Red Riding Hood is not a fairy tale, but rather a universal story about courage and growing up

Henry...your father was a brave man."
He continued attacking the metal with a sledgehammer, brutally hacking at the anvil. She wasn't sure he had heard her. Then, he stopped short, the hammer hanging heavy in the air, the fire snapping in front of him.
"I was close enough to smell it," he seethed, not turning. "But I was afraid. I hid from it."
Clang!
I didn't do anything.
"I should have done something."
Clang!
"I should have saved him."
Valerie saw that he was destroying all of their half-finished projects. They would remain that way forever.
"I've lost someone, too, Henry—I know how it is. Please, come away from the fire."
He didn't.
Clang!
"Henry, please."
One of the fiery specks spat out of the forge an landed on Henry's arm, searing his flesh. Punishing himself, he did not stop to remove it until finally, with one quick motion, he gestured violently towards the door, shaking it off.
"Valerie, leave," he snarled. "I don't want you to see me like this.

Promise me you'll be careful, my boy." She handed him the pack she'd assembled.
"Don't worry. The Wolf has no interest in me," he said, smiling through his pain. "I'm all gristle.

The wedding doesn't feel like mine. It feels like I'm being sold.

Peter..."
He straightened, his back to her like a wall. Then, slowly, he turned his face toward her and met her eyes. His gaze sliced through her like a knife.
Before she could stop herself, she asked, "Do you remember—"
He took a step toward her. She felt the hear flare up between them.
"How could I forget?

She never even told me how she felt," Valerie thought aloud, feeling the betrayal in her gut. How had she been so blind? Her sister had loved Henry silently. Did she know about the engagement? Did she overhear our parents planning? Valerie supposed it was possible, but it seemed unlikely since they were always together. Would it have broken her heart?
"Don't worry, you poor child," Madame Lazar said, seeming almost disinterested in the subject of Lucie's death. "I know you're worried about your sister, but Henry always had his eye on you. You are—were always the pretty one.