So this is my AP Psych homework where I got to take a fairy tale, twist the character so they have a Psychological abnormality or whatever and then rewrite it. This was FUN. Tell me what yo think XD
Hidden in Red:
The twisted tale of Little Red Riding Hood
A child sits in front of the mirror, her eyes intent upon her own delicate face. With a gentle hand, she strokes her cheek, admiring the softness, the paleness unlike the others in the village. The others were fill with a grayness, much like the constant overcast in the skies above them. Not her, though. No, she was filled with the purity of beauty, the purity of perfection and youth.
Little Red--named for the abundance there of--liked to sit in front of the golden framed mirror, strategically placed upon her single dresser. The gold rimmed glass was kept scrupulously clean, kept this way by its loving caretaker.
She stood, looking herself over from head to foot, making sure every curly black hair upon her head was perfectly in place, framing her face in a huge contrast of black vs. white, of light vs. dark, almost like a symbol of life and death, purity and filth. Her green eyes, said to be a gift from the sea, scrutinized her bodice making her tug and pull at her corset, wishing for tighter strings, wanting the boning to be stronger, for her rib cage to be so close to her lungs that she couldn’t even gasp for air.
She smirked when she thought of this, her red lips lifting her rosy cheeks as her sea eyes continued downward, admiring the flow of her black skirts as they swished around her ankles, brushing ever-so-lightly on top of her bare feet. It was almost like she didn’t belong in the dark, dull room; almost as if her and the mirror were the only things that were real, and everything else was so fragile that it would disappear, that it would suddenly cease to exist, and she would float in nothing but her own perfect perfection.
Her delicate, pale fingers traced along the ribbing of her corset, admiring the intricate fabric that was nothing like the other villager’s clothing. No, their’s were flawed, dirtied, impure. Contaminated.
“Red?” Her father was wary as he stood in the doorway, his eyes gently scoping his daughter as she slowly turned, her eyes gentle as she let her arms fall to her sides.
“Yes Father?” Her voice was soft, obedient like any other daughter of her age.
“Child, your Gram is ill, and your mother has made mutton and ale for her. Deliver to her, won’t you?”
It was then that she noticed the quaint basket he was holding, the wicker winding in and out of itself, almost as if it were dancing. A thick woolen cloth laid over the top, and her nose wrinkled slightly at the sight of it.
“’Tis dirty.” Her perfect mouth went into a frown as she looked into her father’s eyes.
“Shall I ask your mother for a different blanket?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing at her distaste for a simple cloth.
She nodded slightly, turning back to the mirror to gaze at herself once more. “Aye,”
Her voice was distant, her gaze already locked with itself, and she briefly thought of her sick gran, lain in bed with her sagging and discolored skin, her breath smelling of rotten fish and most of her teeth gone except for a select few that barely hung in there, practically rotten to the core. She had to force her mind away from it, lest she began vomiting from the very image she produced in her mind.
She saw her father approach the door once more and she turned to look at the new cloth. A smile played at her lips, and she nodded once at him in approval. He offered her a smile back.
“Da, when do you think Gran is to die?” She asked, cocking her head to the side in curiosity.
He was taken aback, shocked that Red would ask such a thing. “Lass, ‘tis hardly a thing for a young girl to ask, let alone worry about.”
She wrinkled her nose and blinked twice while in thought.
“Finn, send the girl off, lest you want her to wander in the dark with the wolves about.” Her mother scolded her father as she stopped in the doorway, holding a red cloak out to Red.
He stepped aside, allowing the girl to pass. She let her mother clasp the red material around her shoulder, the weight perfectly natural to her. She couldn’t help but admire the blood red cotton and the steady embroidery at the bottom where her skirts peeked through. When she regretfully tore her eyes away, she took hold of the basket, glancing at her mirror once more before she left the house.
The gray clouds moved easily through the sky, creating the usual darkness around the village. Bairns were running about the area, their mums hurrying after them, laughing in a carefree way.
Red did not smile, though. She dodged the children that ran by her, frowning at the dirtiness of the villagers, the ugly gray tone to their skin, and their ugly flatness that had not taken over her.
