Days have passed since the night Red heard the wolf howl,

She could often find herself engrossed in her thoughts about the beast that would mourn for the life of its prey, but Red only managed to end up back at square one whenever she thought about it too hard. The sun was taking its place in the sky, and it was time for Red to get out of bed to start the new day. She slowly slid out from underneath the covers and pads her way into the bathroom. She doesn’t bother to look at herself in the mirror; she knew what she was going to see.

Instead, Red diligently removes the cloth-white bandages that she has grown accustomed to being one with her skin. She inhales sharply through her nose each time the draft snaked its way on the clean lines that marked her body. Sometimes, she would trace her arms as if tracing a pattern in the sand. Unlike before, Red wouldn’t wince at the removal of the cloth or when she accidentally grazed a bruise; the pain had subsided to blunt irritation if she rubbed against them too much.

Red has to do chores today, but only the general that was focused around the house. Wanting nothing more than to get it over with, Red lathers her body in homemade remedies and wraps a new clean bandage to hide the pain that others dealt. After changing into the fresh set of wrappings, she puts on a grey long-sleeved dress and cotton apron and leaves to enter the kitchen. Her mother, with heavy bags under her eyes, silently acknowledged her daughter and hands her a cloth.

Red takes over polishing the cupboards and silverware, while Mother swept the floors and dusted walls. The meaningless tasks proved as a distraction for both of them from the thoughts that swirled their brains. For Red, it was the sorrowful howl and the mysterious black woods but lately darker thoughts snuck into the back of her mind once in awhile and they scared her. As for Mother, she wondered about how they were to survive the winter. They were going short on food and have resulted in reducing their meals to half. Luckily, she sent Red out days ago to buy meat and cheese so that would last them a couple of weeks. Even though the villagers thought they were witches or just plain insane, she knew better than to doubt Red’s predictions. The child predicted that winter would last three weeks longer, and those weeks is what she worried about the most.

When they finished cleaning, Red starts mending their socks and her mother starts baking fresh bread and pastries. On occasion, Red would help her but she could sense this was not the day and decided giving Mother some space. After Red was done, she sat by the window staring at how the wind caressed the flowers gently and smiling as it playfully tousled her brown locks.

In the next moment, Red could hear light knocks on wood. She turns around and watches Mother wipe her hands and make a beeline for the door. Only one person dared to knock on a witch’s door, and Red’s smile grew by an inch as Mother opened the door. The woman couldn’t help but break out into a smile as she moved aside to let the person in.

John Romano. The only boy in the village who saw Red and her mother for who they really are, is standing before them with his messy dark hair, forest green eyes, and boyish charm.

“Good morning!” John greeted cheerfully. His smile and good mannerisms were infectious, and already had Red and Mother following suit.

Mother went to go prepare lunch for them, which John tried to politely decline but lost that battle in seconds. So, he walks over to Red. He smiles at her, putting out his hand for her to take; however, Red only looked at his outstretched limb before standing up on her own and walking out the back door. John blinked dumbly, but awoke with an exasperated shake of his head; he would be lying if he said he didn’t like that part of Red, the Red who kept him on his toes. His smile returns and follows Red out into the meadow.

Every few days or so, John would come by to teach Red how to write. His mother was a lady of a high-class family, and because of that he had been taught to read and write. Red on the other hand could read just fine, but when it came to writing it didn’t click as fast as reading did for her. John had seen the wanting in her crystal blue irises, to be able write the same words she read. Since that moment, he decided to be the one to teach her.

“What would you like to learn today, Scarlet?” He asked as he looks for sticks for their next lesson.

Scarlet, is the nickname John had reserved solely for her. Whether he bases it on the irony of her name or on the red hood she wore, neither could tell you. Sometimes he called her “Rose,” and just for laughs, she called him “Farm boy” or simply “Johnny.” Either way, the two were friends who enjoyed the other.

Red thinks for a moment but simply shrugged.

“Anything you haven’t taught me, I guess.” She replies.

John thought about it, and found a stick to write with, “Can you answer this?” He questions.

Red stares at the words that stared back.

‘How did you get those scars?’

