the sigh she gave when she let the books drop heavily on the wooden table. It trembled and stiffened as she leaned on it as she watched Grandmother reach for another book.
"Don't act like that, dear, it's-"
"Unbecoming of a witch," she replied, her words accented by her rolling her eyes skyward. The old woman paused in her quest for the right book and glanced at her, shook her head and went back to looking. Red rolled her eyes again and looked around Grandmother's cottage, wishing that they could do something else. They had spent months working and making medicines and talismans, but where was the magic? She had heard of Grandmother performing real spells and brewing true potions, but where had that been? She hadn't even seen a drop of something magical or strange since taking on this apprenticeship and she cursed herself again for not taking up with the local seamstress.
The other girls always had questions about her chosen job. Were there any fairies? No, of course not. The only thing that came close to living in this cottage that bordered on squalor was Grandmother herself and the few plants she was drying out. Were there any magic toads or magic wands? Grandmother had screamed at the sight of the last toad months ago. The closest thing that came to a magic wand was her infamous ladle which in many occasions Red's head and hands had met plenty of times. The only thing strange she had noticed had been the odd trinkets Grandmother would hold for dear friends: fistfuls of spinning needles, strange apples, a spindle of hair, a bag of beans and a bag full of straw. The strangest of these trinkets had been a pair of glass slippers that seemed too small to be worn and a book of recipes, the title of which had been How to Build the Perfect Confectionary Home!
In the candlelight, Red tiredly rubbed her eye and turned away from Grandmother and began to place the books on the table. A few heavy volumes crashed to the floor behind her; she decidedly didn't look back. The mess would be there for her to clean whether she looked or not, she surmised and lazily flipped open the first book and glanced at its contents. So far the only thing good she had gotten out of being the witch's apprentice was the ability to read and write. Though, much to Red's continued embarassment and frustration, it hadn't been from a potion or eating a magical apple. It had come from studying, just like any other high born. Her mother had seen it as an admirable trait though not really useful. Everyone else had seen it as a product of her ineptitude at magic and had reduced to viewing her as just one of them, nothing to celebrate.
She closed the first book, the second and third, the fourth and fifth. The sixth she had gotten through glancing at the first three pages and prayed that wasn't going to be her next assignment. The seventh of the eight gave her pause. It was older than the others. The cover was stiff and thick with strains on its surface, the edges appeared worn. She dragged the tips of her fingers on the cover, reveling in the softness as she made lazily circles with her index finger on it. With the same hand she cradled her chin to lean upon the table and was startled by the touch. She lifted her head briefly to touch the surface of the book.
Strange, they feel about the same, she thought, glancing over her shoulder. Grandmother had moved into the deeper part of the cottage, her thin arms weaving between the many jars she kept. The low hangings of various flowers and plants made shushing noises as her arms moved. Looking back at the book, Red opened the cover and gave a sharp intake of breath at the bookplate. It was the rough beginnings of a drawing, the charcoal seemed fresh as dust appeared to be scattered throughout. The edges of the page were heavy with it, dark and unattractive, as if to give a heavy unnecessary border. Red leaned in close and with her fingers hesitantly traced over the outline of a woman facing to the side, her eye closed with something strange obscuring her face.
Red internally jumped for joy. Finally, something that might hint that she would learn some magic! Yes, it was just a drawing but maybe it would lead to something more. She flipped to the next page, then the next, only receiving blank pages before she finally reached something new. There was large, heavy calligraphy at the top of the page that disappeared to give way to smaller, neater font. Looking back one more time, she bit her lip and with her finger tried to read what the page was telling her. Leaning closer still she could barely manage to read-
"Red," Grandmother called and Red gave a startled squawk and turned quickly, so quickly that she knocked over a chair and startled some of the bottles on the table. Grandmother only stared and looked at the chair and shook her head. Red replaced her startled look with one of a cringe worthy smile.
"You better go home for the day, dear, it's becoming dark out," Grandmother said, turning away and quietly muttering. Red suddenly felt weary and turned to collect her things. Her shawl was still with the basket that had carried the day's meal in it. Picking up both, she looked at the table. The book still sat there open. She walked to it, quietly flipping the page to see more words and felt her heart leap. Would Grandmother notice…? The woman in question was gone from the room, outside from what Red could hear. On impulse she quickly piled the book in the basket, covered it with a small handkerchief and briskly walked out. The books on the table quietly joined the ones that had been on the floor and floated gently back into place.
