Chapter 13 #2
Cecelia was much the same. Most people would have seen only a quiet, emotionless baker.
But over the past week I’d begun noticing the smallest changes.
The way her shoulders relaxed whenever she mapped a new trail.
The nearly imperceptible lift at the corner of her mouth when Nutmeg succeeded in one of her ridiculous disguises.
The warmth that quietly bloomed whenever Grandmother laughed.
Even through the enchantment, I had gradually begun recognizing the subtle feelings buried beneath so much silence.
Sometimes I noticed an emotion’s presence.
More often, after she baked, I noticed its absence.
Each tiny discovery felt like another faint trail marker, leading me somewhere I hadn’t realized I was searching for.
Towards her. And perhaps what frightened me most was that I no longer wanted to reach the end of that trail if it meant losing her.
Yet the recipe book seemed to have different ideas. I could still feel the its silent call reaching for me through the darkness, growing more insistent with every passing hour. Fragments of Grandmother’s tale drifted through my thoughts like scattered leaves upon the wind.
One family baked magic, the other wrote it. The book had been lost by my ancestors; every Wolf afterwards had searched for it. And my curse was tied to it, preventing me from ever finding my way home.
I closed my eyes. I’d spent years wandering towards something I could never name.
Now, for the first time, I knew that the nameless longing I’d chased across forests, villages, and forgotten roads had always been leading me here—to the book and to the bakery that harbored it. Perhaps…even to Cecelia.
The thought should have brought peace. Instead, it only strengthened the book’s quiet summons.
The last time I’d opened its pages, I had searched with nothing but curiosity.
Tonight, I carried answers I hadn’t possessed then.
Somewhere within its pages lay the beginning—and perhaps the end—of my family’s story.
How could I not look?
Guilt settled heavily upon my conscience. Cecelia had forgiven me once already for yielding to this temptation. I couldn’t bear to betray that trust again.
I lay awake wrestling with myself long after the bakery had fallen silent. When the first pale ribbon of morning light slipped beneath the curtains, I quietly accepted what I already knew I had to do.
Careful not to wake Cecelia, I slipped from the daybed. My footsteps remained almost soundless as I crossed the room. At the doorway I hesitated, not because the enchantment tugged me back—this time it remained strangely quiet.
Instead, I found myself looking towards Cecelia. Moonlight had given way to the soft grey light of dawn, illuminating the peaceful curve of her sleeping face. The tension that so often shadowed her expression had vanished, leaving only a quiet gentleness that made my chest ache.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, though I wasn’t entirely certain what I was apologizing for. Then I slipped into the hallway.
I descended the stairs with the careful silence of a tracker stalking through the forest. Over the past week I’d unconsciously memorized each familiar creak in the floorboards.
I carefully stepped around them and slipped into the kitchen.
Dawn had begun spilling through the windows, bathing the bakery in cool silver light that made candles unnecessary.
The cupboard stood exactly how Cecelia always left it, unlocked, evidence of her trust in me. The realization made my hand falter upon the handle. I should have turned away. Instead, curiosity—deeper than reason—guided my movements as I slowly opened the cupboard and lifted the book into my hands.
For a long moment I simply stood there, the worn leather resting against my palms. My thumb drifted across the embossed wolf upon the cover, tracing the familiar crest I’d spent my life seeing without ever truly understanding.
My lineage must have been enough to trigger the magic, for it opened for me.
The pages fluttered softly beneath my fingertips as I opened the cover—not with the randomness of paper caught in a breeze, but almost with quiet purpose, settling upon a page I had never seen before.
A wolf, woven from delicate silver ink, adorned the top of the parchment.
At the top, elegant script formed a single title: The Homecoming Loaf.
My pulse quickened. Home. With trembling hands, I began to read.
At first, hope bloomed so suddenly it almost stole my breath.
The cure existed and had been here all along.
My gaze hurried through the recipe, drinking in each precious line… until it reached the final instruction.
The words blurred. I read them again. Then a third time, each perusal causing my hope to drain from my heart, leaving behind only cold, silent horror: the Baker must willingly surrender the deepest desire remaining within their heart.
My fingers tightened around the page. Not after everything she’d fought to reclaim and after she’d only just begun remembering how to feel.
And yet, there was likely no other way of breaking my curse.
The book slipped shut beneath my trembling hand.
I stared down at the worn wolf upon the cover, no longer seeing salvation…
only a price I could never ask her to pay.
My heart lurched at the sudden sound of the footsteps I’d grown intimately familiar with upon the stairs.
Without thinking, I hastily flipped through the recipe book to find the page, tore it out with a wince, folded it, and shoved it deep into my shirt pocket before hastily returning the book to its cupboard.
The door swung open. Cecelia paused upon seeing me, her head tilted in that thoughtful way of hers that always reminded me of a curious robin.
“Good morning,” I managed, forcing far more cheerfulness into my voice than I felt.
Praying she didn’t notice my flare of anxiety, I scrambled for some innocent explanation for why I was standing alone in her kitchen before sunrise.
“I was starting to make some oatmeal for us, though I think Nutmeg may have eaten all the dried berries while I was distracted.”
Though I fully intended to follow through with my procured excuse, the page seemed to burn from its hiding place.
Now that I knew the price hidden upon it, I found myself looking at her differently—not because she’d changed, but because every quiet kindness I’d admired over the past week suddenly felt infinitely more precious. She deserved to keep every one of them.
Her eyes widened for the briefest moment before something softened within them, gentling her entire expression in a way that sent my heart stumbling.
I had the sudden desire to devote myself to discovering how to bring that look to her face.
Instead, I’d spent the morning snooping and stealing from her.
I rummaged through the pantry for some oats and honey.
Cecelia shook her head. “You’re going to spoil me.
” She delivered the words in her usual calm, matter-of-fact tone, yet her eyes seemed brighter than usual, with the faintest hint of a smile lingering at the corners of her mouth.
Then, almost imperceptibly, it faltered as her expression dimmed.
The warmth I’d felt through our strange enchantment was gradually giving way to something quieter, an emotion I was afraid to name, but one I was certain she could feel. The page hidden in my pocket pressed like a weight pressing upon my heart.
My pulse quickened. “It’s the least I can do. I’ve imposed upon your hospitality enough already. Besides…” I offered what little truth I safely could. “…I couldn’t sleep.”
“I imagine not, with all that we discovered yesterday.” Her gaze lingered on me another moment, as though trying to solve a map with one crucial landmark missing. “We’ll find a way to break your curse before the full moon.”
The words struck harder than she could possibly know.
Only moments ago I would have agreed without hesitation.
Now the thought of breaking it filled me with something far worse than endless wandering.
It meant asking her to surrender the very heart she’d only just begun reclaiming. My chest tightened.
She tilted her head once more, studying me with quiet concern. “Is something wrong?” For someone convinced she scarcely experienced emotions, she noticed far more than she gave herself credit for.