Red saw this was coming, it was John after all, but the words still stole the air from her lungs. John saw this and sighed. She wasn’t ready to speak of it, and he could understand that. He wasn’t an idiot; he was 15, only a few months older than Red. After moments of silence, Red brought herself to look at him. He patiently waited for her response; blue and green hues mixed as they gazed at the other, assessing who needed to make the next move. In that instant, Red’s eye saw gauze showing itself from John’s stretched out collar of his dirty beige top. Forgetting about herself, she lifted his shirt.

“What are you doing?” The teenage boy yelped, out of pure shock at the bold move Red had made. He didn’t expect the girl to be so daring, but this is Red and she always did surprise him. He looks up, hoping she couldn’t see the way his tanned skin flushed in embarrassment.

Red paid John no mind as she saw the gauze was bigger than she imagined. The white square took up the entire right side of his chest. Red felt a sharp tug on her heart and rests her palm over the scar on her best friend. She felt John flinch but didn’t move completely away, so she moves closer. Her forehead falls to his shoulder and her eyes roam over the rest of his body. Many other cracks and bruises littered his caramel skin, each one placed in a spot that wouldn’t be seen, and that only made the pain worse.

With a quivering breath, Red spoke, “I’ll tell you, but only if you tell me how you got yours. And I want the truth this time.”

John stiffens at her words. He didn’t want to lie to Red, he also didn’t want her to worry or feel as if anything was her fault, he knew her well enough to know that it's exactly how she's going to perceive it if he told. Yet, a part of him already knew that she knew and is simply waiting for him to be honest.

“My father.” Came John’s equally wavering voice.

Red buried her face into his neck, after having her suspicions confirmed she feared for him. She didn’t know how else to reply so she lamely asked, “Is it because of me?”

John stayed quiet, separated from Red and allowed his shirt to fix itself. He grabbed his friend by her shoulders, looking deeply into her cyan orbs with such a serious expression that Red became a little nervous to what he would do next.

“Red, you did nothing wrong. My father is an ignorant drunk, with no right to stop me from seeing you.” His words sounded cold, but at the same time warmed Red’s heart like a flame. She nods, accepting his words as the truth.

Another beat of silence passed, and then Red turned her body to face the river instead of John.

“Those boys ambushed me. Right in this very spot.” She spoke, as she stared at the water. It felt as if she could see what exactly took place. Her reflection pulled by its brown locks, being beaten like a mere ragdoll into lifelessness. She saw blood, how helpless she looked that day, and how twisted were the smiles of those who caused her pain. All of this repeated in the flowing river and she repeated it to John.

“They yanked my hair and threw me down, pelted me with rocks and bark until I bled,” Red kept staring back at her reflection, her body being tattered and abused, “and, they didn’t stop. When they ran out of things to throw, they began kicking and beating me. It hurt, John. It hurt so bad.” Red started shaking, the images flashing through her mind at an alarming speed. She felt trapped in her own mind, with no way of escape.

Until she felt the grounding touch of arms wrapping around her waist. It didn’t surprise Red that it was John. His face buried nose-deep in her light brown hair as he pulls her away from the river until her back is flush with his chest. They stay like this for a while until Red steadies her breathing and melts into the frame of her best friend.

He coos in her ear, saying comforting words until he is sure that Red calmed down.

“You're safe Red. They won’t hurt you anymore, I promise.”

Red nods, she stares at her bare feet but indulges in John’s sweet embrace. If they stayed like that for a millennium, neither would have noticed, and even if they did, neither would care.

Finally, the silence was broken and John was the first to break away from the hug as he heard Red’s mother call out to them for lunch.

The youths went inside and sat beside each other at the cherry wood table. The woman served them a bowl of tomato soup and a freshly baked roll. The two friends ate and talked about fun, but complete nonsense. It was until Red’s mother left the room, when John turns to the girl and relays a message in her ear.

“After lunch, we’ll get back at those who hurt you. You in?”

Red could only smirk with a mouthful of bread and nod. As soon as they were done eating, Red grabbed her hood. They bid good day to her mother while running out the small house and down to the village.

John led the way to his house with Red on his heels. John’s father was a farmer; a good one too, when somber. They were the only ones, besides Red and Mother, who lived on the outskirts. After a mild jog along the edge of town, and a sprint here and there when the two decided to race, they reached the barn house that was just behind John’s home.

