OOC: A nice little (proabably only a) oneshot concerning the events following "Red-Handed". I absolutely adored this episode, and immediately Red's mental health came into question. As far as big reveals of one's personal self go, this one was pretty big. If I feel particularly inspired, I may finish it. I also may not. We'll see how life goes. Enjoy! Also, remember to review whether you love it or hate! Thanks!
Nothing felt right, nothing felt real. With ever crunch of her boot, every step she took; she wondered to herself if that really was reality. Was reality even real anymore? Her life could all just be an illusion; it could have all just been a lie. For all she knew, everything a lie. Everything was some sort of fabrication. Life itself was a fabrication. Sure she could feel the cold grip of the icy wind biting into her exposed face, the flapping of her velvet hood and the warm grip of Mary's hand against hers but maybe none of that was really real anymore. Besides, who was she to even judge the truth in reality? Who was she to decide that? It felt so much better in her heart to just let the lines of what was real blur and forget everything. Forget it all. Her heart was torn though, her soul felt ripped to shreds and ripped from end to end. Almost distantly, she felt her boot steps stop and her body fall to the ground. Despite eyes crusted over with multitudes of tears, more seemed able to fall. She drew herself tightly into a ball, pulling away from the reality that was not, and away from that horrible soul-wrenching pain. It hurt too much to even let her mind wander to the pain, so she just let it fall over her in a haze. Drowning in the fog was better than giving in to it.
"Red," a soft voice sounded urgently as if from a great distance away. She could barely make out the speaker, and dared not open her eyes to be subjected to the reality that was not. "Red, we need to keep going. We need to keep going." A hand clasped hers and pulled her to her feet, but her eyes were still shut tight as could be and her mind in that distant place far away from the pain of reality. She wavered in her stance, and Mary had to place two hands on her shoulders to steady her.
"Red," Mary said. "Red, it wasn't you. It was never you. It was never you….."
With a jolt like a dagger, her mind was reminded of the pain of reality. The pain of what had happened, and what she had done. Oh….what she had done. Reality was real, try as she might to think the opposite; reality was as real as could be. This reality was inescapably real. A sob wracked her chest as she let herself collapse into Mary's shoulder. A wail escaped her brittle lips. After a moment's hesitation, she felt Mary's hand comfortingly come to rest on her back, but she felt that hesitation. Mary had seen it, Mary had known. Try as Mary could to make it seem like she didn't believe she was what she was, Red knew that the other woman was scared out of her wit's end simply being in her presence. She was scared of herself, terrified and horrified. She pulled herself away from Mary with yet another sob.
"That's the thing," she finally said, bringing herself to speak, though it was still hysterical. "It was me! It was always me and will always be me! All that time, it's always been me. And it will never not be me. No one can change that, not even me for gods' sakes! And you know what, I didn't even know. That's the horrible horrible part. I never knew, yet Granny did. And she never told anyone. It's all been a lie, a fabrication. And not even a lie to save lives! How many people have died Mary, how many people have I…?" She trailed off and started to sob again.
"But Red," Mary grabbed both of her hands in her own and clasped them tight. "As much as you've convinced yourself that it was you, it wasn't. If it was you, I wouldn't be here with you right now. You aren't a murderer."
"Peter!" Red wailed and she sank to the ground once more, the hysterics not leaving her. "Peter, Peter Peter. I tied him up you know. I was going to use ropes, he suggested chains. We were both so happy, we had a plan, everything was going to be ok. He was going to accept it…" She trailed off into silent sobs of pain. That was one of the most biting aspects of the pain, how she had told how easy it would be. They would have a system, she would help him through it all….in reality (whether real or not) it was impossible to accept. She still couldn't even directly think about it through all the pain. What she had told Peter…it had been a fantasy, a dream. Reality was worse than a bad dream. Worse even then a waking nightmare. Reality was real.
"Red," Mary sunk down until she was level with her. "Red. What's done is done. You need to accept what has transpired. You need to live in the moment. Focus on saving you. Yes you. Red Riding Hood, the sweet girl who carries her basket everywhere and lives with her Granny. You need to save that person."
"I'm not that person though," she sobbed. "I don't even deserve to be a person." She turned her head and in a flash the image she had woken up to appeared before her eyes. Gran and her crossbow. Mary terrified to her wit's end. Red….everywhere. The tree, loose chains hanging. And Peter…..She felt her heart crack again. It felt as if lava was running its course through the fissures in her soul. No matter what Mary had said, she had done that. She had. No one else. Mary could claim that it wasn't really her, but she knew deep inside that it was a part of her. Admitting that to herself, it shut a mental door. Already in this short time she had been faced with the pain for too long. She retreated back to that corner of her mind and let the haze descend once again. Nothing was real, nothing was true. She wasn't ready to face the pain. Silently, the tears stopped and the lava in her soul slowed to a snail's pace.
"Let's go," Mary said, sensing that calm that had descended over Red and pulling her up. Within moments, the two had resumed their flight. Mary tugged along a distant Red, neither speaking of what had just transpired, or what was going to happen next. Just over the ridge behind them, a crowd of villagers followed two sets of boot prints through the snow; torches alit and fire, not lava, igniting their souls with fury.