Red As Roses, Red As Blood

1: A Wandering Path.

Stick to the path

Stick to the path.

That's what mother always said whenever I left for Grandmother's house.

It's because there is an hour walk through Markwood forest to get from our village to grandmas cottage in a clearing. I skipped along the path, heading to the forest, with my famous red cloak fluttering delicately.

"Hi, Red!"

"Morning Red!"

"Wish your Grandmother well for me, Red!"

"Hi, Isaak! Morning, Mrs Nella! Thank you, Mr Turnt!" I called back, continuing to skip to the forest.

"Be careful Red!" The village chorused, the same as every day before.

"I will!" Came the shout over my shoulder, the same as every day before.

In the daylight, the forest is slightly more inviting. Not much more though. The daylight clawed its way through the trees, it's glowing fingers lighting my path. The tree shifted in the breeze from the north, my pace speeding up as I shivered.

The walk should only take an hour, I thought to myself. I felt like I'd been walking for almost two by this point.

Where is the path?

I pause.

Where is the path!

Frantically swiping at the crisp leaves surrounding me and praying that I found the cold stone that made the path, a sense of dread filled me, chilling me to my core.

It wasn't there.

Oh no.

Oh no.

There's always a reason for warnings in my village. There is always a reason.

Why didn't mother tell me the reason for the warning to stick to the path?

My heart pounds harder and harder with every possibility my mind thinks of.

No. Be calm. Be logical.

They wouldn't let me go if it was that dangerous.

In and out.

In and out.

I breathed slowly to calm my racing heart and thoughts. I'll be home soon, I'll be safe.

Even still I urged myself to walk faster.

I didn't know what direction I was heading in anymore, as the trees grew thicker and I lost sight of the sky.

I was truly panicking now. But I needed to focus. Shelter.

Shelter.

Home. Please let me find my way home.

Please.

I walked and walked. For hours. The only sound with my breathing and footsteps – that almost made it worse. At least it couldn't get much worse, I thought.

It got worse. Surprising.

The fog rolled in thicker as I lost my way deeper through the meandering trees. The first omitted an ominous feeling in the sunlight. As I walked, leaves and twigs cracking under my shoes and my red cloak fluttering in the breath of the north wind, I knew that there was no hope of finding the cobblestone path that I'd lost.

Soon the warm hands of sunlight were snatched away by the cold, pale, delicate fingers of the full moon. They grasped the ever-growing trees and their branches, highlighting the silver fog and making it seem almost beautiful. Almost.