Huff, Puff, And Blow You Away

Jubalii made the pretty cover image. :D Thank her for it! *nod*

Neko: DON'TKILLME! Or you'll never know what happens next. *cough*
My muse has ADD or something, and she's really tight lipped about letting me write anything. =/
But here's this! Yay. Let's see if I can get more out. Hopefully.

The Morning After Meeting The Big Bad Wolf:

Grandfather Walter had insisted she stay the night, refusing to let her back into the woods after the sun had set. She had no qualms with that, and had settled down to sleep quite easily. She woke briefly at the sound of the front door opening and the scuffle of booted feet and raised voices before they were hushed and her child's mind ignored the intrusion in her rest.

When she woke again for breakfast, she found to her delight the Huntswoman was visiting her Grandfather, though she was worried by the bandage around the beautiful woman's face. She didn't quite dare ask her about it, not then anyways. After the food was eaten and the dishes cleared, Little Red Riding Hood and her Grandfather set off down the path through the woods to home. Seras skipped along, her empty basket swinging exuberantly at her side, a cheerful tune humming through her lips.

Twenty minutes later found the pair cresting the small hill leading to the family farm, where the horses would be grazing in the sun warmed grass and the hired hands would be performing their daily duties while the children of varying ages did their part. Seras looked forward to returning home to the big house, so she could feel her mama's pregnant belly and giggle as her future sibling kicked at her hands. Her blue eyes sparkled in delight at the thought and she hurried her steps, thinking perhaps to beg a treat from Cookie before the other girls saw her and dragged her off to help milk the cows or some such. Seras' family was not quite like most of the others in the village, while it was true they were rich and hired people to work the land and animals for them, they pitched in their two cents as well to keep the Victoria Farm going.

But as they reached the top, and a gust of wind hit them, carrying the scents of the farm, something felt terribly wrong, and the empty basket fell from limp fingers. The fields were empty, nothing moved at all on the vast expanse of land, and Seras ran; heedless of her grandfather's shouts and the heavy footfalls chasing her, she ran for the big cheerful yellow painted house on the other gentle slope of the hills. As she sprinted past the open door of the barn something dreadful lurked at the corner of her eye, and she felt tears gathering on her cheeks. She heard her grandfather's gasp of alarm, and it only fueled her panicked fear to go faster, faster to stop… stop…

She burst into the kitchen door, and screamed. The once white room was coated in red, and her eyelids slammed shut just as she caught a glimpse of a horrible silhouette against the oven that looked lumpy and misshapen, as though someone were interrupted while fixing a scarecrow, and it was still missing its head. She stumbled blindly, and slipped on the slickness of the floor, towards the door to the hallway. She felt something soft under her little shoe, but couldn't force herself to look, and her chest heaved with sobs as she tripped and landed in a heap in the hall next to the stairs.

Everything she saw was red, she could taste it on her tongue with each hitching breath, and she just couldn't quite grasp it, why, why, why…

When her grandfather Walter made it into the house, he found little Seras perched on the third step, her mother's head cradled in her lap – his daughter's throat was an open wound, he was amazed that it was still holding the dead woman's skull in place – with her blue eyes staring at nothing. At least, he had thought it nothing until he turned and saw the note scrawled on the wall in their family's blood.

'I'm a sore loser.'

There was a red paw print acting as both the period and the signature. "Dear god, what have you done..?" He whispered, before he turned and was violently sick in an empty pot that used to hold a petunia.

It was hours before the first villager arrived to help bury the dead, and the land was deemed unclean, and was to be burned. All the animals were dead, down to the last chicken egg smashed against the floor. Seras was allowed – so they claimed, but, really, it was Walter who was forced to do it – to gather her things from her room and a few scraps of memory before her home was put to the torch.

The six year old Little Red Riding Hood was silent the entire trek down the protected path – she liked to call it the yellow brick road – through the woods, and had, in fact, not said a single word since her grandfather found her on the steps. When they arrived back at Grandfather's House, and the Huntswoman was there, waiting, the little blonde continued to be as silent as the grave.

She climbed the stairs up to her little guest room, her skirts still stained with her mother's blood, picked up the little Raggedy Ann doll tossed across her pillow, and began to cry.