Page 45 of Little Red Riding Hood (The GriMM Tales #1)
He’d lived with the Queen for twenty-four winters, thinking he had no family in the world.
Every night, he’d curled up in the attic, sleeping above his own flesh and blood.
The same woman who’d sneered at his different-coloured eyes, who’d made him feel worthless for something he’d inherited from her own sister.
Queen Schon had known. She’d known every time she’d cast those icy glares his way. Known every time she’d compared him unfavourably to Makellos—his cousin. Known when she’d handed him that golden arrow and sent him to murder his own mother.
Wim’s hand swept across his back in slow, steady strokes. The touch anchored Red to the present, kept him from drowning in the tide of betrayal threatening to pull him under.
“Why did you do it?” Red’s voice betrayed him by breaking. “Why did you leave me on the palace steps? ”
Old Oma’s laugh pierced the air, sharp and brittle.
“Leave you? Oh, my darling boy.” She shook her head, wisps of grey hair dancing like smoke.
“You were stolen from me before I could even give you a name. The Queen’s Shadow appeared to collect you—quite apologetic about the whole thing.
Said he couldn’t disobey a direct order.
He’d been told to return with the babe before sunrise, and return with the babe he would.
” Her tone softened. “But he lingered there, looking at me with expectant eyes. He gave me time to work out how to protect you from the dark magic Schon wields.”
His mother hadn’t left him. Hadn’t abandoned him on the cool palace steps, to be picked at by vultures, should they please.
He’d been wanted, after all.
A tear slid down Red’s face, and his chest tightened as Old Oma moved forward, crouching before him. Her weathered hands cupped his face, and he fought the urge to pull away. The touch felt foreign, wrong—yet somehow familiar, like a half-remembered dream.
“You were born with your father’s beautiful blue eyes.” Her thumb traced his eyebrow, her touch feather-light. “Those eyes made me fall in love with him the day I met him, chopping wood just by my cottage.”
Red’s breath caught. His father—where was he?
But Old Oma’s fingers trailed down to brush against his red cloak, then she said quietly, “I had to give you three things for the spell to work. I chose an eye…” Her finger traced beneath his brown eye. “This cloak…” She tugged gently at the worn fabric. “And my heart.”
Something cracked inside Red’s chest. His hand flew to his chest, where his own heart thundered against his ribs. Three sacrifices. Three pieces of herself, given to protect him from the Queen’s magic.
He peeled his throat open to croak, “You have no heart?” while glancing at Wim, who kept his face impassive .
Old Oma’s fingers wrapped around Red’s wrist, yanking his hand forward to press against her chest. Red waited for the familiar thud of a heartbeat, the rhythm that marked life itself.
Nothing.
His palm met only stillness beneath her skin. No flutter, no pulse, not even the faintest tremor of life.
“How are you still alive?” The words scraped past his lips in a horrified whisper.
A bone-chilling howl split the air, closer than comfort would allow. Red’s spine stiffened at the sound—different from Wim’s howls, darker somehow, as if it carried death within its notes.
“He’s coming!” Oma’s eyes widened with terror. “He’s smelt you!”
Red’s head spun with confusion. “Who?”
But Wim’s growl held recognition. “Your soulstealing beast.” His lips curled back from his teeth. “That’s how you’re still alive.” In one fluid motion, he yanked up his sleeve, revealing his ugly scar that pulsed with an unnatural purple light. “Caught me mid-shift.”
Oma’s fingers traced the air above the mark, her face twisting with understanding. “You’re a wildling.”
“A healer told me that to cure myself, I had to come here and claim your heart.” Wim’s voice held a note of desperation that made Red’s chest ache.
His mother reached for Red, but he jerked away, disgust churning in his gut. “You’re stealing people’s souls? Killing innocent travellers?”
“You don’t understand—”
“What’s there to understand ?” Red spat out. “You’re using some beast to murder people so you can live without a heart!”
Wim’s hand settled on Red’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off. The cottage walls seemed to press closer, that sweet-rot smell growing stronger until he could taste it on his tongue.
Old Oma’s eyes filled with tears, and for a moment, she looked almost childlike. “But I must live! I must find a way to free myself from this place and finally destroy her !” Oma screamed the last word, balling her bony fists.
Red blinked, his rage momentarily derailed by confusion. “What do you mean, ‘free?’”
“Your dear aunt”—Oma spat the word like poison—“bound me to the Dark Forest with blood magic. I cannot leave its borders.” She gestured at the cottage windows, where twisted branches pressed against the glass. “She meant it as a death sentence, but I found… other ways to survive.”
“By feeding innocent people to your pet monster?”
“By doing what I must!” Oma’s voice rang through the cottage.
“And if I never find a way to escape… Well, when Schon finally dies, her magic will die with her. The binding will break, and I can leave. Do you know how many winters I’ve been locked in this cursed place?
” Her shoulders slumped. “I never wanted this. But what choice did she leave me?”
Red’s hands clenched into fists.
“There’s always a choice,” Red snarled. “You chose to become a murderer.”
Old Oma flinched as if he’d struck her. “You can’t imagine what it’s been like, being trapped here, year after year, watching my sister bring the kingdom to its knees. The power she has…”
“I know,” said Red. “I’ve seen it. Where did she get it from?”
“The dark sorcerer Ulrich took us in when we were orphaned at five.” Oma’s voice trembled.
“He raised us to serve him, turned us against each other—our own flesh and blood. His methods…” She drew a shaky breath, eyes haunted by memories.
“They were more brutal than you could possibly imagine. He manipulated us into despising each other. Before we knew it, we’d fallen straight into his trap, hurling words and spells at each other, each more deadly than the last. When Schon declared her intentions to take the throne by force, there was nothing I could do.
Though we were both taught by Ulrich, Schon was always more…
ambitious with what she learned. But she wasn’t content with just imprisoning me here,” Oma spat.
“She had to destroy every sliver of happiness I somehow managed to build for myself. First, it was my lover—your father. Then, I watched her servant whisk my baby boy away.”
“My father.” The words felt strange on Red’s tongue. “What happened to him?”
“He fell victim to her dark magic, like so many others,” Oma said, her voice hollow. “The same magic that has kept Schon looking young and beautiful while she’s ruled for over two hundred winters.”
Red stared at her, struggling to process this information. “But that would make you—”
“Ancient?” Oma laughed bitterly, gesturing at her withered form. “Yes. I haven’t always looked like this. My birds tell me your dear aunt uses her powers to maintain her youth and beauty, but I’ve had to focus my magic elsewhere as of late. Time has taken its toll on my appearance, but I endure.”
Another howl pierced the air, closer this time—so close the sound vibrated through Red’s bones. A deep, guttural growl followed, raising every hair on his body.
Old Oma’s face drained of colour. She stumbled backwards, hands trembling as she pressed them against her chest where her heart should have been.
Wim moved like lightning, positioning himself between Red and the cottage door. His shoulders bunched, muscles tensing as if preparing to shift.
The door exploded inward with a thunderous crack.
Splinters flew through the air as an enormous black hound prowled into the cottage.
Its fur absorbed the firelight like a void, creating an outline of pure darkness.
Yellowed fangs gleamed from a mouth that hung open, strings of black saliva dripping onto the floor where they sizzled and burned the wood.
The creature’s eyes blazed with an unholy purple fire—the same shade as the mark on Wim’s arm .
The stench of decay rolled off the beast in waves, filling the cottage with the smell of open graves and rotting flesh. Red gagged, pressing his sleeve against his nose.
Old Oma’s voice quavered. “Here he is.” She gestured towards the monstrous creature. “Your father.”