The woods are never as kind
as the stories make them seem.
Little Red does not skip,
her feet heavy with the weight
of the basket,
its contents a secret darker than the night.
The wolves aren’t just hungry,
they’re desperate.
Their teeth are sharp,
their hunger endless.
And the huntsman?
His axe is too slow,
his conscience too soft
for the forest that devours
the innocent.
The glass slipper...
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