This story is on a theme of "Little Red Riding Hood," the Grimm Brothers version in particular. There are some parts in this story, where the reader just needs to come to their own conclusions.


The Errand

Crunch. Pine needles and twigs crunch underfoot.

A mutter. "Why do I have to do this?"

A ray. The moon shines bright, a heavy crescent – perhaps an apathetic eye.

A boy. He is short, thin – scrawny. The skin is pale; the hair is dark. The eyes are green – is it a regal or sickly color?

Eyes. Yellow orbs gaze intently.

A step. "Hello, boy."

A rustle. The boy withdraws a wand from a pocket, but can it do any good against such a large, powerful man – is he even a man?

The package. It is now in the man's hands. He takes a look. "Ah, I see."

Smash. The boy's world turns black.

A groan. "God... My head... Bloody... Gotta' move..."

A sprint. A wild dash through the woods. There is no real form and no real technique, but there is practice in his movements all the same.

There. There it is. It is a house, a cottage. For all its physical harmlessness, its spiritual defenses are on a completely different level. But he gets through, he is expected.

A worming, sinister feeling. But he cannot place it. Joermungandr is restless.

A knock. "Madame Scarlet, excuse me. Are you there?"

"Do come in, boy, but please close the door."

Scarlet. It is a fitting descriptor for the woman he sees. Her lips and hair are both crimson. A vermillion negligee both conceals and accentuates the swell of a full, seductive bosom. Mouth dry, he swallows.

"Madame, I lost the package."

"A shame. Come closer, boy."

A step. He wants to remain rooted there, but his legs move seemingly of their own volition. A tongue lips the lips.

A succubus. That's what she is. He is wrapped in a warm embrace. The mind tries to fight the lust and passion overtaking it.

Crunch. The left arm is barely attached. It is a new rouge for her lips.

A terminal inquiry. Will the hunter come?

And softly smiles the moon.