When they approached, all the animals raised their heads to greet the girl in red. John’s animals were nice and didn’t even complain when the time came for slaughter.

It’s the circle of life, they say, and because of that she sometimes couldn't bring herself to eat the meat she bought from the market; knowing that each one was a former friend.

“Are you enjoying your conversation?” John asked teasingly. John, like the rest, knew of Red’s abilities, but unlike the rest, he believed.

“Yes, actually,” Red teased back, “but why are we here?” She questioned, stroking a mare's snout. John smirked and headed over to the mud pit where the pigs wallowed.

John left Red in the dark, but both filled two buckets of mud and collected a sack of stray feathers. After doing that, the lightbulb in her head flickered to life as she connected the dots. John saw this and his smile grew wider as both of them walked back to the village with the pails hitched on to the back of the mare.

By the time they reached town, John and Red managed to climb on to the roof of a nearby house. They waited with the buckets of mud and sack of feathers, until the other village boys walked into their usual alley.

Finally, they appeared. Each still congratulating each other on their victory against the bloody witch. Red cringed, and John felt his blood boil. His expression turned cold and unforgiving; this, however, went unnoticed by Red. He motioned for Red to grab the buckets, never turning to face her as they poured the gallons of mud on top of the boys below. The boys panicked and looked up, trying to see the horrid perpetrator of this crime but only met with clumps of feathers blocking their vision and sticking to their dirty skin. Screaming profanities, the boys ran home.

The partners in crime howled with laughter and gathered their things, giggling about the look on their enemies faces.

Later, it was around the time Red had to go home, she bid John a goodbye and hugs her friend. He hugs back, promising to visit again.

"Thank you, Johnny." She whispered, loosening her grip around the boy.

The boy squeezed her tighter, "Anytime."

They separated and Red walked home. When she arrived, she greeted her mother. The woman, however, did not look pleased.

"Where were you, Red?" The woman inquired.

Red was confused. Why is she in a bad mood?

"With John... Is something wrong?" She asked.

Mother scoffed, "You tell me! Why are people complaining that my child casted a spell to drench their boys in mud and feathers? I had to lie, saying that you were at home preparing supper!" She yelled.

Red said nothing, if she did it would only make it worse.

The woman glared, being irritated by silence. In spite, she reached over and dragged Red by her collar to the center of the room. She didn’t speak as Red flinched at the way Mother handled her. She moved, only to come back with an old riding crop. Red's face paled as she saw the tool she seen only a few times in her life, enough times to know she never wanted to see it again. Unsteadily, Red held out her hands. Closing her eyes, she waited for the harshness of the crop.

Then it came, blow after blow. Red didn't hear Mother tell her to start counting after the first few times and only received extra as disobedience.

"Un." Red received one hit to the wrist. (One)

"Deux." Her voice barely audible. (Two)

"Trois." The crop came down harshly on her right hand. (Three)

"Quatre." The crop cracked over her left. (Four)

"Cinq." Her hands, blazing red to the point they nearly drew blood. (Five)

"Six." Red wanted to cry.

"Sept." Blood was shed. (Seven)

"Huit." She whimpered. (Eight)

"Neuf." Her hands went numb. (Nine)

"Dix!" The last, meant to be more painful than the rest, left its sting as a reminder for the next time if she acted out again. (Ten!)

After punishment was given out, Red retreated to the bedroom since punishment also came without dinner. She felt limp after treating her hands and went to bed early. Her stomach growls, but she ignores it. 

In the middle of the night, Mother came into the room and climbs in with her back faced to her daughter's. Red stays silent and listens to Mother's quiet breath and unbeknownst to her, she did the same. However, the woman finally spoke.

"I sent a letter to Grandmother weeks ago, asking if she would keep you."

Red stilled. Was she sending her away? Is she that much of a burden?

"Her reply came today. You're going."

Red couldn't believe her ears. She couldn't believe her mother. All these years, Red had one home; yet Mother is casting her out at a drop of a hat, giving no room to argue.

Red felt her mouth become dry as she gave her response, "Yes, Mother."