RED | A dark retelling of Red Riding Hood | WATTYS 2021 SHORTLIST

Chapter Twenty-Four: New Moon

AN: 

I--- I have no explanation other than I am sorry. 

They plunged down together. First, headfirst until her body crashed against a collection of the low branches. Each moment of impact was another red-hot burst of pain, another reminder that dying never felt good.

Marjorie hoped she would die once she hit the forest floor. But fate was always fickle and never kind.

Vivian landed before her, with a sharp crack and belly down in her own puddle of blood. The dagger in her stomach poked through the dark fabric of her dress, most likely severing her spine completely.

Marjorie landed face up, flat on her back.

She remained perfectly still, imagining herself as one of the clay sculptures her Grandmother carved with nimble hands. The thought comforted her—she could sit on Petyr's fireplace, perfectly frozen with dull eyes watching over him each morning and night.

A numbing shock ripped through her broken body, the opposite of the moments she spent at the mercy of Petyr's crushing hands. The Woodsman's strangling touch kept out all the air in her body, and his fingers' touch were like blisters across her neck. In those quick beats of fear, there was a desperate call to fight, to kick, to run.

Crashing down against the cold earth proved to be the opposite.

Dying was shocking, like she plunged into the icy waters of the river. Her bones and skin and dirt and blood all ran together in one color underneath the rushing currents. She closed her eyes, tighter and tighter, like she could convince her body this was just a heavy slumber.

She sunk lower into the blue-green depths, only stopping once her body crashed against the soft riverbed. Sicily was there—somewhere between the reeds and cattails—waiting to catch her hand and welcome across the Veil.

"Marjorie."

Hearing her name was like coming up for air.

"No, Marjorie," a deep voice spoke from somewhere too far, like he stood on the gravel shorelines of the river. "You are not—damn this—you are not meant to die here. Not yet."

She blinked slow. With each passing second, the small action turned increasingly harder.

Once she opened them, there was a vision of an angel cradling her to his chest. Dark, trembling hands burned bright with a wet red— most likely from her. His long dark curls just barely tickled her collarbone, and his gray eyes—always fixed on hers—were heavy with a storm.

The Wolf.

"F-F-F-" her tongue twisted over his name. She opened her mouth to try again, but only a thin stream of air escape through her wheezing throat. Hot tears leaked from her gaze. She ached for his name on her lips.

"Shhh," Fenris soothed. His fingers curled over her long red hair and pushed stray tendrils away from her face. "Do not speak. You will hurt yourself, l-little one."

Tears streamed freely down his dark cheeks like two gleaming scars. Sadness made the man that much more strikingly beautiful.

She was right, he was an angel materialized, appearing in her last moments to guide her to the veil.

"I am sorry," he whispered. "I could not protect you."

He was wrong. How could he be so wrong? She attempted to shake her head but found even the smallest of movements shot pain through her body. She released a groan, forced out of duress.

"Please," Fenris pleaded. "Don't-- don't move. I—let me..." his words turned to soft murmurs. He turned away from her. The sun was gone. His face appeared moments later, now with a wrinkle of concentration between his eyes. In his hands, dried Devilhair.

"This... this does not cure everything," he whispered. "But it will help."

He pressed the herb into her skin.

A bite.

A boiling sky of red.

A strange, numbing bliss.

"Better isn't it?" His hands moved up to her forehead. A bittersweet smile blossomed on his face.

"F-Fenris," she rasped his name for the first time. It burned through her body like the Devilhair—pain first, and then, a gentle warmth.

"I told you, please do not strain—"

"W-will you t-tell me of the ocean, please?"

Her only regret was an unfulfilled memory from Beyond. Never did she witness the angry, toiling depths of the ocean, feel the grit of sand fall through her fingers, or curl her toes into the wet, sandy earth. For all the moments she wished for, she wanted that most.

The smile on his face dimmed.

"I am going to tell you a secret," he whispered the shaky words against her forehead. His breath was the only warm thing she could feel. Each passing second, her body continued to dip in temperature. "I have never been to the ocean."

"Then," Marjorie mustered all the breath in her body. "Will y-you kiss me?"

Please, she thought. Just for this quick moment.

He did not say anything, instead, the Wolf's palms delicately cupped either side of her cheeks, a warmth that shot something other than pain through her.

He leaned down, his face blocking the harshness of the red sky. Fenris was her new moon, his gray eyes a steady guide through even the darkest of night.

His breath fanned over her face and watched her reaction to his touch, like he would pull away if she tensed up or changed her mind.

Their lips pressed together with a softness she did not know existed. It was long, and slow, and sad in the same way death was.

It was a goodbye.

She curled into the sweetness, into the steadiness of his breathing, the sturdiness of his chest, the sureness of where he placed his hands.

She may be a lamb, but he did not touch her like a Wolf.

He was not a mere beast in sheep's clothing, nor was he an ordinary man. He was something more.

Fenris pulled away slowly, a wet smile graced his face.

She realized once he rolled a thumb across her lips.

Fenris was hers.

But only for a moment.

Just as she found her heart, all life in her body thrummed to a deafening stop, leaving her dead in the tenderness of his hands.