Red like the poisoned

apple Snow-White bit, in

the house of seven

squatters, stopping

the red heart the

huntsman never cut out.

When she fell the seven

dwarves saw red at the loss

of their live in maid. Red like

the spilled blood that never

spilt from her red lips, despite

the bounty on her fair

head, before being

kissed by a handsome

stranger named prince.

A happy ending

maybe? Or a serious case

of Stockholm syndrome,

a psychiatrist might

diagnose, writing it

on file in bright red ink.