"Take it, my dear, take the fruit," hissed the decrepit old hag. "It is for you, and you alone."
The pale maiden looked at the shiny skin on its surface. Red. Red as blood on snow, red as the sun, red as anger and fury and hatred.
"No," she said, turning away. "No, thank you. I don't want it."
But the hag was not so easily dissuaded.
"It is yours. Take the fruit that fell from the tree. Taste it. It will taste divine, like none other you have tasted."
"No. Please, I don't want to."
The pale maiden started to walk away. The hag had one last trick.
"It will help you forget!" she called.
The young girl stopped, turned back.
"Forget?" she asked.
"Forget."
The juice was sweet yet sour, and the young girl smiled with the bliss of a thousand summers as she fell into unconsciousness...
image: http://www.freeimages.com/profile/anewv
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