Walking through the woods, the trees towering and slender with leaves blocking out the moon’s light, only allowing slivers to peek through, it barely giving the forest any glow. That didn’t bother Little, she kept her head down, eyes following the dirt path which twisted and turned, at some points, it’d be blocked off by a rotting log or large rocks, but they were easy to avoid. Taking a mouthful of the thick air, a resinous flavor filled Little. The chirping of the crickets and the cracking of branches from animals passing by didn’t phase the girl, her full attention was set on the pathway; despite all the life the forest was bursting with, Little could only feel numb, as the forest felt less lively than it usually was this warm, damp night. 

Soon, the dirt trail was decorated with rigid, cracked stepping stones. The small girl looked up, ahead of her was a tiny brick house. It was shrouded in darkness, the moon didn’t shine upon it, fireflies didn’t glow near it, and there were no lights turned on, however, there was a faint glow shining through an open window. Little approached the house, it had a sign in front reading “Home sweet home!” with a smiling sun; trampled flowers were by the entrance—which was broken into hundreds of pieces, forced open, leaving a gaping hole in the door. Carefully stepping through the hole, Little’s eyes followed the weak ray of light to a bedroom, and unlike the front door--the bedroom one was only a crack open.

Heading to the room, she avoided the flipped table in the middle. Food was sprawled and smeared throughout, glass cups and ceramic plates were shattered, acting like needles for your unfortunate feet to step on. The food, possibly the person’s dinner, was a mix of mashed potatoes, carrots, and seasoned chicken, it couldn’t have been made more than a few hours ago. But surprisingly, no odor was noticeable. Instead, a harsh, metallic scent took over the house. But there was another kind of smell, something far more distinct that wasn’t produced by food or nature; she’d look for the source later. Little got to the door and carefully pushed it open, letting out a quiet creek.

Poking her head into the bedroom, there didn’t seem to be too much damage done compared to the living room and kitchen, just large scratch marks, a few pillows tossed about, and broken glasses on the floor. There was a large bed against the wall by an open window, a light breeze swaying the curtains. There was a moving lump underneath the blankets in the center of the bed, slow, harsh breaths were heard. Little approached whoever was under the sheet and slowly removed the covers, it was an old woman. The lady’s hair was long and gray, some strands were covering her wrinkled face, others were spread throughout the bed. Little could not tell what the woman was wearing, as it was covered by the blanket she was clutching onto with her dear life; her arm damaged terribly, and it was difficult to determine if the gaping hole was made by a bite or multiple scratches. 

Preparing to do what death traditionally does, Little raised her scythe in a slow manner, not taking her eyes off the tear-stained woman.

The woman’s eyes cracked open, squinting at the girl.

“Little...” the old lady began, “Little Abigail, is that you?” she asked weakly.

“I’m-” before Little could speak up, the woman continued.

“I thought you were... Going to visit tomorrow.” she said through heavy breaths, eyes squinted, trying to make out Little’s face. “I know what a long walk it is to get here, I know you are not too fond of nature.” 

Little wasn’t Abigail. She was death.

“I’m very sorry you--you’re seeing me like this.” the woman brought her shaky, warm hand up to Little’s small, cold face, “But I’m very blessed that you’ve come, I missed you and-” she paused for a moment, “I love you very much.”

That didn’t matter to Little though. She held the woman’s hand, pressing it against her face, “I love you too,” she said in the most sincere voice she could make.

The old woman’s hand went limp, and then, there was nothing. No breathing, no shaking, no warmth. 

Little gripped her scythe and lightly tapped the body with the tip. The soul was now released; better off now.

