Oh fuck it lets post Hood
The Wolf stood on the edge of the cliff side, staring intently below him. Nestled in a deep valley just beyond the hills was a town. More of a village, really, but the occupants of Earinheart would never admit to that. The air was crisp and cool. The wind blowing whispers of lost memories around him. In the town below everything was silent— save for the various taverns and pubs that stayed open all hours of the night. Their windows pouring out light and the sounds of laughter and loud music slithering between the cracks in the doors. The merchants and street hagglers of the day time tucked away in their homes and sleeping peacefully. The Wolf regarded the town with some distaste, a bitter longing shadowed by a deep seated hatred for what he’d lost. In the end, it had been his own fault, really. The Wolf often wondered what life would be life had things gone differently so many years ago…
There once were two twins as different as can be. One was light and happy— the joy of the town. She thrived on music and laughter and the simple pleasures of human kindness. The other was colder— quieter. Preferring the shadows than the limelight. However different he may be from his sister, he was just as kind. You wouldn’t even know the twins were related had it not been for the fact that they shared a mother and lived in the same house. The only other defining traits of the twins was their ginger colored hair. Ironically this is how one of the Hood twins had gotten their nickname. Cressida Hood had been referred to as “Red” for as long as anyone could remember. Named for her striking ginger hair and crimson hooded cloak.
Her brother, Grayson, had been named by the village in a similar fashion. Gray, they called him, for his dark colored clothing and his affinity for staying in the shadows— and perhaps because it was also a lot less to say than Grayson Hood.
Despite their differences in appearance and manner the Hood twins were inseparable. Going everywhere and doing everything with each other. The shared the same friends and had the same likes and dislikes. Both had the same kind eyes and inviting smiles. However, even in these times people were quick to judge the twins less on personality and more on appearance. You could hear the shouts of joy as Red walked down the streets. People calling greetings and sharing jokes with her. Basking in her exuberance. But you could also hear the whispers that ensued in her wake as they caught sight of her brother. “Quiet”, they’d say. Too quiet. Unsettling.
Red was oblivious to these whispers, Gray was not. But Grayson Hood found that he didn’t care what people thought of him. He was more than happy to let his sister be the one everyone loved. His family provided him with all the love he could ever need, and that was enough for him.
The twins lived with their mother in a small cottage on the outskirts of town. Bordered by deep woods and long streams, their cottage was a rather quaint spot. An escape from the chaos of the rest of Earinheart. Their grandmother would come to visit every weekend. Excited to learn about what new adventures Red had gotten into and what new books Gray had read.
On one particular summers day, the twins mother got a letter in the mail from their grandmother. She seemed to have fallen grievously ill and would not be able to visit for the weekend.
“Oh my!” The mother exclaimed. “This is terrible news!”
Cressida, having just returned home, asked. “What is?”
“Your grandmother has taken ill! She won’t be able to visit this weekend!”
Cressida was shocked. Her grandmother was sick? This is terrible news!
“We should make her a basket filled with all of her favorite treats,” the mother suggested.
“That’s a brilliant idea,” Red agreed. And the two set off to work.
Some time later, when the basket had been finished, Red pulled on her cloak and prepared to deliver the basket to her grandmother.
“Where is your brother?” Red’s mother asked.
Cressida shook her head, she did not know. Last she saw of her brother he’d been in the library. He’d told her he would catch up later.
“He’ll be along,” Red replied. Her mother nodded, not too concerned about the whereabouts of her second child. “Make sure you watch out for the wolves, Cressida. There’s been an increase in wolf related deaths recently.”
Her mother frowned at the bright red cloak Cressida had wrapped around her shoulders. “Perhaps you should wear a different cloak?” She suggested. But Cressida only shook her head. She had no fear of wolves.
“I’ll be alright,” she said. “Send Gray after me when he returns home.” Then she scooped up the basket and left in a swirl of scarlet fabric.
Not long after, Gray sloped into the small cottage. Arms laden with books from his day spent in the library. Setting his books down, he looked around the house. Where is everyone? His mother appeared in the doorway, smiling brightly and pulling him into a hug.
