It shouldn’t hurt so much to imagine that. It’s not as if I asked her to come here. But out here, in the oppressive fog and the bitter cold, it makes my heart ache like I just lost her all over again. For a moment, a small moment, I want to ask her to not leave so quickly this time. Just stay a moment.
It’s the memories that make it hardest of all. We could always talk before. If we ran out of things to do, we could lie on our backs on a hill and watch the clouds roll overhead for hours, talking about whatever crossed our minds. I could always think of something new to tell Gretel, or ask her, or wonder about with her.
The farther we get from town, the colder it gets, and the more my heart aches. It’s going to be a long day if it hurts more like this with every mile.
We bump along behind my horse. My hands are cold in the gloves, which need to be thin so I can work the reins.
I’m surprised when Gretel inches toward me on the bench.
I don’t mean to stiffen at her touch, but I do. She lets out a short breath, like she’s disappointed, but doesn’t move away.
Maybe she just needs a scrap of human comfort and warmth. The thought settles something in my chest although I can’t place it.
I’m the only one here to give her warmth. It doesn’t mean anything that she’s come closer. She’s only here to make sure the witch is dead. She didn’t come back for me. And why would she? When surely I remind her of what happened… I know she reminds me of–
“Is the fog getting thicker?” she asks, cutting off my thoughts.
“I can’t tell,” I answer bluntly and she shifts slightly. I nearly second guess myself.
It’s better than silence. I feel like I’m holding my words in my fists. I can’t loosen them. They’re practically frozen and my movements paralyzed.
For a while afterwards, I try to figure out whether the fog is getting thicker ahead of us. Is it warning us away, or trying to entice us into a mystery?
Or is it doing nothing of the kind, because it’s only fog?
It’s only fog. Gretel will see.
She stays close as we go. When she’s touching me, even through all our layers and on this hopeless trip, it makes it easier to breathe. Her weight is gentle against my side and I find myself wanting more. Needing more of her leaning against me. Wanting me to provide for her.
With nothing much to look at in the fog, my mind begins to wander.
Back to that night.
Back to the witch's house.
Back to everything that happened there.
“There will be an answer in the house,” Gretel says softly. “I know it.”
I make a sound in the back of his throat. The memories feel like a hard lump. “That's what the witch said.” We will answer for what we did to her.
"That's not all she said,” Gretel reminds me, her voice low and full of fear.
“I know.”
I've thought of it so many times. She cast that spell before her last breath.
I think of the witch again when Gretel’s elbow presses a little harder against mine. I don’t have to do much to guide the horse around what must be a curve in the road, but I lean into Gretel anyway, letting the touch grow warmer. I wish I could wrap my arm around her and comfort her as if the spell was being cast now.
The witch’s words repeat in my mind. I’ve never been able to forget them.
* * *
The most powerful of magic will claim you both, you’ll see.
You cannot escape what is destined, so mote it be.
* * *
