Chapter Text
If you asked me what my favorite color is I’d say red. If you asked me what my favorite animal was I’d tell you wolves. If you asked what my name was I’d answer, Red. Then if you asked me if I was serious, I’d say, go fuck yourself.
I said the last bit a lot.
I don’t hate my name, my real one that is. In fact it’s Clementine Evergreen. It’s not as bad as some other names I’ve heard of, Dickie, for instance, is not something I’d like to hear on a daily basis. It’s just that I like Red better.
It was given to me by a girl, one who, in all due respect, was a bitch. My vocabulary wasn’t so extensive at ten winters old, so I simply called her unpleasant.
It was a week before the blood moon. I remember because that was also a week before my father died.
I had been picking apples, being the youngest and nimblest of my two brothers this was often a job left to me, and of course belle wouldn’t be caught dead in a tree, which is rather ironic, but this is a painful subject I’ll discuss later. Anyhow, I was picking apples when movement on the ground caught my eye. My cloak was walking away. At first I just stared, my beautiful, white cloak grandma had made for me, was floating away. Then I wanted to thump myself on the head, because of course it wasn’t walking away, someone was stealing it. “Hey!” I called out, wobbling a bit on the branch, “Thief, you- you come back here.”
“By who’s orders?” My cloak had stopped moving, but the person had the hood up and their back turned so I couldn’t see who it was.
“By mine of course.”
“And who are you?”
The question caught me by surprise. I’d never thought to ask myself this. Who was I? The question required more thought than I was willing to offer at the moment. “What does it matter? It’s my cloak,” I said, a touch bit aggravated.
The person turned, and I fell out of the tree.
I lay on my back, it felt like both my brothers were sitting on my chest. I heard footstep, and I suppose she was staring down at me. It was a she, I knew that now, if angles had genders that is.
“Are you hurt very much?”
I shook my head no.
“Yes you are.”
Annoyance enticed my eyes to open, I stared up at her face. It was heart shaped, small and perfect. Gold curls framed it, and she was looking down at me with big, blue eyes. It was the eyes, I decided, that were unnatural. Father had told me eyes were the windows to the soul, but hers were like steel doors with double locks, deep, tantalizing, dangerous.
Then what she said sunk in. “No, I’m not.” I wasn’t sure what we we’re talking about, but that was my answer to everything in those days.
“Of course you are, you don’t have a name.”
It suddenly occurred to me that she hadn’t asked who I was, but what my name was. Realizing what a stupid douchebag you are doesn’t help when your lungs are on fire.
“I’ll call you red.”
“Red?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I like the color.”
“Charmed,” I sat up; the pain wasn’t so eminent now. “But I don’t need some kid giving me names.”
“I’m not a kid,” she pouted, it was adorable, “I’m seven and a half.”
“Well that makes me three and a half years older than you, so that means I’m the boss.”
“No you’re not.”
“Yes I am.”
She stared at me, with those eyes, “No you’re not. The king is.”
“Well duh, but he’s not here.”
She pushed at a clump of grass with her slippered shoe, “I’m going to be Queen one day.”
I snorted, “The king's like a bazillion years old.”
“I’m not going to marry him! I’m going to have a kingdom of my own.”
“Sure.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“No.”
“You’re just like everyone else here.”
For some reason that rubbed me the wrong way, I pushed her. It wasn’t hard, but she still fell back. She sat on the ground, staring at me; it looked like she was going to cry. I immediately felt bad, until she lunged for a stick and wacked my leg with it. I hopped out of the way, grimacing and screaming at her, “What do you think you’re doing!? I-“ a hand was pressed against my mouth. I thought about biting her, but she might have had rabies. I pried her hand away, “You-“
“Shhh.” She clamped her hand down on my mouth again. I being the mature older person, decided to humor her. Also she smelled like strawberries. “Look,” she pointed towards a few bushes. When I didn’t say anything she turned to look at me.
She caught me staring.
I blushed and moved away from her, she let me. There was a little bleating sound, it came from the bushes. She picked up the stick, which I realized was a shepherd’s crook, and went towards it. She soon emerged with a small white kid. He bleated pathetically. She came towards me, grabbed him by the waist and dumped him in my lap. I stared at the little creature; he was barely a week old. Then something occurred to me, “Your Howard Peep’s daughter.”
She nodded, gently stroking the sheep’s head. “My names Chalice, but Daddy calls me bow, see,” she pushed back the hood; her hair was tied up in a big, pink bow.
“Little Bo-Peep?”
She nodded again.
“My name's-“
“I already know your name silly.”
“But Red's not my name.”
“But I like it on you.”
I looked at her strangely. “Fine,” I said, “Whatever.”
“What does whatever mean?”
I shrugged, “I dunno.”
“Oh.”
She gently ruffled the sheep’s hair- wool, fur? Whatever covers sheeps. She picked up her crook and got up. I was surprised to see I didn’t want her to go. “Wait,” the word came unbidden from my lips. She looked back at me, head crocked to the side. “I- I,” I what? “Do you want an apple?” I didn’t wait for her to answer; instead I reached down and picked up a red sphere. I threw it towards her. She dropped her crook and caught it. The little lamb bleated, butting her leg. She took a small bite and smiled.