Red apple, red riding hood, red ribbons on her hair

"Why?" spindle in hand, she asked herself the eternal question: Why?

She had waited too long, he was late. As late as her fairy godmother with the perky wand and the lilac robe. As late as the spell that could have spared the whole kingdom of the princess-shaped burdain, sleeping neverendingly inside the tallest tower.

But she had been fast, and early. As fast as the slumber she fell in the first time she came in contact with that same spindle. As early as the witch's chant, echoing in the dark corners of her frail and shivering memory.

"Why?" his quivering fingers holding unsteadily to the rims of the silky gown. One, two, three drops crimson as her aging lips, the blood of the young prince drawing circles on the floor. "I had come to save you..."

"But you were late... " a single tear down her wrinkled cheek, his last gasp, her grip loosening around the spindle, one final heartbeat.