To mend yesterday's “misunderstandings,” Goldilocks spent the day foraging in the woods.
She soaked the forest bounty in oats overnight.
At breakfast, the bears greedily tucked in.
“This porridge is just right,” they growled.
Goldilocks smiled.
“Why’s hers in a different coloured bowl?” said Baby Bear.
“I can taste mushrooms,” said Mummy Bear.
“I don’t feel very—”
“Alive?” said Goldilocks. The bears collapsed, snouts-first, into their bowls. Blood bubbled from their nostrils.
By nightfall, their hides were flayed. The rugs were warm. The bones made delightful windchimes.
Goldilocks sipped her tea. She had never felt more at home.
Bless.
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Heartwood by R.J. Cannon"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Denied by J.B. Corso"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Cold Recognition by Andreas Flögel"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Winter Feast by Pauline Yates"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>