Millie Hood, the once ordinary lass from the forest deep, led Ruby-Rose and Sir Bashful through countless more forks in the road and it hadn't been till she could see the strong red roots of the trees above breaking through the dirt; not until their scratches left her arms aching, that her memories of what she'd once called home flooded in.

Home. What an odd notion it was now. She'd lived with her aging granny in the Red Forest since she was a child of eight, for she was one too many mouths to feed at home where her Poppa stayed. A home that was no more the same after her mother passed from the Blight. Millie had once been the eldest of three siblings; siblings she now had tucked away safely in their own hut, with their own hearth and plenty of food—no thanks to a bitter father wrapped around the finger of a snake he'd married. A snake who had for all intents and purposes attempted to kill her siblings so feed them she didn't have to.

Lucky for her kin, Millie—cloaked in her Granny's red robe—had been roaming the woods that day, in search of rare herbs she had asked her to fetch. Lucky for her kin the herbs Millie needed grew around a certain, spine-tingling, stomach-curling old cottage.

Lucky for her kin that day, a wolf had indeed chased Millie through the red forest in hopes of a grand feast. A forest Millie knew like the back of her hand by then... luckily.

She had also known how close she'd been to a shelter whose herbs she sought—and for safety's sake, she'd bolted—towards that old gingerbread-smelling cottage of the old Grouch; a smell designed to hide the stench of death that often lingered about. The Grouch dare not touch Millie though, for fear of her Granny—a far more powerful magic-wielder than she.

It was also very lucky for her kin that Millie soon realised upon entering the steamy den that the wee children the witch had in captivity sounded oddly similar to her own brother and sister. A boy who looked oddly familiar upon a sneak peek about the cesspool of a chicken coop—being fattened, was none other than her dear Hansel. And the girl, chained about the hearth, forced to cook—a girl she hadn't seen since she was a toddler—was called Gretel, the name of the youngest Hood of all.

Lucky for the children, the Grouch hadn't refused Millie shelter from the wolf.

"My, what red checks you have, like red apples!" The grouch had slurred her words in, salivating as she shut the door behind Millie, leaving the peeved off wolf to howl at the moon.

Millie, a child who had never liked the witch nor the act of lying, had sneered as she kept her Granny's protective red robe on. "And my, what big eyes you have!" she had fired back, scuttling to the window to see if the wolf was still about.

The witch had shuffled towards her kitchen, hunched over like a crooked nose. "What better to see you coming, of course, dear!"

If words could have been laced with poison, Millie had been sure that day, the old witch would have poisoned her and made a good meal out indeed. Millie had filled out her skeleton more since having moved in with Granny.

Millie has seen the terrified look on Gretel's childish face as the witch had leered over her, picking something off her big teeth. Slurping, salivating.

"You hungry, dear? I have some mince pies cooling on the windowsill you are welcome to!"

"No, thank you. But Granny needed some herbs from your garden, so may I?" Millie had asked, watching the child tremble in her rag.

"Be my guest!" The Grouch had laughed. "You may take Gretel here to help you in the garden, but mind you, don't undo her latch. The girl likes to run, and it's hard to buy good help these days." Or so was her lie.

Help? Ha! Millie had known better, and if there was anything she could do in her power to free the child, she would try. Who knew how many pies the scrawny lass would make...

As Millie ploughed ahead in the tunnels, blinded by memories, she could hear the witch's howling as she'd realised young Millie Hood was attempting to free her captive—trying to break the chain that bound the child's ankle out in the cold, winter garden.

The witch had charged then, yelling, "You fool of a Hood girl. You can't undo my magic!"

But young Millie had certainly tried...

Millie could still hear the old hag screeching and hollering. Phantom voices now, of course.

Good riddance! She thought—not of her brother and sister but of the Grouch, whose beating old heart she could still feel thrumming its last within her young grip. Somehow, she had managed that. A child of twelve, taking on a foul witch.

Millie tried hard to forget that sorry night, but it was hard to dismiss a tale one had never forgotten in the first place.

Anger boiled in Millie's veins. To think Hans and Gretel would have been nothing more than a meal or two or fertilizer in the old woman's yard in a day or two if she hadn't been sent to fetch the very flowers whose oil burned in the lamp she now held. The lamp that was showing her the way back home, long gone, long left.

Had Granny known? About Hansel and Gretel?

She hated the lamp then. She hated the oil too, which only grew where death laid. How many children had the grouch devoured in all her years? How many Hans and Gretel could have been saved?

Millie ploughed ahead, struggling to get through the narrowing burrows unscathed—and failing, of course. There was no avoiding the reaches of the Red Forest's roots, who were eager to have some company after so many abandoned years. Just like there was no avoiding the memories. Nor the anger that threatened to breach her surface.

Behind her, Ruby-Rose, who saw nothing but a determined girl ahead of her and an alert bull behind her, was also so very lost in her own thoughts. Thoughts of what she could have been doing back home. Thinking about how she longed to see her mother and even her brother. Would she ever see them again? After all, she still didn't know how she'd ended up in this world. But she also thought about what lay ahead.

What would happen once she merged with her powers—powers that lay in the caring maid—how, she still couldn't grasp. But what would happen to Millie once that power left? Would her friend still be? And what would happen to me once I'm whole? She wondered.

Would I truly be able to defeat Snow White in a battle?

So many questions floated in her mind.

Could I die here in these lands?

What if I can't kill her, but she succeeds?

Will I wake up after this?

Questions that weren't helping.

Behind her still, Sir Bashful was also deep in thoughts. Some memories; some strategies. How were the three of them going to defeat an army, for he was pretty sure Snow would have deployed the soldiers on hand—easily a thousand at least? What would they find upon reaching their destination? Would the Red Forest still be? Or were they about to step into death lands? Lands magic had forsaken since its two pole-witches perished: Granny Hood and her sister the Grouch. Ying and Yang; light and dark; life and death. They'd balanced the powers that had swelled there. With them gone, with the Hood family, the caretakers, gone, what had become of the Red Forest? Was it a wasteland? Would there be any more magic left for him to siphon? Bash had been a powerful wielder in his youth before battle scars had marred his exterior and his soul. He could use the help of the magic that had once soaked those lands.

So many questions indeed.

Would she be able to do it?

He had watched the back of Ruby-Rose's head, hoping and praying that when the time came, he could pass on all his memories so that she may know how to wield her own. But he wondered then, would she be able to do it?

To kill, one required a heart of stone, yet the girl before him, the Princess, was life itself. Full of wonder, full of zeal and hope. Would this girl be able to do what was necessary when the time came?

That, Sir Bashful didn't know, nor was there a way to predict it. So he did the only thing he could do; the only option he had left. He reached out with his mind, out towards the kingdoms to the east, and kingdoms to the west.

Please help us!

He only hoped and wished he'd done the spell right. That his words were carrying in the elements towards destinies far and wide. Destinies where they would be heard.

It was their Plan B, should Ruby-Rose fail.

Come to the Red Forest. The prophecy is about to unfold...

WC: 1538                     TWC: 18, 938

[A/N: Another 1K+ word and I would have reached the 20K minimum for the ONC. Can't say I'm not happy that I finally managed to hit that number. Now to wind down the story. I think another 2-3 chapters. I hope to wrap this up by 25K. Let's see how I go. 

Anyway, this was a chapter full of questions! Did you have any yourself? I really enjoyed delving into some of Millie's background. I know a few of you were keen to know who she was. 😀 I hope you liked what I did with it.

If there were any questions/comments you had for me, please don't hesitate. I want to make this as good a story I can. I appreciate all your love, support and help! ❤️]