With a strong, sea rich breeze against her back, she entered into the woods, the thin trail leading her to where her grandmother rested; ill and alone.
One arm curved at her waist, supporting the hefty basket easily, while her other hand fidgeted with her cloak, admiring the material’s texture and color once more. She had watched as her mother had made it for her, preparing it as a gift for her fifteenth birthday last winter. Her mother’s steady hand had soothed her beating heart as she watched, hoping she wouldn’t ever miss-sew the detailed roses, or the thorny vines that went with it.
One night, when she was watching her mother weave the needle through the cotton, she had pricked herself. Red would never forget that night. It was the second time that she had ever seen blood, seen the perfection of the flawless coloring against her mother’s skin. It, in itself, was beautiful. And it brought back the memory. The memory of the first time she had ever seen blood when she was just a wee lass. Her father had come back from hunting with others. They had been successful in their hunt, bringing back a rather large deer. She had watched from behind a doorway, never being noticed by her father, or the other men. The men cut open the belly of the beast--cut it deep--and her eyes were intent on the blood that poured out into a metal dish placed below it. She had never turned away; never flinched as the red liquid flowed freely from, splattering the men and staining the earth around the dish.
Red smiled, the movement slow as it slithered along her face, very gradually, and it wasn’t joy that filled her eyes from the smile. It was something else entirely, but she wasn’t even aware of it. In truth, she was intoxicated by it, enthralled and mystified by the purity, the beauty, and seductiveness of the red that flowed from every living creature. It had been when she saw the blood ooze from her mum’s finger that she realized she was flawless on the inside, and she only had to keep the outside just the same.
Her smile dwindled when she heard a rustle in the brush. She slowed her pace, glancing over in the direction that she heard the noise. A delicate gasp escaped past her lips, and she almost dropped her basket.
A furry, gray wolf emerged from the trees, looking at her from the corner of his eye. She was frozen in place, but not in fear. The wolf’s thick coat was perfectly colored, somehow catching all the light that seeped through the clouds. His eyes, hypnotic and seductive, were the palest blue she had ever seen. Pale, but dazzlingly bright. He sat in the center of the trail, a few feet from where she stood.
“Ello little girl.” the wolf spoke and she gasped again, stepping back unconsciously. The wolf smiled in a way only a wolf could. His muzzle never moved, but she heard him clearly in her head, and she looked at him intently, curious as to why he was speaking to her.
“Ello, Mr. Wolf.” She greeted back, dipping into a curtsy ever so slightly.
The wolf’s smile widened, and she felt a blush rise to her cheeks at the look he gave her. “What have you got there, lass?” He nodded towards the basket.
“Mutton and ale for me sick gran.”
He rose gracefully, sniffing the air as he stepped closer to her. “It smells lovely.”
“Me mum made it.”
He cocked his head to the side, his eyes speculating. “Your mum and da sent you here alone, lass?”
She nodded. “Aye, they often send me on errands.”
“Might I have a bite of the gruel?”
Red hesitantly set the basket down, her movements slightly jerking as she eyed the ground beneath her. She thought of the chunks of dirt and rocks that might stick to the bottom of the basket, it was already bad that her feet got dirty everyday because of the ground.
She swallowed hard, her breath coming sharp as she crouched down to lift the cloth. Steam rose from the basket, tickling her nose and making her cheeks rosy from the heat. The smell of the lamb thick in the air. Red chewed on her bottom lip as she carefully tore off a piece for the wolf to eat. She tossed it towards him and he caught it in his mouth easily.
“’Tis wonderful, child.” the wolf complimented. “My compliments to your mum.” He dipped in his head, as if in a bow.
She smiled hesitantly at him and replaced the cloth, straightening out the wrinkles and tucking the edges in carefully. She rose gracefully, staring at the basket before reaching to pick it up. Her nose wrinkled slightly as she scrutinized it, and then turned to look at the beautiful wolf, her worries fading instantly.
“What be your name, Love?” the wolf asked, closer than ever now.
“My name is Maeve, but most in the village call Little Red or Red.”
“As payment for a piece of your mutton, Little Red, I shall escort you to your dear old gran’s.”
“Oh, you are too kind, Mr. Wolf.” She curtsied politely.
