Before we start let's get one thing straight stranger. I was not a helpless child, I was not swallowed by a wolf dressed as a grandmother, I mean hello it's obvious it's not some sweet old lady when it's got fangs. My name is not Little Red Riding Hood. It's Red Riding, those Grimm brothers didn't even get my name right, and I'm sixteen by the way not ten or whatever sweet innocent age they casted me as. Actually there are only four things right about that story.

Yes I do have a red cape with a hood.

There was a wolf.

There was an old lady.

There was some moron with an big axe there at the time. (where he found that rusty piece of junk I don't know)

The rest is completely, utterly false. The worse thing is, the wolf was not always a wolf. That is what makes this story so real ladies and gentlemen. This story has love, lust, hate, betrayal, blood, death and revenge. It isn't as easy or as simple as the fairytale. When events are so horrifying unbelievable, history is rewritten into something less horrible, more believable. That is how a fairytale is made. My story is perhaps the most dreadful of them all.

Are you ready for it?