Chapter 1
Chapter One
Gretel
Once upon a time, I fell in love with a boy.
That was before the curse started. After we killed the witch who kept us captive and thought we’d be safe. We were wrong.
The first hardship to strike our small town was the famine.
Crops struggled to grow. The plants that managed to push themselves above the soil were weak and withered.
Most of the harvest died in the fields, eaten by insects or infested with blight.
The townsfolk kept smiles on their faces in the beginning, reassuring one another that it was only an unlucky year—that the next harvest would be bountiful, and we would forget how hungry we’d gotten.
We replanted the crops the next spring, and for a while, it seemed like all would be well again.
Everyone in the village took turns guarding the fields from pests, saying prayers over the budding plants whenever we could.
Spring turned the countryside green around us, and as the weather warmed, people started to have faith once again, satisfied that the worst was over.
But the weather didn’t stop warming. Spring became a hot, dry summer, with the earth crumbling under our feet and coating everything into dust. The crops would survive, we thought, as long as we kept the fields watered.
But no well would be deep enough. There aren’t enough buckets in the world, or hands to carry them, to protect every inch.
The wildfire came from the forest. It tore through the fields, destroying every last crop. It’s hard to deny that we brought the famine. It was on everyone’s mind, I’m sure. The witch wasn’t dead and her curse would never be forgotten.
The small town sifted through the ashes, looking for seeds, or new growth. Anything that would serve as a sign we were meant to live. That we could recover. Two unlucky years surely wouldn’t become a pattern. No God could be so cruel.
I don’t know which God was watching over our village. If any deity looked over our village, he couldn’t have been kind.
I was in love before the hardships. Before the barren fields and hot winds and bitter winters. Before my stomach pinched with hunger and my mouth got dry with thirst.
Before, when all he wanted was taffy, and all I wanted was a cool drink of water on a warm summer day. When all I wanted in the world was to see him smile.
Hansel, the boy who survived hell with me. The boy who I watched become a man. A man I loved. A man I could never have.
His smile was like a clear spring running through the forest and a lush field brimming with crops. It was like sneaking away to pick flowers in the meadow. It was a smile full of promises and secrets, and he gave it to me like I was fresh rain and sunshine.
And all I had to do to see it was knock on the wooden door to his house. He’d answer with a smile, and I couldn’t help smiling back.
That was years ago. Before the witch. Now we’re left with the barren after.
I wish I could go back. I wish I could keep the crops in the fields and snuff out the fire with my fingers before it could burn everything down. I wish I could stop what happened before we ever set foot on that long, dirt road by the old farms.
Before we ever found the witch’s house.
But I can’t.
I can’t change the past.
I can’t change that he hates me now.
And I can’t stop what’s already started.
I stand outside that wooden door, the paint chipped and scratched and the winter wind whistling through my clothes. No matter how many layers I wear, the frigid air goes straight to my skin. It’s so cold that my teeth ache. My cheeks burn from the blistering cold.
I can’t count how many times I fell asleep dreaming about being in this very spot. It always held possibility for me. The moment before I knocked on this door was always like the moment before opening a gift—giddy anticipation that I knew would be followed by delight.
Now, outside Hansel’s door, I wish I was standing anywhere else.
I swallow thickly, trying not to think of all of his smiles. Isn’t there any other way through this?
There isn’t. I know there isn’t. I was up half the night pacing and trying to think of some other solution. In the end, I came up with nothing.
I wish I didn’t have to tell him.
I must, though. I owe him that at least.
And…
I don’t think I can stop this by myself. I wish I could. More than anything, I wish I didn’t need him, but I do. It’s always been him for me.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand, and I cast a look over my shoulder. Is somebody watching?
I can’t see a single soul.
That doesn’t mean much. The town has been blanketed in thick, ever-present fog for weeks, and it’s only been made worse by the winter. White snow piles up everywhere, hiding the shape of the land and houses underneath. If the fog gets any thicker…
I turn back to the door, taking deep breaths to calm myself. It’s hard to breathe in the cold and the fog. The air’s too thick and heavy. My heart beats harder from my nerves.
It’s just Hansel’s house. I’ve knocked on his door a hundred times before. I already know he won’t smile at me. I already know where we stand.
The witch changed everything. We killed her and with it, we killed what innocence we had.
Just knock, I think. Before you freeze to death.
I take a half-step back and stare at the house instead.
I bet the straw roof still leaks in the corner with all this snow.
In fact, I imagine it’s much worse now, like the paint on the door.
It’s lost almost all its color. It was red once, but now it’s a dull brown.
The water wheel on the side of the old house doesn’t move. It’s frozen solid.
My breath turns white and disappears into the fog in front of my face.
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.