Emily

Emily yawns and stretches, her small arms brushing against the rough bark of the tree she was leaning against. Blinking her bright blue eyes, she takes in her surroundings—this wasn’t her backyard, nor her cozy room. She was in the middle of a dense, shadowy forest, the sunlight barely breaking through the canopy of gnarled branches above. She looks down, confused, and notices her outfit—a deep red cloak with a hood draped over her shoulders, tied with a neat ribbon at her neck. Underneath, a red laced bodice and a red skirt, her feet clad in sturdy black shoes, slightly dusty from the forest floor. Beside her lay a woven basket filled with bread, cheese, and a bottle of wine, its aroma faintly reaching her nose.

Emily frowns, fragments of someone else’s life swirling in her mind—a girl dressed just like this, walking these woods, bringing lunch to her grandmother. “I’m... I’m Little Red Riding Hood?” she whispers, her voice trembling with confusion and a hint of wonder. She picks up the basket and stands, brushing off her skirt. The memories—her memories?—were hazy but insistent. She had to deliver this food. Grandma needed her. But something else tugged at the edges of her thoughts, a warning about wolves...

Emily looks around nervously, the dark woods seeming to grow quieter as she began to walk. Her heart thudded in her chest as she clutched the basket tightly. She wasn’t sure what was going on, or how she had ended up here, but she knew one thing: she had to find Grandma’s house, and quickly.

"Um, hello? Ith... ith anyone there? Thith ith tho thcary..."

Emily tightened the crimson hood around her blonde hair, her bright blue eyes darting nervously between the thick, gnarled trees that surrounded them. Her brother walked a step ahead, his hands tucked into his pockets as he scanned the forest with the cautious gaze of someone who had been lost for far too long. Their clothes were worn and smudged with dirt from days of wandering—Emily’s red cloak had caught on countless branches, and her skirt was streaked with mud from the damp forest floor.

As they pushed through a curtain of hanging vines, Emily gasped and grabbed her brother’s arm, pointing ahead. There, in a small clearing, stood a house unlike any she had ever seen. Its walls gleamed with the warm, golden color of baked gingerbread, its roof sparkled with sugar crystals, and its windows glistened as though they were made of translucent candy. Even the chimney puffed faint curls of smoke that smelled faintly of roasted marshmallows. Her stomach twisted with equal parts wonder and unease.

"Look, Hans!" she whispered, her lisp soft but urgent. "It’th a candy houth! Who... who livth in a plathe like that?"

Hans hesitated, narrowing his eyes. "I don’t know, but we’ve got to be careful, Emily. Something doesn’t feel right."

But Emily’s curiosity bubbled over, and before he could stop her, she took a cautious step forward, the hem of her red cloak brushing against the wildflowers at her feet. Her small hands reached out as if the house might vanish if she didn’t touch it. Then, from deep within the gingerbread walls, a low creak echoed, as though the house itself was alive and watching them.

Emily froze, clutching her brother’s sleeve again, her voice trembling with both fear and excitement. "Did... did you hear that? Thomeone’th inthide..."

Emily’s red cloak billowed behind her as she ran, her small legs pounding against the forest floor. Tears stung her bright blue eyes, but she refused to slow down, even as branches snagged her cloak and scratched her arms. Her evil stepmother’s angry voice still echoed in her ears, the cruel words chasing her as surely as wolves in the woods. Emily didn’t look back. She couldn’t. She had no home now, no safety, and no one to turn to but the silent, shadowy forest stretching endlessly before her.

After what felt like hours, her legs wobbled, and she stumbled into a small clearing. Her breath caught as she saw a quaint little cottage nestled among the towering trees. The house was unusual—tiny and cozy-looking, with a crooked roof and windows that seemed too small for a grown person to fit through. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, and the warm glow of a fire flickered behind the windows. It was inviting in a way that made Emily’s heart ache with longing.

She crept closer, her red hood pulled tightly over her head. Peeking through one of the windows, she saw a cozy interior filled with tiny furniture: small chairs, a low table, and seven perfectly aligned beds, each with a different-colored blanket. Emily frowned, her lisp soft as she murmured to herself.

"Who livth here? It lookth like a hou’th for little children... but there’th no one around."

Her stomach growled loudly, breaking the silence, and she realized how hungry she was. She hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the dark woods behind her, then stepped cautiously toward the door. Raising a trembling hand, she knocked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"H-hello? Ith... ith anyone here?"

Emily stood in the shadow of a twisted, ancient tree, the dim light of dusk casting long, flickering shadows across the forest floor. Her red cloak, now faded and frayed from her many adventures, hugged her small frame as she took a deep breath. She was afraid but determined. If there was any hope of returning to her real home, it lay in finding Rumpelstiltskin. She had heard the stories—rumors whispered in the dark corners of the woods—about the trickster who could make deals, powerful and perilous.

The path ahead was lined with wildflowers and tall, whispering grass, leading her to a clearing where a small, crooked hut stood. Its windows were dark, and the door, though painted with bright red trim, hung slightly ajar. Emily hesitated, clutching the hem of her cloak tightly in both hands. Her bright blue eyes darted around nervously, half-expecting to hear footsteps or the sound of something approaching from the trees.

Taking another deep breath, she stepped forward and knocked, the wood of the door creaking under her touch. Her voice quivered, a touch of hope and fear tangled together.

"H-hello? Mr. Rumpelstiltskin? I... I need your help. Th-please, can you help me go home?"

The silence that followed seemed almost deafening, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. She stood there, small and vulnerable, waiting for the answer that could change everything.

Emily’s hands trembled as she stepped into the room, the creaking door falling shut behind her with a finality that made her pulse quicken. The chamber was dark, save for the pale moonlight streaming through a narrow window, casting eerie, distorted shadows on the stone walls. The air was thick, heavy with an unnatural silence that seemed to press against her. She had only meant to satisfy a fleeting, reckless curiosity—Bluebeard had warned her, had looked at her with eyes sharp and unreadable, but she hadn’t listened.

The sight before her made her breath catch, a chill slithering down her spine. The floor was slick with dark red, and the scent of iron and decay hung in the air. At the far end of the room, the bodies of young girls lay sprawled, eyes wide and mouths open in frozen, silent screams. Emily’s blue eyes went wide, the breath stolen from her lungs. The horror before her was too much to comprehend; the reality of it seemed to blur and shift like a bad dream.

“Oh no, no...” she whispered, her voice thin and shaking as she stumbled backward, her fingers covering her mouth to muffle the sob that threatened to escape. She stumbled into an old, carved wardrobe and knocked it over, the impact loud in the quiet room. The sound echoed like a gunshot in her ears, and Emily froze, eyes wide with terror as the door creaked open and footsteps rang out from down the hall.*

“Emily?”

The voice was low, soothing, but it sent a jolt of panic through her. Bluebeard. He was home. He was coming. Emily darted her eyes to the only escape: a narrow door at the end of the room, partially hidden by the draped curtains. Her feet carried her forward, but she glanced over her shoulder one last time, unable to tear her eyes from the ghastly sight. The room seemed to shift as if the walls themselves were watching, waiting. A shadow flitted across the floor behind her, and she knew he was near.

The candlelight flickered, and Emily’s heart stilled as she heard his voice, closer now, an edge of something dangerous to it.

“Emily… I told you not to come here.”

Her blood ran cold, but before she could scream or flee, his shadow fell over her, blocking out the moonlight, and she realized—this was the end of her innocence.