Grandmother told her to have a good night and quietly watched her depart.
-
That night Red patiently waited for her mother to go to sleep, relief flooding her when she felt her mother beside her drift into dreams. Quietly, she shuffled over to her basket; the book was still hidden underneath the handkerchief. She sat cross-legged in front of the fireplace and rested the book between her legs. Back hunched, she quickly opened the book. She admired the bookplate once again, the dark charcoal drawing still present. The dust was still collected at the corners and she turned the page, eager to return to the one she had tried to read.
She began her work that night, her fingers stained with still warm charcoal from the fire. Her back ached as she leaned down to clearly see the page and write correctly on the packed earth beside her. Her markings were sharp and bold, the elegant curves standing proudly in the firelight. She would freeze when she heard her mother move behind her on their bed pallet, her hands locked in position as the brittle charcoal cracked from pressure. The air in her lungs would catch as she swore several times that she would be caught with something she had taken from Grandmother. By the morning, she had copied down her translation on a few pieces of parchment that she gathered from Grandmother previously and tucked them away.
This continued for the rest of the week; Red worked for Grandmother and in turn Grandmother was quieter than normal. Red pushed down the feeling of guilt during this time as she continued to notice the one opening in the myriad of books. Every time she glanced at it, she could feel a tight knot of guilt growing and the weight of Grandmother's quiet patience weighing down on her. Every night, though, the knot would disappear and be replaced by euphoria. After every word she read and translated, she swore she saw new things appear across the pages. In the beginning the bookplate had been nothing more than a sketch - now it was a true drawing.
The pools of charcoal that had been in the corners were gone, leaving behind an intricate and thin border. The dusts and flakes of charcoal had gathered and expanded, creating depth and warmth to the initial sketch and detailed it into a portrait. The woman's face had filled, the charcoal giving her the sense of being real, as if Red was looking at a real person, not a picture. The strange thing that had been covering the picture turned into an intricate feather, the likes of which she had never seen but heard Grandmother talking about - a peafowl feather she believed it was called. By the end of the week she was able to translate, to best of her ability, what the book was trying to tell her.
It was the story of Garou, she realized belatedly. In the firelight, she glanced back at her mother as she gathered the scraps of the story. The guilt she had been feeling for the past few days was tempered at the knowledge that she was finally done. She shuffled the papers hoping to get the story in the right order. She could barely remember the story of Garou; it had been a folk tale her father had told her when she had been a child and she had not heard it again. She remembered that it was a story of a crazed wolf that rampaged across the countryside, one that took disobedient children into the woods, never to be seen again. In the notes before her, it seemed like an entirely different story.
Garou, a woodcutter, had been a man without equal, a man with the strength of twenty men, who with one swing could fell forests left and right. No other man could challenge him. When word reached him that another proclaimed he could best him at a cutting, he had leapt at the challenge, unable to repress the urge to prove he was the best. The two met in a glen and the villagers stood by and wondered who would fell the most trees by daybreak. Garou with ego proudly proclaimed that he would win while the challenger had been silent and had only received only a few customary cheers and good lucks.
By sunrise the challenge had ended and the winner was a surprise, Garou had lost. Consumed with rage, Garou swore that he would beat the unknown man at another cutting but the man was gone. Angered, Garou disappeared into the woods, never to be seen by his village again. Day and night, he searched for his challenger, traveling across many forests and valleys until he came upon a witch.
"Give me the strength to fell the man who beat me." Red whispered in the dark, she looked up from the book at the fire. The fire gave no response and she looked back down.
The witch had only scoffed at him, saying she had no time for him. In frustration Garou killed the witch. With the witch's wand, he continued his search, traveling far and wide and was still unable to find his opponent. On one of these nights, Garou came upon a pack of wolves. In hunger he attacked and at moonrise Garou stood amongst their broken hides, his lust barely sated as he cried for the challenger to come to him. From the forest came another witch and this time, she gave him reprieve. She would give him the strength to kill his opponent but before she could give her condition he agreed.
