Once upon a midnight... in Venezia... The moon was silver, canals black, every mask concealed a secret. She wore the red beneath the moon, a little flame beneath the silver gloom. Through the sleeping trees, she heard a voice upon the breeze. “Dove vai, piccola?” “I know the way to Grandmother.” “Grand-mère...” The path was thin, the night wide, three knocks on the other side. Red hood, red heart, don't tell the wolf your name. La notte cambia pelle, but the moon remains the same. He thought he knew the story, he thought he knew the end... But every fairy tale keeps one secret from the wolf. Ah—ah—ah... Ooh... Grandmother waited by candle, three roses sleeping in glass. The door stood open... and something moved behind the mask. “Grand-mère...?” “Bambina... è tardi...” A breath behind the curtain. Silence. Bajo la luna... nadie sabe quién soy... I followed your red ribbon through every crooked tree. You followed what you wanted. You never followed me. Who are you? The story you forgot. “Bambina... è tardi...” One step. Two steps. No way back. The moon turns white. The candles crack. The knife catches moonlight. The tale changes hands. Red hood, red heart, now let the old tale turn. Venezia holds her breath tonight, and every mask can burn. Not every wolf has teeth, not every girl is lost. Sometimes the darkest forest is the road we choose. Red hood, red heart... Cappuccio rosso... Cappuccio rosso... Run if you want to... stay if you dare. Ah... La nonna sorride. And the wolf... is gone. “Brava, bambina...”