“I received a letter from your grandmother saying that she’d taken ill. You sister has gone to take her a care basket,” she explained. “Cressida said to send you after her once you returned.”
Gray nodded, turning back towards the door and preparing to head off again. As he pulled open the door his mother issued him the same warning she gave to his sister.
“Be careful of wolves!” His mother called after him.
“I will,” he said, and then he tugged the door shut behind him.
Their grandmother lived in a small house in the heart of the forest. The trees grew closely the further you went into the woods. The only way you could be certain to not get lost was by sticking to the worn down dirt path. Gray walked along the path, sending cautious glances into the thick trees. He had no intentions of being eaten by a wolf.
Eventually he reached his destination, breathing a small sigh of relief at the sight of the familiar house. Gray continued up the cobblestone walkway that led to his grandmother's door.
Standing at the top step of the porch, Gray noticed something odd. The door to the house was slightly ajar, the light wood beneath his feat stained a funny orange color. A sharp spike of panic shot through the boy. Quickly he pushed the door open, recoiling at the metallic taste that bit at his nostrils.
“Hello?,” he called. “Grandmother, Red, I’m here.”
He was met by silence. He journeyed further into the house. Chairs had been knocked askew and tea cups had been shattered. Later Gray would realize that he already knew what was coming before he entered the bedroom. But at that moment he had been shocked by the scene before him.
The room was in tatters. Ripped satin and broken floors were illuminated by the bright sunlight that was streaming lazily into the room. In the center of it all, on the bed, lay his grandmother; showered in wine colored liquid that ran fresh from the gashes in her chest.
The second thing he saw might’ve been worse than his grandmother. Laying on the floor, near his grandmother was his sister. Ginger hair dyed as red as the cloak she was named for. Falling to his knees, Gray crawled towards his sister. Cradling scraps of shredded fabric in his hands.
Now everyone knows that the universe has an odd sort of timing. Somewhat paradoxical in its abnormality. For at that particular moment, a huntsman had happened across the cottage. Eyes catching on the still open front door, and the unnaturally colored floor boards. He — as any good hunter would — entered the house, sensing something was wrong.
He entered the house slowly, posture stiffening as he saw the damage. He took out his axe. When he reached the bedroom he was greeted by a horrifying sight. Two motionless women lay in crooked positions, a boy in dark clothing kneeling over them. The huntsmans grip around his axe tightened.
The boy looked up. Eyes dark with heavy circles under them. The boy started to stutter out a protest, but the huntsman silenced him by swinging his axe. The silver blade making a perfect arc towards him. Gray just barely jumped out of the way.
“But I—“ he started. But the huntsman had no interest in anything he had to say.
“Murder,” he said again, this time much louder.
Knowing that there was nothing he could say to convince this man otherwise, Gray did the only thing he could do. He ran. He ran and ran and ran and ran. Until his lungs couldn’t take anymore and he collapsed against a tree.
Years had passed since then. Stories had been passed through dozens of people, twisting the actual events into things that had never happened. Some said it had been an act of vengeance. He’d always been different from his sister. Some said it was an accident. But there was one thing they could all agree on: Unsettling. The events at the Hood cottage had been unsettling.
“Wolf” they had started to call the boy who had done it. For the deep, jagged slash marks in the bodies. It hadn’t been long before food had started to go missing. And then animals. All found dead the next morning. It had taken even less time for the name to catch on. The Big Bad Wolf. A harbinger of death. A bad omen.
The Wolf looked over the village once more. His eyes falling on a small cottage on the edge of town, bordered by thick woods and lovely streams. He tore his eyes away, instead focusing on the food below. No one would have missed him anyways. The Wolf tore across the cliff side, racing towards the village.
He caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the rivers. He looked different from the last time anyone had seen him. However one thing remained. That quiet, mysterious persona of a boy who lived in shadows. It was wrapped around and inside of him. Reflecting back in the moonlight in every different shade of, Gray.
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