From a bag she had been carrying she withdrew a book, heavy and new. She created a pen and a contract formed on the pages and without looking, he signed his name and sealed it with blood. From the wolves he had slain, he was given their speed and strength but in return he would bound to her and her book. When he realized his mistake, Garou had howled and the witch had laughed. The witch transformed then into his opponent and Garou cried out. From then on, Garou travelled the countryside with his opponent, unable to do what he pleased. The passage continued on briefly, making short mentions of the witch terrorizing various villages and families with more than one wolf being bound to the book.
She shuffled her notes, checking the backs and unfolding any creases to see if she had missed any words. Nothing else appeared and she put them down, marveling at the book’s pages. A thick swirling border decorated the pages of the story and she gave a faint smile. There really was magic! The smile turned into a grin and she rocked forward and back, unable to contain the excitement as she tried to quell the urge to shout. All of it was real! Not just the potions or the magic items but everything! Spells and enchantments, fairies and strange creatures! Behind her, her mother shifted on the pallet and she couldn't stop the urge to giggle. She flipped past the still empty pages before the story to look at the bookplate. Nothing had changed and she gathered the edges of the book pages and idly flipped through. The faint clapping noise matching the low snap and crackle of the remaining logs and a few ashes lazily danced in the warm air.
She caught a glimpse of ink, the third and fourth time she flipped through the book and it gave her pause. Was it another story? Her smile brightened, as she began to turn the pages, not caring if her mother could hear it. A new story seemed to be appearing in the book, separated by a blank page from the first. She watched in wonder as the black ink started as a black dot in the top right corner, the size of an inkwell. Like a seed that was taking root, it spread in thin tendrils throughout the page, curving and twisting, creating new words and small illustrations to accentuate them.
Only when the ink had stopped and proceed to dry did Red try to touch the page. She was surprised at the warmth it gave. The area where the inkwell had been felt like a smooth heated stone, the new words and illustrations feeling just the same.
"Why didn't Grandmother show me this?" she asked aloud and was startled when her mother gave a confused sound. Without hesitation she closed the book. Her fingers caught in between the pages and she winced, looking back. Mother was sitting upright. Her narrowed red eyes looked at Red in sleep-induced confusion.
"What are you doing?" The older woman's voice was rough and Red quickly pried her fingers out the book, twisted and crawled over to her mother.
"N-nothing," she stuttered and put an arm around her mother and brought her down against the pallet. "I was just checking the fire."
In the dark, her mother turned to look at her daughter. The faint light of the fire framed her features and she quietly hugged and kissed her and drifted back to sleep. Red ignored the urge to escape her mother's grasp and go back to the fire and quietly went to sleep. After her mother had left for the village but before Red went to visit Grandmother that morning, she picked up the book once again.
From the very top of the page to the very bottom, there was a list and to the right of it was one small paragraph. Next to the list, as small as possible but still visible were drawings of various phases of the moon. She wrote it all down as quickly and accurately as she could. While she did this she could not read the title for any hint as to what it was for, nor did any of the illustrations indicate what it was. On the bottom there were tiny pen scribbles that symbolized trees and the final lunar illustration of the full moon hung in the sky above it. When her transcription was done, she tucked the parchment away, closed the book and headed to Grandmother's.
-
In the morning Red returned the book back to Grandmother. Grandmother only shook her head and put it back in its place on the shelf. Her eyes were tired but not angry.
"You ask before you take things, Red."
"I'm sorry Grandmother," was all she could think to say. Throughout the day, she repeatedly apologized even though more than once she caught herself next to the bookcase, hand raised as if to take. The rest of the day Red was restricted to more herb naming and gathering, her back and arms aching when the sun began to set. At the end of the day Grandmother gave her a hug and Red eagerly returned it.
"I care not for what you've seen and read but Red, listen to me when I say this." Grandmother let go of Red and looked at her. Her eyes were still tired but pride now shone with it as she gently touched her face.
"Do not do anything you saw in that book. Nothing. No good will come out of it, my dear." Red stared in confusion, the image of the hidden parchment coming to mind. Grandmother repeated for her not to do anything foolish and hugged her tighter.
"That book belonged to an acquaintance. Leave it for now Red. We will both go over it when it is needed. "
Grandmother quietly escorted her out of her cottage and bade her good night. Red reflexively returned her goodbye, but her mind was still on the parchment hidden in her cottage.
She was able to ignore it for a week before reclaiming it from its hiding spot.