“Please, call me Edaniel.” He said, another wolfish grin spreading across his face, his lips pulling over his teeth.
Red stilled as she looked at his teeth, perfectly white and shining. She nodded, her voice stuck in her throat. She continued walking down the path, her eyes unable to stop glancing towards Edaniel.
For once, she didn’t feel a compulsion to touch her clothing, or stare into a mirror. Instead, she had the strongest urge to touch his fur, to feel the fluffy hair glide easily between her fingers. Red wanted to pull the fir, just to see if Edaniel would yelp in pain, or see if a clump might fall out. Maybe it wouldn’t do anything. No matter the outcome, she wanted to touch it.
Her hand clenched her skirts hidden beneath the blood red material of her cloak, and she swallowed hard, willing her eyes to look forward so she could banish the thoughts from her mind. She tried to think of the things she usually thought of, like her mirror at home and how her reflection looked inside of it; but nothing helped. Soon, her gran’s cottage was in view.
It was then that the thoughts of the wolf were momentarily gone. The image of her ill gran took over, and she grimaced, her hand hesitating over the door knob.
“’Tis a terrible, disgusting thing to look upon, isn’t it?” The wolf interrupted her thoughts and she looked down at him, remembering his presence. “If you stay here, then I could take care of your burden.”
She watched as the smile slithered onto his face once more.
“Let me help you,” He coaxed.
She opened the door, letting it swing open until it hit the wall on the inside. The smell disease and impurity made her frown and wrinkle her nose in disgust. Her hand fell limply to her side. She stared into the darkness of the cottage, and heard a low grumble come from the Edaniel. She wasn’t sure if it was a chuckle or a growl.
Edaniel’s back brushed against the bottom of the basket as he sauntered into the lone cottage. She shivered, imagining the basket were her finger tips. Her eyes watched him carefully, her lips parted as she breathed evenly, watching as his tale disappeared into the thick, smelly darkness.
“Little Red, is that you?” Her grandmother’s weak voice was barely audible, but Red could hear it.
“My, my, Granny, what saggy skin you have.” The wolf’s easy response was said casual, and she could hear the grin in it. Her heart skipped a beat.
The basket fell to the ground as she heard the piercing scream of her weak grandmother. She strode in, eyes wide, breath coming sharp, her stride long. She licked her dry lips and stopped in the doorway of her gran’s bedroom.
The old woman was on the floor, her arm caught in the wolf’s mouth. Red gasped and took an involuntary step back. A loud pop followed by a crunching noise echoed in Red’s ears as Edaniel’s sharp teeth penetrated the old skin, and then cracked the bone of her grandmother’s arm.
The old woman cried out to Red, reaching for her with her good arm. Red stepped closer, swallowing hard. Red could feel the wild gaze of the old woman on her, but she could only look at the blood dripping from the fresh wound, the smell of copper and salt filling the room.
Edaniel thrashed his head roughly, and the sound of a bone snapping echoed in the room, a choir with the growls of fun and pleasure emanating from the wolf’s throat. He left the arm, limp on the floor, lunging for the hag’s neck. A strangled cry leapt from the woman’s throat, and blood squirted, splattering Edaniel’s coat and spraying the length of Red’s body. Red gasped, her chest rising and falling as her heart leaped in her chest.
She stepped away, the blue eyes of the hag staring wide at her as the tiny gasps of fright and pain subsided. Edaniel’s strong jaw released the limp woman who fell to the floor with a loud thunk.
Red was wide-eyed as she stared at the wolf and her dead gran who’s skin--even in death--looked no better than it had while she was living. Her breath came sharp and quick past her parted lips, and she blinks as she brought her hands up to gaze at them. Specks of blood were painted over her pale flesh, and she gently stroked her face, feeling the wet spots over the soft skin.
Her eyes then caught a glace of a glimmer and she turned her head. There was a mirror there, sitting by the window. She walked over to where it sat upon a small wooden table. It was a simple hand mirror, but a dagger was set close by it, probably there for when the blood-lettings were performed to help purify the dying old woman. She leaned over, placing her fingers against the cool surface of the mirror and looked into it; her eyes making contact with her eyes.
She smiled.
