In the forest deep there lived a man, his hair was white as snow - one fine morning he went hunting and shot a dear with his bow.

Her carved dear with his knife, and then went home to kill his wife.

His wife lay still, her breath now thin, a twisted smile crept on his skin.

He licked the blade, so sharp, so fine and whispered soft, “Now, you are mine”.

He dragged her body through the dirt and dressed her up in a bloodstained skirt.