-
Some of the words on her parchment had become indecipherable. Smudged or blurred, it had taken another session of hastily peeking at the book before she deemed it good enough to try. Now on new parchment, she set out to gather the necessary ingredients. She watched the moon, the feeling of excitement growing as the last week of the month approached, signaling the beginning of the various tasks she needed to do.
"I have to go." Grandmother told her the day before she would begin. The announcement had caused Red to nearly upset the delicate balance she had of maintaining several jars and bottles in her arms. Before the day's end Grandmother was gone. Carrying only a sack of necessities, her ladle and a strange cat that was attempting to walk upright. Red retreated back into Grandmother's cottage and looked around herself. Every nook and cranny, every available space, was crammed with ingredients and texts. A few mice squeaked in a nearby corner and one of Grandmother's acquaintance's gifts, a single rose, was still nestled in its spot, next to the folded coat of donkey skin.
A bright smile appeared on her face and she jumped for joy. Yes! A few of the bottles trembled as she jumped again before spinning quickly to pull out the book. Placing her own work beside it, she quickly pulled out the necessary ingredients needed later on that night. By the time the moon had risen she was prepared for the first task. Quietly, she worked under the moonlight and hoped everything would turn out all right.
No longer did Red have to wait till the middle of the night, quietly plotting how and when to gather the necessary things. Now during her days her tasks were before her, ingredients present. In between the times the village women visited her for herbal remedies or for advice, she would pull out more books and discover more ways or new ingredients for making the spell more potent. The first week, nothing seemed out of place or strange, everything was still in harmony. At nights she would return to her mother. The older woman worried that her daughter would be seen unfit to marry if she cooped herself in Grandmother's cottage all day.
"There is nothing wrong with me Mother," she would whine, her hands whirled as they quickly braided roots.
"Promise me you'll go to the festival this season," Mother pleaded, her own hands measured a length of linen. The pair stalled their work and looked at each other, Mother's eyes worried and Red's irritated. Before Mother could say another word however, the irritation leapt away as Red stood and hugged her.
"Of course."
-
Into the second week, Red spied something curious happening to her village. Just in time for the festival that would come, visitors came to stay in the village. At first there was one or two, brewers or seamstresses from the neighboring one just down the road. They would come for gossip or planning but would depart again. By the middle of the week, Red spied as she whistled a tune that she had found in another book, there was a handful of them and instead of all of them leaving, three stayed, all of which being woodcutters.
The other girls in her village were in an uproar - three unmarried woodcutters! The men of the village only sulked or watch agitatedly nearby as the three were surrounded by the girls.
"My, what big arms you have!" one said as Red passed by that evening, her basket laden with a few preserves her mother needed. She had nearly tripped on an unseen stone at hearing it as the man laughed and the girls giggled.
"All the better to hold you with, my dear," he replied, his voice deep. It sent the group of girls into a righteous fit of nervous laughter and compliments.
The next group she passed as she headed to the forest path leading to the fork in the road, her whistle still on tune as she looked back at the previous group who were still laughing. Ahead one of the girls was cooing and reaching forward to touch the youngest of the three men. His face was flushed red at the attention and nearby Red could see a group of the village boys, their eyes dangerous.
"My, what big ears you have," the girl cooed. She neatly pinched his ear and the flush deepened. Red struggled to continue to whistle, the urge to laugh bubbling in her throat. The girls around the youth collectively pressed closer to him.
"All the better to hear with, my dear," he stuttered and Red ran then, the urge to laugh so great. The whistle barely finished when she entered the forest edge and she laughed her way to her mother's. She spent that night there, the memory of the woodcutters still in her head as she drifted into sleep.
-
Into the second week she was surprised to see that the book had changed again. When she looked at her list she noticed a new drawing was beginning to appear. It was only a large circle, drawn in ink, a few scratches here and there denoting something was to be sketched there. She looked at the circle and shrugged, then returned to finish the remedies for the day. By the end of the week, the circle's border had deepened and the outline of a face was beginning to appear. Her anticipation grew at the prospect of something new to try next and she continued on.
More woodcutters appeared in the village, more than even her mother could remember seeing at one time.
"Red-"
"No Mother," she sighed, carrying her basket laden with a pot of butter and bread. Her mother continued on.
"Surely, one of these men catches your attention."
