Naivety in a Red Cloak

I thought I knew it all:

that Roses are red,

giants are tall,

and as my granny always said:

beware of the villain hiding in the night

trust in the hero shining in the light.

Venturing out into the world,

donning my scarlet cloak,

the moonlight glinting off hair tightly curled

as it streamed behind,

bouncing, bouncing, bouncing

as my wings took flight.

I shouldn't have trusted him,

that hero in the moonlight.

But how could I have seen the monster

hiding in the man?

How could I have known the man

hidden within the wolf?

How do I tell Gran 

that I'm marrying a werewolf?