It’s her. Fear used to paralyze me but in this moment every muscle in my body tightens. Every fiber of my being is prepared to fight. To defend Gretel.
I open my mouth to call out to her, to tell her to get behind me, but the witch waves a hand. When I shout Gretel’s name, no sound comes out. Gretel’s face is in shadow, but I can see her mouth moving. She’s trying to speak to me, but I can’t hear a word she says.
Fear races through my veins as my body chills.
We’ve been silenced by magic. I can feel the spell in my throat, trapping my voice.
No. This isn’t fucking happening. Not to us. Not again.
She’s dead. She’s supposed to be dead.
I run toward Gretel, but I’ve only gone two steps when the witch waves her hand again. Another spell. This one paralyzes me in place. I fight against it with all my strength, but I’m no match for the magic.
Gretel leaps toward me, light on her feet and her hands stretched out in front of her. If she can get to me, there’s still hope. If the witch leaves her alone, then I’ll survive somehow.
It’s only a second or two, but it feels like forever until Gretel’s fingertips touch me.
Her eyes come to mine, and then?—
It’s like she’s gone.
Frozen. A statue. All of her, turned to stone.
Chapter Eight
Gretel
Another bolt of lightning comes down. It’s so close to the cottage that it blinds me. All I can do is blink until the spots clear. My heart is a dull pounding, like everything has slowed. And yet it pains for Hansel.
Tears prick but don’t fall. Fear exists but it’s silenced.
I can’t move. I can’t move at all. This isn’t like being frozen in place by fear, or trying to stay still during a game of hide-and-seek.
This is being frozen by magic.
I don’t know how I’m still alive. I don’t know how a body can be this still and keep living.
Am I going to die?
I try to curl my fingers, then my toes. I can’t do either. I try to flex my hands. Not that, either. Time is slowed and yet I can do nothing.
Panic swells inside my chest, but it has nowhere to go. I can’t run to let it out. I can’t scream. I can’t do anything but stand here, barely touching Hansel.
But I can blink, and if I try, I can move my gaze to look around the cottage.
As I focus, the vision on the door becomes clear.
She’s a beautiful witch. Her gown is flowing and pale, and looks too light for the winter. At the same time, it looks sturdy and warm. I can’t tell which is real, or if the dress is an illusion.
Is she an illusion?
If she is, she’s a kind one. Her expression is kind, and her eyes are kind. There is no malice in her face at all. That might not mean anything. The witch had looked kind in the beginning as well. She had offered us sweets and shelter. She had seemed harmless until she shut the door and refused to let us leave.
But then her face had transformed, and all her hatred was there on the surface.
This witch though, her expression is calming. Even as I stand entranced, the fear dims.
I watch for signs of it on the beautiful witch’s face, but there are none. She smiles gently at us, then glances around the cottage, seeming to see it for the first time.
