By all respects, she should have been dead. Had you come across the scene yourself, you might have assumed she was so: Churned snow exposed dark earth like wounds across the forest floor. Fur trees with old-man-bent-backs loomed, stretching long evening shadows across her final resting place. The only colour amongst the light and shadow was a tangle of copper hair, and splashes of red, distinct against the melting snow.

Her chestnut horse had been the first to die. He spilt his red readily across the freshly fallen white. The girl had fought like a wild thing in order to cling on to that pitifully flimsy existence we call life. For a time she had fended off the sharp fangs of the Wolf's bite. Her red had taken a little longer to fall.

All this was observed by no one. No one except the spirit of Lilith, who watches over not-quite-dead-things and who thought, How beautiful. All that black and white and red.

How lovely, She thought as she kissed the girl's forehead and wiped a spot of dark crimson from her cheek. You will be my new favourite.

And so, the girl-who-should-be-dead opened her eyes.

It took a moment to adjust to the dying daylight. How odd. She thought. I can't remember how I got here. She should be terribly cold. Frozen in fact. Perhaps she had reached a level of hyperthermia where she couldn't even feel the cold anymore. Perhaps she was dying. She was extremely thirsty.

Sitting up, she looked around the small wood clearing and saw the horse. Her horse. He stared at her with empty brown eyes. Oh. She thought for a moment and found she did not care that he was dead. How strange.

She did care about the blood-soaked ice surrounding him, however. It looked... delicious. Horrified at her own thoughts she scrambled to her feet. She was so thirsty.

A dark shape moved in her peripheral vision, but when she turned there was nothing there. A cruel laugh echoed through the trees.

'Who goes there?' she called. But there was no answer. She had to get home, get out of this cursed wood. She wracked her brain, trying to grasp the memories of how she had arrived in this place but the memories felt old like they belonged to someone else. She had been riding? Yes, that was it. She had been riding to her Grandmothers House with an important message when she had been attacked...

A branch cracked behind her and this time when she turned towards the sound, a horrifying sight greeted her. A colossal black wolf stood at the edge of the trees, watching. A shriek escaped her lips and she stumbled backwards. The Bad Wolf!

'Stay back!' She shouted. Her hand went to her side automatically, looking for a weapon that wasn't there. The wolf huffed as if it were laughing. Then slowly the monster started to shift until a black-haired man stood in its place.

'Little red, little red, went riding one day... And now she's dead.' He grinned, demon eyes glinting like twin candle flames. 'Looking for this?' He held out her favourite scarlet riding cloak and weapons belt.

'If you kill me the Wood Cutters will not stand for it! You and your ilk will be wiped from our lands like vermin' She said with a confidence she did not feel.

He cocked his head to the side. 'Silly little red, I don't want to kill you.'

Branches whipped at her face as she ran, but she ignored the pain. The words of the Bad Wolf were echoing in her mind. He had let her go, laughing all the while. But she could not think of why now, she had to get to the safehouse.

She broke through the trees and saw the house lights; a beacon in the dark. But as she neared a boy stepped out in front of her, a crossbow aimed at her heart. She skidded to a halt.

'Stop right there.'

'Mathew? What are you doing? It's me?' She put her hand out towards the boy she'd known all her life, but he stepped backwards, shaking his head.

'You're not you anymore.'

'How can I not be myself?' Her throat burned, the thirst was almost maddening.

He looked at her sadly. 'What white skin you have, Red. What sharp teeth.'

She could hear his heart thudding wildly; see the vain in his neck pulsing. So thirsty...

'What big red eyes you have.' Mathew continued his voice breaking. 'You're one of them.'

'I'm...'

The crossbow twanged.

But Little Red moved fast.

And deadly.

Crimson stained the white for the third time that night.

A short story inspired by The Little Red Riding Hood, when i thought: What if little red was the monster?