Fairy
lights glittered from where they were half hidden in the foliage, creating a
warm glow in the dusk. The honeysuckle scent of the air floated through on a
cooling breeze, playing with tendrils of hair and lifting the lace tablecloths
at the edges. People swarmed around the edges of the garden, mosquito buzzing
with light-hearted conversation. Everybody was dressed in elegance; tuxedos
with pocket squares and fine silks of dresses, like butterfly wings wrapped
around bodies. Sweets lingered on tongues, coating breath, and red liquid
flowed freely from crystal fountains. An orchestra played soft music, the
lilting notes vibrating over the party, creating a relaxing ambiance as
background noise for the partygoers.
A woman
stepped forward, her skirts circling and settling. Pulling her shawl closer
around narrow shoulders, she adjusted the microphone set centred in the middle
of the festivities and leaned into it. At this motion, a young girl’s eyes
widened and the sharp smell of fear mingled with the flowery atmosphere. She noticed
herself sweating through the thin fabric of her white dress and adjusted a hand
to pick at the embroidered roses sewn onto the skirt. The tulle underneath
crackled uncomfortably against her bare legs as she shifted from foot to foot.
At the
microphone, the woman cleared her throat. With this sound, the girl flinched,
her heart pounding.
Her
terror was palpable; several of the guests cast blank faces towards her in
interest as tensions increased.
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“On this
day, we are blessed.”
The
woman’s strong voice carried over the sounds of the music playing and the party
quietened, allowing her to be heard.
“On this
day, we are blessed.” The crowd echoed in unison, causing the girl to shiver.
It was
about to begin.
—
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Earlier
that day, the girl lay curled on a stone floor, limbs stiff and unused. A rat
scurried past, inches away from her face but she did not move. A clanging noise
rang out through the cell as someone turned a key and the metal gate fencing
her into the corner was removed.
“It is
time.”
At this,
the girl finally lifted her head. Her eyes, previously cold and resigned, now
filled with panic.
Lifting
her by the shackles chained to her wrists, the guard hefted her to her feet,
half dragging her on numb legs.
Emerging
from the dark room, the girl screwed her face up in response to the new colours
and light. As her eyes adjusted, she took in the intricate wall carvings, lit
up by chandeliers embedded into ceilings so high they made her head spin.
Whilst they led her through the hallway, dread settled in- an uncomfortable
nausea coupled with the lack of food which caused her to sway on the spot. The
guard noticed and tugged harshly at the restraints.
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As the
pair entered another spectacular room, the guard unlocked the cuffs, allowing
the girl a modicum of freedom. It was not well received. With her now
unrestricted hands, the girl moved to attack but her chill stiffened arms were
not quick enough for the guard, who responded by slapping her face without
emotion.
“You will
behave.”
Resigned
to her fate, the girl sat on the pulled-out stool in the centre of the room and
awaited what would become of her. Almost instantly, several women appeared from
the doorway and settled themselves around the girl. She let her façade drop and
a low keening noise emitted from her throat as tears formed in the corners of
her eyes. One woman tilted her face towards her, using a delicate hand to
gently, carefully wipe the tears away with a tissue.
“Don’t
cry pet. It will all be over soon.”
Her voice
caused ice to drip down the girl’s spine, leeching any warmth the room
provided.
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They held
a glass of water out to her which she took, composing herself. After sipping
it, she lifted her chin to stare defiantly at the wall ahead, focusing on the
beautiful artwork there. The women set to work, skilfully applying makeup to
hide the damage that two weeks in the jail cell had caused.
As one of
them painted rose coloured eyeshadow onto her eyelids, she broke her silence.
“What
will become of me?”
To her credit,
her voice did not falter despite the fear she felt.
The women
continued their work without hesitation. Only one responded at all, biting her
lip but not ceasing in applying strands of glitter to the flower crown she was
weaving with nimble fingers.
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Another
of the servants crossed the carpeted floor to a huge wardrobe in the corner,
removing from it a dress of white silk. It was undoubtably stunning- off the
shoulders with layers of pale pink peeking through the white making up the
skirt and covered with sparkling hand embroidered flowers- but the knowledge of
what it symbolised filled the young girl with dread. As they laced her into the
bodice, she snaked a hand towards a pair of sharp nail scissors left
unattended. The tiny scraping noise they made as they lifted off the table top
seemed to resonate through the room. The woman who had bitten her lip when
questioned quietly lay a hand over the girls and removed the weapon deftly.
“It is
not worth it.” She whispered. “It would never work.”
The other
women pretended not to notice and busied themselves putting the final touches
into the girl’s appearance. The last step completed as the flower
crown was placed upon her dark hair.
