When the wolf skulked through the woods,

Red betrayed not a single fear,

though her curling fingers did tremble,

Mother’s warnings grown constant in her ear.

Be wary, my sweet, for you are never safe,

not leaving our home alone,

not smiling at “friendly” strangers,

not enjoying the lovely lure of night.

But the night was no stranger to Red,

for who knew a girl’s heart better

than the huntress moon

and her shimmering, sacred sisters-in-arms?

So when the wolf grinned a greeting,

teeth ivory and glistening,

the girl stood her ground,

pretty head held high.

Red was not Red for her crimson hood,

but the hood bled red for her,

knuckles painted as poppies,

raw blooms on a snowy field.

What pretty lips you have,

the wolf rumbled with a curious glint in his eye,

soft and pink as a bow,

better still in a smile, oh aye?

Yet that toothy leer wavered,

unused to the unabashed,

not a step taken back,

any fear burned in flame.

When the wolf skulked through the woods,

Red betrayed not a single fear,

for she became a force stronger than her

Mother’s warnings grown constant in her ear.

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