A/N: We know it's a wee bit early to upload the next chapter already, but since the first one was short and had no fairytale in it, we decided to add the next earlier then planned. As always, we own nothing. Please tell us what day of the week we should regularly update/upload on in the reviews. Hope you enjoy the story!

-Dante Pierre

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Red. She lived with her mum, Rose, in a sweet little cottage on the edge of the forest, right next to the river. Red had a grandmother, Cynthia, who lived in the forest, not too far from Red and her mum.

Red had always been an odd child. She would sit outside their house for hours on end, not moving an inch. When her mum asked her why, Red would reply she was waiting for father to come back. Rose would get a far off look for a moment or two before giving her daughter a sad smile and telling her that father wouldn't come back. Not ever. It was the same routine, every day. Red was a kind-soul, helping anything in need and giving everything a chance, but she was so...changeable. Some would say she took after her father in that manner. Red had never hurt anyone in her life, but things were soon to change.

It happened on a beautiful summer's day. Rose had given Red a basket with a freshly baked cake in it and had sent her off with instructions to visit her grandmother. Red promised her mum she would stay on the path and stay safe before setting off to Cynthia's house. She knew little of the horror that lay ahead.

Cynthia had always been a forgetful woman. Rumours said she had even forgotten her own name once, but her forgetfulness had never caused her trouble in life. That too was about to change. You see, it so happened that the same day Red was to visit her grandmother, Cynthia had left the door open in her house. Wide open. A pack of starving, desperate wolves had smelled the fresh game Cynthia had been skinning at the time and had made a bold move. Red arrived just in time to witness her grandmother whom she loved dearly be ripped to shreds by the vicious wolves. Instead of screaming and running back home immediately, something had clicked, or rather snapped, in Red's mind. She set down the basket, but took out the knife her mum had packed just incase. After all the forest was a dangerous place, where dreadful things happened. Eerily quiet, Red walked back to the cottage. Silently, she walked up to her mum, picked up the rolling pin that hadn't yet been put away and hit her mum on the back of the head with it. Hard. Rose collapsed and Red got to work.

Half an hour later Red was finished. Her mum was laying on the floor so peacefully that one would think she was sleeping, at least until they noticed that she was very much dead. Her eyes had been neatly removed and put in a jar as keepsakes, and her throat had been slit with the precision of a surgeon. A bloody hand print adorned Rose's chest, right above her heart. After admiring her masterpiece, Red left the cottage in search of another victim.

It didn't take long for her to find the village of Kingsley. It was a quaint town with a population of about one hundred. Red killed and created ten more works of art before she was caught. They held her in the blacksmith's storage room while they decided her fate. A few of the people saw her as a child, an innocent tainted by great evil that could be removed with care and kindness. Everyone else was all for hanging her as they witch they thought her to be, child or not. Two days later Red joined all her other victims, six feet under.

"The end."

"Sherlock. I'b even bore awake."

"You didn't like the story."

"It scared me. Tell me another."

"Fine. Once upon a time..."