Red Riding Hood, go and kill the big bad wolf.

The midsummer forest was lush. Sunlight pouring through the leaves scattered like coins on the mossy ground, and a bird sang somewhere. Red Riding Hood walked along the familiar path. Inside the basket, the galette and pot of butter provided by their mother, and the small secret hidden beneath them, rattled together.

As the forest deepened, the trees grew closer and the light faded. The air became damp and heavy.

Just then, there was a rustling sound in the bushes ahead. The sound was too loud for a small animal, and the movement was too distinct to be caused by the wind.

The bushes shook, and a gray shape glimmered between them.