You see, the hood was red for a reason. 

The wolves had every reason to fear her. She was merciless,

no charm and no amount of begging would suffice. 

She carried other things in that basket of hers.

Each time she went into the woods, the leaves would stop whispering,

the branches would hold their breath and the wolves would hide.

She'd hum a tune so chilling, and her eyes lethal to the skies.

The wolves would plan against her, to rid her of the forest.

To reclaim what once was theirs. But every attempt was a failure.

Red. Red. Red. She'd paint the forest red. And the ground would cry.

For Little Red Riding Hood was a killer in disguise.