You nod. She giggles, amused by your silence. "Well, if we're going to be friends, we must call each other something, no?"
You're about to nod for the fourth time in a row, but you catch yourself in time. "Sure", you say, and hold out your hand. "My name is [your name here]. Pleased to
meet you".
She grabs your hand and shakes it. "Enchante'e. My name is Rebecca Eryn Desiree Hood".
For some reason, the words "Wendy Moira Angela Darling" echo through your brain. You shake'em away with a mental shrug.
"You can call me Red, for short. Or Eryn. But never never _NEVER_ call me Becky", says Rebecca Eryn Whatever.
"OK, I won't", you say, and smile at her. She smiles back. Almost seductively.
If this is turning into some sicko-cradlerobber situation, you'd better get out of it.
"I was wondering...", you begin.
"Yes?", she responds, with an innocent look.
"...exactly how old are you? No, no, I don't mean to offend", you quickly add, seeing her frown, "I just wanted to know..."
"...if I'm as young as I look?", she finishes for you. "No way! It's just I'm growing up, er, slowly". All of a sudden, she looks embarassed.
"_How_ slowly?", you insist. "Er... I don't really know", she admits. "When we moved here from Europe I was, uh, _looked_ almost nine... And it was just after
that revolution thing..."
You gasp. "You mean the _American_ revolution?!"
"No, no, not that..."
You can breathe again. She's not two hundred years old, thanks God.
"...the _French_ one. You know, Robespierre, and Marie Antoinette, and guillotines, and whatnot".
She _is_ two hundred years old. All of a sudden you feel dizzy.
"How come... how come you've aged two years in two _centuries_?", you manage to ask.
Red's cheeks blush to a shade of her name. "Well, it was just a li'l accid'n widdecaul'nanwolfiean'...", she mumbles.
"Begging your pardon?"
"An accident with grammascauld'n an' wolfie and grumblemumble..."
"_What?_", you insist, with a wicked smile.
She sighs. "A little accident with Granma's cauldron, and Wolfie, and two hens", she confesses.
You're totally lost. "Cauldron? Wolfie?"
"Yep. Wolfie, that's the dog, and I were chasing a couple of hens, and I ran into Granma's cauldron, and Wolfie too, and I got soaked in Granma's youth potion.
Been a little girl ever since".
"Lucky girl", you think aloud. Red glares at you. "Yeah, right", she says. "No breasts and no boyfriends for another three hundred years, least".
You look at each other and start laughing. When you're finished, she grabs your hand and leads you to the woods. "Come! Let's go to Granma's house, I want you
to meet her!".
"Where does she live, exactly?", you ask.
"Oh, somewhere in the forest. Don't worry, I know this woods like the back of my hand!"
Woods? Aren't you supposed to be in a _park_?!