Granny lay beneath a patchwork quilt, glasses perched precariously on her nose, flipping the pages of her daily newspaper. Her oblivion to the kingdom’s scheming outside was almost comical.
"It’s always so peaceful when you start the day with the news," she mused, missing the excited whispers of grandchildren beyond her door.
Three Little Pigs, each sporting different construction hats, hurriedly assembled their defensive homes: straw, wood, and marble. Nearby, Daddy Bear, Mommy Bear, and Baby Bear swept porridge crumbs from the pigs’ floors.
Rumpelstiltskin scribbled mysterious notes, debating code names, while Rapunzel tossed down her golden hair for the billy goats to climb.
Boy Who Cried Wolf, or "Freddie" as Rumpelstiltskin called him, perched atop the hill, eyes peeled for movement.
"All clear! Wait—wolf incoming! No, false alarm. Sorry!" His voice crackled over the kingdom walkie-talkies, drawing groans from the crowd.
Wolf pauses at the straw house, his belly rumbling and his face contorted in discomfort.
"Little piggy, little piggy, let me come in—I really need a pooh!"
"Not letting you in, not by the hairs on my chin!" The straw house trembles as the wolf sneezes, hay fever sending straw flying. He moves on, knocking at the sturdy wooden door next.
"Little piggy, little piggy, let me come in! I can’t hold it any longer!"
Pig Two responds from behind the oak door, arms crossed.
"No way, freak!"
A thunderous fart shakes the oak house, reducing it to splinters. The wolf staggers to the marble house, knocking gingerly.
Pig Three stands tall, the room silent as "You’re not coming in, not by the hairs on my chin," echoes off the stone walls.
Witch stirs the pot as the wolf flails in the stew, steam curling up towards the rafters. The kingdom’s characters gather, eyes wide with anticipation.
"Dinner is served—wolf and vegetable stew, Granny!"
Granny slides her false teeth in, grinning as everyone presents her with steaming bowls.
"You should always let the wolf pooh first," Granny remarks, as the entire crowd sprints outside, sick from the carnivorous meal.
Newspapers thump onto doorsteps as Little Boy Down the Lane whistles cheerfully, delivering the news.
The headline reads, “Don’t Eat Carnivorous Animals,” and Granny’s infamous Wolf Stew recipe is shelved in the kingdom library, gathering dust among other wicked cookbooks.
