F.R.E.D.

Red's take on Goldilocks

I wrote a promt for copilate and asked to expand:


“Red and the Ruin”

Red Riding Hood didn’t knock.

She never did.

The cottage door creaked open under her clawed hand, hinges groaning like old bones. Inside, the air was thick with steam and the scent of meat—sweet, fatty, unmistakably ursine.

Three bowls sat on the table. Red sniffed each one with a predator’s precision.

The first was too cold. The second was too bland. The third was piping hot, flecked with glistening chunks. She slurped it down, tongue blistering, eyes gleaming.

“Little bear, little bear,” she cooed, licking the greasy rim, “you should have let me in…”

She turned, her red cloak fluttering like a bloodstained banner. Her grin was all teeth now—wolfy, wide, and wild.

Then she froze.

A scent.

Not bear.

Not wolf.

Goldilocks.

Red’s pupils dilated. She sniffed again, nostrils flaring. “Oh, Goldilocks,” she whispered, voice syrupy with anticipation, “are you in for a treat.”

Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.

Red bounded toward the sound, cloak trailing like smoke. She didn’t knock. She never did.
Actual promt I wrote for copilate
Red Riding hood grabbed the porridge that was too hot and ate, burning her tongue without flinching. The sweet, steamy meat chunks in the porridge were wonderfully greasy like bear meat tends to be. "Little bear, little bear, you should have let me in..."Red had a wolfy grin that wouldn't end. Suddenly, Red sniffed and went wild-eyed, "Oh, Goldilocks, are you in for a treat!"