They entered the village square and Red was temporarily stunned at the sight that greeted her. The previous day there had been eight woodcutters but now before her were twelve, sitting either at the fountain or walking or standing with a bundle of women around them. At the end of the week, the full moon and the festival would occur and Red told her mother it had to be for the festival that the men were there.
"That's not the point-"
"I'm going to the festival; maybe I'll like someone there?" Mother dropped the subject.
-
On the day of the festival, Red wished she could sleep all day. The last two days had required that she sit outside in the woods to finish the listed tasks. The frigid earth had numbed her legs and her heart had nearly given to fright at the sounds of some creature walking in the woods nearby. When she woke up in Grandmother's cottage near the hearth, she could only look upward and around. She looked at the mess that decorated the floor as if a living thing, at the still hanging flowers that stubbornly refused to dry. She lazily extended her arm forward, as if her hand could grasp and hold one of the heavier jars that stood on top of a bookcase.
Outside she could hear the morning birds chirping and she tiredly forced herself to sit up. Her excitement to see what would happen tonight returned during midday as she quietly cleaned the mess she had created in Grandmother's absence.
Where did she go? She thought as she took a rag and quickly wiped away spilled liquefied roots. She spent the rest of the available time weaving a bracelet of rowan and berries. She paused when leaving Grandmother's cottage for the day, her hand still on the latch as she looked at everything. The excitement was still there but with it came the feeling of dread. What if she had been wasting her time and Grandmother's resources? She shook her head, closed the cottage door and headed to her mother's.
-
A knot had begun to work itself in Red's stomach as she stepped outside of her mother's cottage and into the brisk night air. Along with her best dress she wore a short cape and hood, in the purest red she had ever seen.
"How did you..?" She had tried to ask her mother.
"It's only a mother's touch." Mother had said, kissed her brow and left. She was already in the village, her table laden with her wares.
The excitement had doubled, making her feel giddy but the knot in her stomach tied her firmly to the ground. The sense that something was not right hung in the air but she decided, it was only nerves.
"It worked." She said to herself, as she skipped down the forest path before she spun and skipped again. She felt like a child again as she turned to the fork in the road, one path leading to Grandmother's and the other to the village. She stopped in the center of the fork and looked up. The full moon hung high above, the tips of trees swaying toward it as if attempting to reach. She lifted her own arm and covered the moon with her hand. A snapping twig brought her arm down abruptly as she looked around the small clearing.
"Hello?" she called, her hand now against her chest. More twigs snapped then and the knot in her stomach suddenly felt taunt and tight, as if ready to snap. She took instinctual step back and from her right more twigs snapped, at first lower than higher until finally in the faint light she could see what it was. At once the air in her body escaped in one large sigh, her shoulders drooped as she cursed herself for being so scared.
Out from the forest came a wood cutter, his heavy axe resting against his shoulder. He paused when he saw her, his head tilting at an angle. For a moment Red thought she saw his eyes shine in the moonlight but only shook her head.
"What do we have here…" He started, scratching his head and looking around himself. He asked where she was headed. The excitement was thrown to the side as the knot in her stomach tightened harshly, making her breath stop as she stared at him.
"To the festival, my mother asked me to."
"Let us go together then, no sense in letting a girl such as yourself go alone."
He extended his elbow to her, his axe still in his other hand, the blade resting just over his shoulder. He did his best to smile for her, his face seemingly unused to such a task. She smile at him, hoping to put him at easy as they walked. In her head she quietly took counts to how long their short journey would take. Together they went to the festival, the smile seemingly permanent on the woodcutter's face and the knot in her stomach finding new ways to grow tighter and tighter.
The village was a vision of lights and sounds when the pair entered. The pub owner and his family were out and about, playing any and all instruments on hand. The baker and the butcher had their best before their shops and she could spy her mother a dozen feet away, standing with another woman as they bartered over a piece of embroidery. The woodcutter let go of her, the sound of the clapping and gurgling water making her stomach quiver.
Her previous excitement was nearly gone by the time midnight was coming to toll. Half an hour's time till the hour and still nothing had happened. In one of her pockets she palmed the bracelet, the last of all the tasks the list had told her to do. At midnight's time it had said, she would need to put it on and only look at the moon. But what if she needed to do something else? What if she had missed something? Her anxiety gave strength to the knot in her stomach and to settle it, she had gone to the pub owner and taken a heady drought of their finest beer.
