The body in the Woodsman's arms remained still, despite the moments he pressed his lips to her soft mouth and attempted to force air into her lungs. The man was tall, taller than even the Wolf, but now, cradling the body of the sweet girl, he appeared small. The Woodsman's grief made an illusion out of him.
"No, no, no," his words ran into one another. He trembled with her broken corpse. His trembling hands crawled to where her long, swan-like neck was bent at an awkward angle. All the ugliness seemed to matter not to the young man. "Wake up, please, Marjorie, wake up."
"Do you really love her that much?" A woman's voice spoke from behind him.
The Woodsman turned around, confusion already crossing his lips before he froze at the sight of the stranger. The looks she garnered usually were of that same shock—she was tall, like her mother, with rich, tawny brown skin. She kept her dark curls long, until they fell down to her bare back. She had yet to find any clothing that she would allow to touch the priceless surface of her skin, so she stood naked, bathing in the red moonlight. She narrowed her cool, gray eyes at the man. He was silent.
She usually enjoyed the tension that came with silence, but this was one blistering hot. He was still tender, like wild game roasting over flame, seconds from burning.
She smiled, like she was already digging her teeth into his flesh.
"I can revive her," she said, a slight shrug to her shoulder. "If you pay a price."
The Woodsman tightened his hold of the dead girl, as if he were a child still mourning the loss of his favorite toy.
"Name it," he whispered. "Anything, it is yours."
"Bring me the pelt of the Wolf."
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RED | A dark retelling of Red Riding Hood | WATTYS 2021 SHORTLIST
WerewolfIn a dark and deep land lives young Marjorie, a woman desperate for something more than her conventional life in her tiny village, Core. She aches for something dangerous, something like the dark forest, Mirkwood, which borders her home. Yet, there...
