Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I wish I could disappear like the warmth.
I clench my fists inside the folds of my cloak. There can’t be any blood in my fingers, but I can’t make myself let go. Every muscle in my body is stiff.
I close my eyes and imagine I’m gone. Vanished.
Just like the magic vanished. The good magic. The spells that fixed problems like leaky roofs and barren fields.
Not the magic from her. The baneful kind. The kind that changed everything forever and ruined what little goodness I had in my heart. It ruined all the goodness Hansel ever was.
When we killed her, a curse was placed on this village. One we can never escape. One I regret and I’m certain he does too.
My teeth chatter together, and I take a deep breath like I’m about to dive into the swimming hole at the first sign of spring. It’s going to be awful, just like jumping into cold water, but then I’ll have done it.
I unclench my fist and raise my hand to knock.
Before I can touch the door, it opens a crack, revealing Hansel.
He doesn’t smile at me.
His expression is grim through the crack he’s left. Hansel stopped opening it wide for me years ago.
Hansel’s mouth curls with distaste. “Gretel.”
He says my name with such hate.
At first, I think that must be what warms me. It sends heat through my body. At least he feels strongly, I think frantically. At least he thinks of me at all. If he can hate me, maybe he can—
No. It’s not heat from the way he says my name. It’s warmth coming from inside the house. My heart sinks and the reality of what has come of us and the village is inescapable. Hansel and his father have managed to keep their small house warm for the time being.
Hansel looks warm, too—or he would, if it wasn’t for the ice in his eyes. The boy I used to know has grown into a man. He’s tamed his dark hair and filled out his shirts. A shiver wracks me at the sight of his strong arms, and my teeth chatter harder. I try to get them to stop. It’s no use.
I’d thought of what to say on the lonely walk to Hansel’s doorstep, but now I can’t think of any words that aren’t please don’t hate me and I’m sorry I ruined everything. My jaw hurts from how hard my teeth knock together.
I came here for a reason, not to fall apart on the doorstep.
“The witch is back,” I blurt, the words spilling from my mouth before I can stop them.
Hansel narrows his eyes and starts to shut the door. The mere mention of what was is met with disdain.
As quick as I can, I shove my hand on the wood to stop him. It’s worse than ice. My hand shakes on the wood. “Hansel, please. Could I come in?”
I can barely speak, but I will stand outside and tell him, if that’s what I must do.
“Come in, Gretel,” a second voice calls. The words are followed by a dry, wracking cough. The sound echoes in the small home. His father.
I put my foot between the door and the doorframe and look up into Hansel’s eyes. He glares down into mine, holding the door halfway shut. It presses into the arch of my boot.
I raise my eyebrows at him. You heard your father.
He glares harder. I don’t care.
But then his father coughs again, and Hansel gives an annoyed huff and opens the door a little farther. I have to squeeze through, my arm scraping the door, but I make it. Hansel shuts the door behind me with a loud thud, dampening the howl of the wind.
The kitchen, the table, the chairs by the fire—all of it is the same as the last time I was here, years ago, before we left for the forest. Before the witch. Only it’s weathered and worn now. The rug near the hearth is frayed at the edges. Hansel’s father coughs into a cloth in his hand, gripping the armrest of his chair.
At least they have a fire. It crackles in the grate, throwing heat into the rest of the house. I’m grateful for it. The winter is unkind and bitter.
My cloak traps the cold close to my body, so I take it off with shaking hands and turn to hang it on a hook by the door.
Hansel glares at me.
I stare back until he moves out of the way.
Once my cloak is hung up, I swing my bag off my shoulder and hang that up, too. Freed of my few possessions, I make my way across the sparsely furnished room to where Hansel’s father is getting out of his chair. I put my hand under his arm and help him to his feet.