"My, what bright eyes you have." The words next to her ear startled her badly. The remaining alcohol left her glass as she swirled around to see the woodcutter who had brought her into the village.
"Am I that surprising?" He laughed, his voice rang against the cobblestone of the street and in her head. She felt the headache that had been there in the morning, return.
"No, come back, come back." He beckoned, his hand motioning for her to return. She turned to move away but was met with the back of one of the woodcutters who had come earlier in the week. He stood with one of the village girls, the other woman continuing to talk while he only looked at her. Red blinked tiredly at him and turned to go another direction but was met with another woodcutter.
She stopped then and turned around, her woodcutter was still smiling, his hand still beckoning to come.
"One dance. Just give me one dance." He said and his hand stopped motioning. She bit her lip, the headache grew worse and she reached out to him. A grin appeared and she distantly thought a grin suited him more than a smile.
They danced together near the fountain. Her head felt lost, adrift as he pressed her close to him. The alcohol worked in her system and she winced as she remembered Grandmother's warning on alcohol. One dance he said and they continued to dance for more than one. After their fourth dance she stopped him, her mind whirling, her head weak on her shoulders. He set her down gently on the edge of the fountain, off to find water, he told her.
She looked at herself in the fountain, her eyes hollowed and in the rippled reflection she saw the full moon staring above her. In her pocket she felt the weight of the bracelet she had made. She touched the smooth roots and felt an electric shock. Her reflexes slowed as she felt the bracelet unwind itself and rewind itself around her wrist. The thin tendrils feeling slick and oily and she closed her eyes, the headache retreating and the knot in her stomach taking over. She closed her eyes, her breath becoming shallow as she felt the urge to vomit rise then fade.
She steadied herself on the fountain, focusing only on the sound of it. Her wrist felt warm, as if she had stuck it over the hearth fire; tiredly, she blinked and rubbed her eyes and turned to see where the woodcutter had gone. Her mind froze and the heat on her wrist suddenly brightened into pain. The air in lungs stilled and she felt the knot in her stomach snap. In her mind she swore she heard Grandmother's voice call her name.
A massive wolf stood on his hind legs two dozen feet from her. She kept blinking at it, feeling her mind race to understand what it was seeing. On four legs it would have been massive, its head easily coming close to her shoulder. Standing on its legs, it stood clearly above everyone present. Her mind raced then, seeing the wolf and she quietly looked around herself and the fountain. Unsteadily she stood up from it and stood upon it and looked about. All the woodcutters were wolves. All of them. None nearly so broad or tall as her own woodcutter, but taller than any she had ever heard of and all stood upright.
With the knot gone from her stomach, she felt peace settle over her as she took a step down from her perch. She thought of the story she had read in the book, of Garou and what he had done. She thought of what Grandmother had told her and cursed, the few people who had heard her looked.
Do not do anything you saw in that book. Nothing. No good will come out of it, my dear. Grandmother had told her. Why hadn't she listened? She moved quickly through the crowds then, her body feeling like a leaf in the air. She twirled and spun, moving this way and that, the woodcutters seamlessly directing which way for her to go. She did not need to turn and look back, she knew the woodcutter from before was gone.
She bit her lip until it bled and she silenced the hitching in her breath, as she entered the forest and headed toward the fork in the road. She looked at the forest around her, and nearly stopped when she saw the woodcutter. He watched her from where he was, axe over his shoulders, eyes glowing in the night. She wanted to scream at him 'You tricked me' and 'Why' but found she could no longer find her voice.
She headed straight to Grandmother's cottage, where the book still lay open on the table. A candle that never extinguished flickered glumly at her as the book stared up at her and she briskly turned the pages to the one that contained the list. She flipped one more time and this time could not stop the tears that had been threatening to fall.
It was her face on the page. Within the circular border her face appeared to be sleeping. She whimpered as she put pressure on her lip and the book did nothing. From outside there was a rap on the door.
"Who's there?" She had stopped the hitch in her voice except for the last word and she brought a hand to her mouth. Her question was greeted with a laugh that was echoed by many and she closed her eyes and the book. She felt his breath on her neck even though the door was still closed and the shaking in her had stopped. She turns to look at him then, the book in her arms and the table pressed into her back. She spoke the first words that come to mind.
"My, what big teeth you have."
"The better to eat you with, my dear."