All the Better to
Title: All the Better to
Fandom: fairytales
Pairing: Little Red Riding Hood/Briar Rose
Rating: G
Word Count: 150
Summary: “My,” she says, “how lovely you are.”
Author's Notes: Written for femslash100's Prompt Battle. The prompt was: Fairytales, Red Riding Hood/Briar Rose, thorn, animal, dream. There's something kind of fascinating about fairytales femmeslash; I may write an actual one-shot after I settle on a pairing that I particularly like. I will sully your childhoods, just you watch. ;)
You can listen to a recorded version of this drabble.
All the Better to
“Take this basket to the princess in the castle.”
“To whom?”
“To the one who sleeps.”
Even in her dreams, she is wearing the darkened red cape from her childhood, basket in hand, carefree smile. “Yes, Mother.”
Out of the door, into the woods.
She has seen the castle before, the winding path through fairytale thorns. Skipping down it, she sings; the ghosts of wolves watch her, but they know better, now, and reveal only their yellow eyes.
The thorns are like daggers pressing in from the earth and sky. But they cannot touch her, somehow, and she weaves through them, around them, until she is climbing the staircase to the tallest tower. Skipping, humming.
She stops. Here lies the curious princess, struck down by the bitter and malcontented.
“My,” she says, “how lovely you are.”
She opens the basket and peers within, but inside, there is only a kiss.
Fandom: fairytales
Pairing: Little Red Riding Hood/Briar Rose
Rating: G
Word Count: 150
Summary: “My,” she says, “how lovely you are.”
Author's Notes: Written for femslash100's Prompt Battle. The prompt was: Fairytales, Red Riding Hood/Briar Rose, thorn, animal, dream. There's something kind of fascinating about fairytales femmeslash; I may write an actual one-shot after I settle on a pairing that I particularly like. I will sully your childhoods, just you watch. ;)
You can listen to a recorded version of this drabble.
All the Better to
“Take this basket to the princess in the castle.”
“To whom?”
“To the one who sleeps.”
Even in her dreams, she is wearing the darkened red cape from her childhood, basket in hand, carefree smile. “Yes, Mother.”
Out of the door, into the woods.
She has seen the castle before, the winding path through fairytale thorns. Skipping down it, she sings; the ghosts of wolves watch her, but they know better, now, and reveal only their yellow eyes.
The thorns are like daggers pressing in from the earth and sky. But they cannot touch her, somehow, and she weaves through them, around them, until she is climbing the staircase to the tallest tower. Skipping, humming.
She stops. Here lies the curious princess, struck down by the bitter and malcontented.
“My,” she says, “how lovely you are.”
She opens the basket and peers within, but inside, there is only a kiss.