Staring at the corpse on the bed, Little knew that the woman had at least several more years to live, someone or something must’ve attacked her. Curiosity was piqued, Little wanted to find who or what had done this, or why. If this turned out to be a person, it’d be interesting to know one’s motivation to kill a woman who lived in the middle of the woods. Heading out of the room--closing the door behind her--and leaving the house, she set out to find the culprit. She knows she’ll find them. Death always does.

~~~~~~

Another night went, and another night came. In a small town surrounded by nature, vines hanging off of buildings, trees acting as a border around the area, and bugs flying about, running into the yellow street lights. Citizens roamed the streets, talking amongst themselves as their chatter got drowned out by music or cicadas, but in a back alley stowed away in the darkest part of town, two people spoke to each other quietly. 

“How much I owe ya,” a gruff voice asked.

“Don’t worry bout that.” a deep, silky voice that responded to a large wolf responded. He stood on his hind legs and wore a thick leather jacket. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and tossed it to the ground, smothering it with his paw. 

“Jus’ somethin’ to help you get by for the week.” Wolf responded to the lanky, humanoid cat, who nodded and scurried off. 

Wolf watched the small man until he was out of his field of view then leaned against the wall. He stood alone in the dimly lit hallway, trash gathered in the back corner with cans knocked over. Puddles of water dripped down a sewer drain, trinkles echoing as the Wolf stood still, blinking slowly. There was a bar right across from him, a turquoise sign glowed with the occasional flicker while letting out a low humming sound.

Staring at the bar’s sign, which was just a circle with the shape of a circle with a simple bottle silhouette on it. ‘Maybe,’ he thought to himself, ‘I’ll get a quick drink’.

He stretched and squeezed his eyes, his back cracking and legs popping gave him a rush of satisfaction. 

Wolf took a step forward but came to a halt, jumping when a little girl in a red hood stood in front of him. She wasn’t there before. She stared at him with her big, baby blue eyes, which sparkled in what little light was provided. Wolf looked at her, then looked around him, making sure there was no one else around, just in case someone decided to ditch their kid or accidentally lost track of them. “You... Lost, little girl?” he finally asked, his breath smoky. 

The girl shook her head, “No, I found you.” 

“... Right. Look,” he lightly pushed her to the side, “I need to do ‘grown-up stuff’, why don’t you run along?” 

Without giving her a chance to respond, he entered the bar, not looking back. 

The sweet smell of rum-filled his nose, the dimly lit pub--consisting of hues of blues and greens--helped Wolf loosen up, his body relaxed and his jaws unhinged as he sat himself down on a stool. A bartender in a black tuxedo with an aqua tie walked up to him, “Nice to see you again,” 

Wolf nodded, “Yeah. I just,” he hesitated for a second, “Just the Perrault.” the man nodded and wandered off to the shelves stocked top to bottom with a variety of alcoholic beverages. While waiting, Wolf tapped his long claws along with the jazz playing in the background; going to a familiar, empty bar in the dead of night gave an odd feeling of safety and peace, it was almost reminiscent of lying in bed awake at 3 AM, listening to your favorite tune, staring at the ceiling, not thinking about anything. Not your worries, your past, the future, nothing. The man came back and placed a decently sized glass in front of him, filling it halfway with the requested beverage, foam forming at the top. 

“And for you?” the bartender shifted his head to the left of Wolf, 

“Chocolate milk.” a familiar, childish voice answered. Wolf snapped his head to the source, the same, red hooded girl sat beside him. He observed her with beady eyes as Little watched the drink being poured in a small cup.

As the bartender left, Wolf let out an annoyed sigh, “Alright, I’ll bite; whaddya want?” 

“To talk.” Little responded, taking a sip of the milk. “About what?” 

Putting the cup back down, Little asked,

“Do you think you’re a good person?” the blue-eyed girl asked, piercing through Wolf’s soul. Wolf held his cup firmly and slowly sipped from it, pondering the proper answer to such a question. He removed his drink from his lips, but still kept it in his grip, “That’s a tough question, girly.” he finally said.

