Every little girl wants her version of a fairytale. She wants to be swept off her feet and ride in a carriage into the sunset with her Prince Charming. However, what happens when your Prince Charming ends up being a wolf in disguise? What do you do now, Red Riding Hood?

I call him the wolf

when I write about him.

I call him the wolf

to make him as storybook as possible.

You could say it was all a work of fiction,

what happened between the wolf and I.

At least that's what I want to believe.

I should've seen it coming.

When he smiled,

I could see his fangs.

I felt them drag against my skin as he kissed my neck.

His claws left scratches down my back

as we laid in his bed late in the night.

By morning he was gone,

there was no trace of him.

No footsteps,

no clues,

nothing.

I tried flipping through the book to see if he would return,

but he was no prince,

and I was no princess.

No glass slipper for me to give,

no kingdom to adore me.

All I had was my white dress.

You didn't want to touch me,

because you knew what you would do,

but the moon took over the wolf in you.

Your hands ran down my body,

your fingers reached into my core,

as if you were looking for the last piece of innocence inside of me.

I knew what you were doing,

but that night deep in the forest,

you stained my dress in red.

When you left

I put up my hood,

and closed the book.

When people ask about that night,

I close my eyes,

take a deep breath,

and tell them

that fairytales don't exist,

and neither does the wolf.