Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
She’s interrupted by a loud crack of thunder. Gretel jerks upright, staring at the ceiling. The next second, rain pours down on the roof. The wind howls. My pulse races and something has changed. I can feel it in my bones.
“Thunder,” she shouts. Her eyes are wide with fear when they meet mine. Thunder isn’t right. It’s the middle of winter. It’s not the right time of year for a thunderstorm, and no hot air came to mix with the cold, which has to mean—
“Gretel,” I shout.
The door of the cottage opens wide. The firelight from the oven dims.
A figure at the door is illuminated in a flash of lightning. Cold scrapes down my spine. Lightning is just as wrong as thunder, but it’s the figure at the door that stops my breath.
It’s a witch.
It’s the witch.
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.
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.
This witch looks nothing like the witch who hurt Hansel, and who I thought was going to hurt me. She doesn’t seem familiar with this place the way the evil witch had. This was her home, after all, so it would make sense that another witch wouldn’t know it.
Unless she’s pretending.
I can hear my pulse rushing in my ear. I need answers, and I need them badly, or else I might faint.
I’m not completely frozen, I realize. I’m still breathing. So is Hansel. We have our lungs, at least.