What if the fairytales, myths and legends lived in a futuristic realm?
What if Little red was the huntsman?
What if the Evil Queen was Snow White's Brother?
What if Pinocchio was a machine disguised as a boy?
The realm of Nevermoore has been shaken...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Bianca was not used to having her hair down, her locks cascaded all around, she tried making a braid, but she hated how it looked, and in any case, she had read that if she let her hair down she wouldn't call attention to her face.
She wore a new attire, ditching entirely her official clothes for actual pants, a white blouse that had laces to adjust the size, under a spare vest Red had kept around. tons of pockets would sure be useful, and over it all a big flower print coat with an oversized cut, just fit to disappear into.
The shoes she wore hand me downs, rose kept from her mother, a pair of tactical boots that fitted the princess like a glove.
"Remember, the whole town is very..."
"You can always say I'm a far-off cousin."
Bianca smiled.
"Well, I admire the enthusiasm but let's try to reach my dad first."
Red admitted as he headed down the iron gates to knock in.
"Get lost!!
A guttural voice rang.
"Son of the maiden Jean Scharlach, reports."
"Oh, Is it Thursday yet?"
The same voice rang, as multiple clangs and metallic screeches shivered as the gates opened revealing an old man, hair gray, beard bushy but his muscles and body still on it's prime, still as youthful, and probably strong as a bull.
"Red, Ulv, Boys how have you been?"
"Coach Renault, have you seen Red's dad?"
"Yeah, he went up the High Canopy, he might be on his office if you run down to catch him."
"Thanks, bonjour good sir"
"Bonjour to you all. Rose a-and who is this?"
He pointed to the fair-skinned girl.
"Margorie Scharlach, I'm a cousin"
She said smiling.
"Oh, nice meeting you sweetie"
"Come on Marge, dad's waiting."
She waved goodbye and turned to her company, walking down the street to the main road of the city.
The outermost houses were clearly farms, nestled with bushes, crops and fruit trees, pressure balloons floating, some even active generating gentle rain spaces to water the plants, service droids harvesting apples and berries, their rudimentary design practically made them look like a glorified vacuum cleaner.
Along the end of the agricultural district at the end of the village, hay domes made and decorated with ribbons and flowers. Where sigils of the god of seasons were plated and adorned wooden horse carvings with apple slices at their feet, their crisp aroma making the morning feel alive.
