Little Red Riding hood

🧣 The Real Little Red Riding Hood

“She Who Walks Between Worlds”
A Story of the Crimson Cloak, the Shadow Guide, and the Wisdom of the Forest
Written for Sister Loves Divine Remembrance
Book Six of the Sacred Fairy Tale Series

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🌲 Before the Wolf was a Villain, He Was a Guide

She was not “little.”
She was young in the flesh, but old in soul.

Her name was Rowenna, and she was born under the Red Moon.
The cloak she wore was not a gift from her grandmother—
it was a mantle of passage, sewn by crone priestesses to mark her first blood,
her initiation into womanhood and wild sight.

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🧣 The Red Cloak Was Not to Warn—It Was to Awaken

It carried the frequency of life and death, of earth and womb.
It said to the forest,

“I walk with the ancestors. I claim my path.”

She wasn’t lost.
She was following the Path of the Bone Trees,
a trail known only to those becoming Witch or Seer.

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🐺 The Wolf Was Never a Monster

He was a Guardian of the Deep Wood,
a shape-shifter bound by oath to test those who crossed into the old ways.

“Why do you come, girl?” he growled, eyes like twilight storms.

“To remember what they erased,” she answered.

He bared his teeth—not in threat,
but to mirror her fear back to her.

“Then face me,” he said. “Eat the dark. Speak the name. Cross the root.”

And so she did.

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🕯️ The Grandmother Was Not a Victim

She was waiting.
A crone of the bloodline, keeper of the hearth and herb-lore.

She had called Rowenna to her not for cake,
but for the transmission of power.

The moment Rowenna entered the cottage,
she saw the Wolf sitting beside the grandmother.

Not as predator.
But as initiator and witness.

They both looked at her.
And the grandmother said:

“The cloak was only step one.
Now remove it, child, and step into your power.”

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🌕 The Ending They Erased

There was no violence.
No woodcutter.
No scream.

There was only the crimson spiral painted on her palms,
and the kiss of ash and starlight across her brow.

Rowenna did not leave the forest.
She became the forest.

And every child who wandered the wild thereafter
found a red thread tied to a branch…
and a whisper in the wind saying:

“Follow if you’re ready to see yourself.”

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🩸 Moral of the Sacred Tale:

The forest is not here to harm you.
The shadow is not the enemy.
And your blood is not shameful—it is the ink of remembrance.

Little Red Riding Hood was never little.
She was a flame in the woods,
and the Wolf was her mirror.