This is NOT the Red Riding Hood you know...



Once upon a time, the woods belonged to the wolves.
Now they belong to her.
Little Red no longer carries a basket. She wears the night itself as a cloak and the crimson of blood as her banner. The beasts that once hunted her now kneel at her feet, their eyes burning with the same fire she poured into their veins.
One raised hand, and the pack howls as one.
One whispered word, and the forest itself bends.
She is no longer the girl who was warned about the path.
She is the reason the path is feared.