#yummy children

She left a trail of her clothes throughout the house, a skirt here, a sock there, a line of garments leading all the way back to where she had begun. They were her path back, her breadcrumbs that she could follow to find her way home. 

Because she wasn’t somewhere safe, not with him in the house. Each piece that she took off was another surrender to him, another swathe of skin exposed and vulnerable for him to use, abuse, and do all sorts of sordid things to. She did it willingly, but knowing that there was that trail or panties and bras, skirts and stockings, was enough of a physical metaphor that she didn’t have to worry about quite how much of a mess he made of her. 

She was Hansel. She was Gretel. These were her woods, and he was her witch. He would devour her, given half the chance. She was going to give him a whole one. But he was also the friendly woodcutter, to cut her out of the wolf’s belly. He was the loving father who would welcome her back with open arms. 

Fairy tales were never the most perfect metaphors, or the most fitting analogies. But there were bits of truth, here and there, scattered about for her to pick up and use to find her way home. Life skills in the pages of Grimm and co.