Into the Woods

Don't go into the woods, they said, in lowered voices and hushed tones, hinting darkly at unknown terrors. but why? i would ask in my childish curiousity, gazing out across the garden to the mass of trees that seemed to beckon me, the branches like forked fingers saying ; come.
they blamed my poor mother, afterwards, claiming it was her who sent me, with covered basket and errands to run. but truly, my mother was the most forbidding of all. do NOT go into the woods! she would admonish, tapping the rolling pin against her leg as if to warn me of the dire punishment i would face should i disobey her. and my grandfather, rocking away byu the fire would fix me with his rheumy gaze and tell me in all seriousness; good girls don't play in the woods. but when was i ever a good girl? all the warnings and threats did nothing but whet my appetite for adventure, and so it was that one morning i slipped out while all were asleep, donning my little red cloak with the hood and venturing out into the forest...