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August 2022 Fiction Contest: Snow White's Last Scream
She picks up the knife, dusty and soaked in moonlight from where it lay on the floor of the shack, with a touch as gentle as a crow’s feather, and wipes it absent-mindedly on the hem of her black ulster coat. She pockets the blade, now shining like diamond dust, and licks her lips, lusting for blood. Her grip firm on the dagger’s hilt, the woman heads out the door. She walks towards the forest, a slinking shadow ripped from hell, her boots like death bells drawing ever-closer. Finally, the time has come for the Huntress to finish what she started.
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A little twist on a story we all know