“There’s a lotta different... Aspects or views of what makes a person ‘good’, ya know? I could do somethin’ that someone might consider good while another considers a crime. I don’t think there’s a true definition for a ‘good person’.” he set his cup down, his free hand gesturing about. 

“I have... A group of friends. We help one another, yeah? If someone needs money, we all pitch in, if someone’s gettin’ hurt, we find whoever hurt ‘em. We’re like a family. But people who ain’t in our circle? They think we’re bad people.” 

Wolf stroked the fur on his chin, “Hrm, let’s see... My friend Charles, we’ve known each other for bout 7 years, best man I know. I’ve helped him in my own way for so long, he considers me some sorta role model.” he chuckled, but his smile soon faded.

“But my other... Friend... Huan,” his grip on his cup tightened, “He didn’t agree with what we did. And that’s fine, whatever, he didn’t see us as good people. So he called the police, right? He probably thought HE was being a good person. But he wasn’t. So--” before Wolf was about to go off on a tangent, his rambling came to a stop as he collected himself, “So... It’s all about perspective.” he ended.

“Well I think you’re a terrible person.” Little said, her high voice giving off an oddly optimistic feeling. 

Wolf blinked and stared at her, mouth opened, moving a bit in an attempt to respond, but nothing came out right away.

“The old lady? That was you, wasn’t it? That’s how I found you, your scent was in her house.” 

Wolf looked upon the girl, slack-jawed; the bar was empty yet he felt all eyes were on him. The music faded into the background, everything seemed to have froze, the lights stopped swaying, the drops of his drink no longer ran down the side of his cup. His body was rigid, completely still, he couldn’t move it even if he wanted to, and that girl kept staring at him with her large, unblinking eyes.

After what felt like forever, Wolf stood up from his seat and placed his hand of Little’s shoulder and chuckled, “Ah, I see what’s goin’ on here.” 

With sudden and swift force, Little was thrown against the bar’s large window, shattering it and flying against the other side of the alleyway, large shards of glass scattered. Wolf burst through the door and shouted, “Who told you?! I wanna hear names and I’ll beat ‘em outta ya if I gotta!” the broad wolf went to grab Little’s neck but she quickly zipped through, running under his legs. Reaching into her hood, she summoned her scythe, roughly the size of her body, and positioned herself, ready for any potential attacks. 

Wolf stopped and looked at Little, “Maybe I’ve had one drink too many,” he muttered to himself, “Or maybe you’re not quite right. I’ll ask again,” he took a large step closer to her, “Who told you?” 

“I found out on my own, that’s all you need to know.” she said in her monotonic voice.

“Well then all YOU need to know is that I’ll be makin’ sure no one ELSE knows!” he ran towards Little, arms stretched out. When she quickly moved to the side, she felt his large paw nab onto her cloak, yanking it to the ground and taking her with it. She banged her forehead on the grimy floor but paid no mind to it, Little bit his arm as strong as she could, getting strands of fur in her mouth, he yelped and dropped her. Thinking she could get a second to recover from being thrown like a ragdoll--Little was immediately proven wrong when Wolf kicked her, causing her to slide by the pieces of broken glass, the dull lights of the bar barely shining onto her face. 

Not wanting to get cut, Little cautiously lifted herself up, but not fast enough to where she was standing on both of her legs. Wolf ran in her direction; she swung her scythe--not to attack the large creature--but to hopefully protect herself or slow him down. It was somewhat successful, Wolf came to a halt, but slid on the ground, a slender, sharp piece of glass going up his foot, poking through. Caught off guard, he jumped and cringed, losing his balance and began falling. But not without getting a scratch on Little, his enormous claws struck down on her face, leaving a giant wound that marked almost half of her face.

Wolf fell through the broken window, glass going through his chest as Little placed her hand over her damaged face. There was no blood, but it still stung terribly. Holding on to her scythe, hands shaking ever so slightly, she approached Wolf’s body; his blood slowly draining and staining the outside of the bar. 

His breaths were heavy and gurgled, his body was bent into an uncomfortable odd arch shape, arms and legs sprawled out, some also impaled by glass. 

“Little...” Wolf managed to say, “Little girl, do you think you’re a good person?” 

Little got closer, taking smaller and smaller steps.

Wolf could only lift his head up with his remaining strength, “Because I think you’re terrible.”