Once upon a time, beneath the whispering wood, Lived sweet Little Red Riding Hood. A sly wolf spied her and hatched a dark plan; He raced to Grandma's house and into her bed he ran.
He thought of her cloak, crimson and sweet, how it would glimmer when she skipped through the heat. He thought of her laugh, her trusting stride— and sharp little teeth he kept tucked inside.
He smoothed his fur, he practiced his grin, a gentleman’s mask to hide the sin. For wolves, he mused, are never what they seem— they wear the face of safety to live their dream.
Grandmother’s house was the final prize, a feast prepared behind gentle eyes. He pictured the girl leaning close, unaware, while the dark in his heart curled like smoke in the air.
The forest held its breath, it knew his name, for wolves in the shadows play only one game. And though he smiled as she neared the wood, his hunger whispered: No child is safe, nor good.
So take this warning the Wolf once gave: trust not the path that leads to the grave. For wolves still wander, with charm and with guile— they wait in the dark, with teeth behind the smile.
Mar 16
Mar 16, 2026 at 11:04 PM UTC
Once upon a time, beneath the whispering wood, Lived sweet Little Red Riding Hood. A sly wolf spied her and hatched a dark plan; He raced to Grandma's house and into her bed he ran.
He thought of her cloak, crimson and sweet, how it would glimmer when she skipped through the heat. He thought of her laugh, her trusting stride— and sharp little teeth he kept tucked inside.
He smoothed his fur, he practiced his grin, a gentleman’s mask to hide the sin. For wolves, he mused, are never what they seem— they wear the face of safety to live their dream.
Grandmother’s house was the final prize, a feast prepared behind gentle eyes. He pictured the girl leaning close, unaware, while the dark in his heart curled like smoke in the air.
The forest held its breath, it knew his name, for wolves in the shadows play only one game. And though he smiled as she neared the wood, his hunger whispered: No child is safe, nor good.
So take this warning the Wolf once gave: trust not the path that leads to the grave. For wolves still wander, with charm and with guile— they wait in the dark, with teeth behind the smile.