The party
was already in full swing when she exited through the glass patio doors.
Outwardly, she kept her head held high. Inwardly, her mind screamed for help.
The
festivities continued throughout the night. She went ignored, attracting little
attention.
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Only
one person paid her any notice. A woman, elegant in her black shawl,
approached. A long-nailed hand cupped the girl’s chin, tilting her face this
way and that.
The girl
responded only with a dead stare.
“Now,
now. You know I can’t see that evil look.”
The woman
tipped her head to the side. The fairy lights caught her, illuminating the
hollowed cheeks, and lack of any features upon her pale face. Aside from that
mouth.
Black
lips framed a wide hole of saliva dripping fangs. A split tongue emerged and
disappeared back into the black hole in her face almost instantly as she licked
her lips in eagerness of what the evening was to hold.
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The woman
leaned in, flicking her tongue out again to touch the girl’s cheek.
A throat
clearing interrupted the woman. She turned to where the noise had emitted from,
where another woman stood at the microphone.
“On this
day, we are blessed.” came the voices, laced with anticipation.
The girl
shut her eyes. Better to not see what was coming.
Eddie House is a 22 year old genderqueer manic pixie daydream. In their free time, they love to write, especially poetry and short stories. Their aim is for other queer young people to read their work and be inspired. You can find more of their work at http://eddielhouse.tumblr.com, or in Anatolios Magazine
So here is our last installment of our AI journey exploring the idea of Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad wolf being one and the same. All of these are based upon the AI generated art and prompts using NightCafe and then created as posters in Canva. Feel free to check out Part 1 and Part 2 of this exploration if you missed them.
A non sequitur I know, but I couldn’t resist. If you picked up where we left off you’ll get it.
Seriously?! Again with the cropped off head cop out…
Finally! That was a journey. And not even worth the result, in my opinion.
Anyway, here is a bonus montage I made out of a bunch of additional Red Riding Hood prompts for an article that never happened…
Prompts for Montage:
1.) What if Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf were one and the same being? 2.) Her wolf face peering out of her red cloak, fangs dripping with the blood of another victim, lost in the forest and never found. 3.) Little Red Riding Hood closes in for the kill, lunging from her red cloak, her wolf fangs dripping with blood. 4.) I am Little Red Riding Hood. I am the Big Bad Wolf. I am coming for you. 5.) Howling within, the rage sears forth from the red cloak, discarded in the deep woods. Red Riding Hood succumbs to the lycanthropy. 6.) Heaving breaths. Dripping blood. Red Riding Hood is not what she appears. She is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. 7.) Her red cloak masks the fangs hidden below the surface. 8.) It starts with a long sighing breath. Waiting. The wolf within stirs. 9.) Red Riding Hood trembles. She succumbs to the lycanthropy. 10.) The wolf bursts forth from within. It takes over Little Red Riding Hood’s mind, her body, her being. 11.) Red Riding Hood howls. She is ravenous with hunger for blood. The wolf within has taken over. Mind, spirit, body. She feasts on the blood of the moon. 12.) Big Bad Wolf Red Riding Hood ravenous blood moon feast 13.) Blood moon beckons. I. Little Red Big Bad Riding Hood Wolf. Freedom howling night curse. 14.) Beware. Bewolf. BeRedRidingHood. Betwixt. Beyond. 15.) I pad quietly as the forest dissolves around me. Red Riding Hood and Wolf, one and the same. 16.) Wolf within howling dark recesses of the mind, Red Riding Hood lost 17.) Red Riding Hood HOWL wolf bane true existence polymorph within-and-without. 18.) Red howl Riding Wolf dark existence brooding within
Continuing our AI journey from last time exploring Little Red Riding Hood herself as the Big Bad Wolf… All of these are based upon the AI generated art and prompts using NightCafe and then created as posters in Canva.
How very… Phantom of the Opera predatory… this is definitely not what I had in mind. Maybe something more cutesy?
Ugh. Maybe not.
Wow, that seems like such a cop out, cropping off the head so you don’t have to depict it. And I don’t want to lose the Little Red Riding Hood reference completely.
So no surprise there, I knew that was too many references to work.
And as promised in Big Bad Poetry, we shall embark on our next AI journey, this time looking at Little Red Riding Hood. I had wanted to depict her as the Big Bad Wolf one and the same, although maybe not so big nor bad. But it just wasn’t happening quite as planned. All of these are based upon the AI generated art and prompts using NightCafe and then created as posters in Canva.
So I actually like this even better than my original vision, it is playful and even a bit serene (especially given the Sinister style). The wolf is just being a wolf. It’s quite lovely, really. But it wasn’t what I had in mind, so I revisited the idea later to see if I could get that result…