The bedroom smelled of vanilla tainted with rotting flesh.

The wolf did a shabby job of imitating Grandmother. Her nightgown wrinkled in all the wrong places on his canine body, and his unruly ash-gray fur peeked out the lilac ruffles.

“Goodness, what big eyes you have!” Little Red Riding Hood said, staring at the wolf’s large firefly-yellow eyes. 

“All the better to see you with, my dear.” The wolf replied. His voice was raspy and deep, almost comical when compared with the smooth, soprano voice of Grandmother.

“And what a deep voice you have,” She added, her own baby blue eyes wide.

“All the better to greet you with, my dear.” The wolf responded breezily.

“And what nerve you have!” She exclaimed, eyebrows raised. “How dare you eat Grandmother!”

The wolf blinked in surprise. “Sorry, what did you say? I don’t...”

Little Red Riding Hood twirled a bouncy blonde curl around one finger and smiled. Her sharp pearly fangs glistened in the light. 

There was a beat of silence.

“How do you think I keep my cloak so red?” She asked him sweetly, voice dripping with honey.

The wolf didn’t have time to reply before she lunged.