my what big eyes you have -- f seeks m for something grimm

[Nerdess]

There is nothing quite so like the protection of those who love you.

It was said that it had been woven by her grandmother's grandmother, and that though it had been painstakingly taken from freshly shorn lambs on their first wool, it was the stitching of thorns that had caused the cloak to bleed red.  Pain and primacy and protection for one's daughter and their daughter and their daughter, with the whispered spell of warmth and shrouding taking hold with each needle knit.  Always it would keep one dry against the rain.  Always it would keep one warm against the cold.  Always it could keep one hidden from the eyes that pry.  Cloak and hood and clasp all, it should have been bare of thread and tangled skein after but one trip through the dark of the wood, and yet for generations it allowed a skip of safety in one's step.  Even when daughters grew distant down that road, and time by the fire became a yearly occurrence rather than nightly ritual, it guided them through the dark with but a small warming of a gold clasp about the throat.  It was rumored, whispered, that the magic that had seeped into the crimson hood was in fact the magic of the woman who had knitted it, or the magic of the family she had begotten, or the magic of their ties to one another from one to the next.   That it was magic was the one thing never in denial.  A quiet sort of magic.  A magic of protection and of promise.  The kind of magic that was coveted precisely for how in its woolen embrace even a wolf might well have been a sheep to those who beheld it, and for the lambs who warmed themselves in its touch would never need know the fear of the world's hunger for good mutton.

She was as golden as it was crimson, but there was a touch of blue as word came; that grandmother to mother to daughter, once a daughter and now her own grandmother, He was knocking upon her door.  And before the winter was through, she would cross his river, and only mother and daughter would remain in the embrace of the worldly sun.  With the unfortunate knowledge of such grave illness soon to shrink the world she knew, naive fingers affixed the clasp and warm hands bundled the bread.  She would not allow her grandmother, who had given her such love, and such wisdom despite her few years to grow it, to cross the river alone with His hand in hers.  She would see her off, just as soon as she had seen herself off through the wood, to know that she left the love and magic behind as hale and hearty as it had been from each generation.

It was simply over the river.  It was simply through the woods.

i'm a basic bitch.  i want to play little red versus the big bad wolf.  and make her a basic bitch too.
seduction.  coercion.  she's protected; convince her not to be.  you too have magic, after all.
the ancient magic of wood and of fang.  of moon and snarl.  you are not and never have been man,
that vile creature that invades the forest, pours smoke into the air, hunts the beast.  four legs good,
two legs bad.  maybe you have illusions, but you have sharp teeth and sharper eyes and hungers
so
   very
  deep

this post brought to you by stupid horny nighttime thoughts and once again wanting to play a pretty blonde thing getting railed by something big and bad and inhuman.  i am a type.

[Captain Whitebread]

You’d better sharpen your pedantry pencil if you think to find things to correct, unless I put them there.

I love your description of the cloak and the family. I’m wondering if I can give you the wolf you want. I usually play the good guys. Perhaps this is a chance to let the bad guys come out to play.

[Nerdess]

talk about getting some fairy tail

[Captain Whitebread]

I didn't recognize the post... 

Mine, not yours.

I'm still game if you are.  My posting frequency has slowed somewhat and my number of threads has dropped so I can focus more on those that are left.