Cipher stepped across the threshold of the massive gingerbread doorway, and the air changed instantly. The sweet, oppressive scent of sugar thickened, almost tangible, clinging to his skin like a wet cloth. The house's interior was warped, impossible—walls bulging slightly, dripping caramel that refracted the dim light into fractured rainbows. Shadow and color danced together in ways that made his head spin.
Hansel was there, of course. Still hunched over the table, feasting on piles of sticky treats, syrup dripping down his chin. He didn't notice Cipher at all. His focus was absolute, almost fanatical, the innocence of a child long gone, replaced with hunger-driven obsession.
And then Cipher saw her. Gretel.
She stood near the hearth, her silhouette framed by the oven's glowing mouth. She was no longer the timid girl he might have expected; her posture was confident, even commanding. Amber light flickered in her eyes, reflecting the fire that twisted unnaturally within the hearth. Her hands hovered just above the flames, fingers moving in a subtle, practiced rhythm, guiding the fire as if it were a living creature responding to her will.
"Ah," she said softly, not turning fully toward him, "so the Teacher has arrived. Late, as always." Her voice carried a chill beneath its sweetness, each word measured, deliberate. "I wondered when someone would come to try and fix things."
Cipher's grip tightened on the scythe. He had seen corrupted stories before, shadows and beasts that had lost their way. But this… this was different. Gretel had chosen the corruption. She was not a victim.
"You've… changed," Cipher said cautiously, stepping forward. The floor seemed to pulse under each step, syrup-coated tiles bending slightly, reshaping themselves as though alive.
Gretel's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Of course I have. Why wouldn't I? The story demands it, and I am nothing if not… obedient." She gestured at the fire, and it arced upward, spiraling into intricate patterns above her head. Sparks of sugar and ash rained down, yet none fell on her. "Or perhaps you're just late to witness my obedience."
Cipher's gaze flicked between her and Hansel. The boy was oblivious, a fixture of the story, unaware of the tension that pulsed through the room. Cipher knew he couldn't intervene yet—Gretel was the pivot here, the story's axis, and the corrupted power radiating from her was tangible.
"Gretel," Cipher said steadily, voice calm but firm. "You don't have to do this. You're stronger than the story wants you to be. You can choose differently."
Her head tilted, eyes narrowing. "Choose differently? This story? This forest? This fire? You think I am weak enough to follow someone else's will? No, Teacher. I have learned the truth. Survival is strength, and strength is taking what the tale offers and bending it to your will."
The Fades stirred from their hiding places in the candy-laden walls. Small, faceless observers, they moved closer, hovering, watching the exchange silently. The whispers of the forest—long silent while Cipher approached—now swelled into a chorus:
The girl rules. The boy obeys. Bend or break. Bend or break.
Cipher took a deep breath. This was not a simple rescue. He could not slash through the corruption like he had the shadow-wolves. He had to teach, but how do you teach someone who has chosen to reject guidance entirely?
Gretel's smile widened, sensing his hesitation. "You can't teach me anything, Teacher. I am beyond your lessons. Beyond your stories. This fire obeys me. The house obeys me. Even Hansel…" She glanced at her brother, hands flexing over the table, manipulating the syrup covered pastries subtly, "even he will learn to obey the rules I set."
Cipher shifted his weight, scythe humming faintly. Its runes flickered, sensing the corrupted heart of the tale. "Power gained through fear and control is a cage, Gretel. You think you're free, but you've only traded one trap for another."
Her laughter was soft, musical, but edged with malice. "A cage? No. This… this is mastery. Survival. Obedience to nothing but what I command. You may have taught others, Teacher, but I have learned that teaching is meaningless in the face of the story's truth. The story always wins—unless you take it for yourself."
The house itself seemed to lean closer, the gingerbread walls pulsing with anticipation, the fire flickering higher in response to Gretel's defiance. The candy forest outside pressed against the windows like fingers, observing, curious.
Cipher stepped closer, careful, deliberate, measuring distance, tone, presence. "Even masters fall when they rely only on control. True strength comes from guiding, not dominating. Courage isn't bending the world to your will—it's holding your story even when it resists you."
Gretel's eyes flashed amber, and the fire snapped in response, twisting violently into spiked tendrils that curled toward him. "Courage?" she said, voice dripping with mockery. "You mean weakness masquerading as virtue. Do you think I am weak? Look at me. Look at what the story has made me."
Her hands danced over the flames again, sending sparks streaking across the room. Candy tiles warped beneath her feet, forming shifting platforms that elevated her slightly above the floor, a throne of sugar and fire. She was no longer a girl in a house—she was the heart of the corruption, the pivot that held the story together even as it threatened to unravel.
Cipher exhaled, eyes narrowing. Every lesson, every trial he had faced preparing others to face their fears flashed before him. Red had resisted. She had clung to courage in spite of terror. Gretel had embraced fear and shaped it into power. The difference was stark, chilling.
The Fades moved closer, more bold now, circling Cipher silently. He could sense their curiosity, their judgment. He adjusted his stance, scythe held ready, a faint hum of starlight pulsing along its black shaft.
"You've twisted yourself into the story, Gretel," he said slowly, "but the story isn't finished. You may believe you command it—but there is still choice. Even you can choose to step back from this path."
Her laugh echoed like shattering sugar glass. "Step back?" she whispered. "There is no stepping back. I am the fire now. The story bends to me because I accepted it. And you, Teacher, are just late. Too late to teach me courage."
A flicker of doubt crossed Cipher's mind—not about his ability, but about the complexity of the task ahead. Red had been willing; Gretel was not. This wasn't just about fear or bravery—this was about confronting someone who had already rewritten themselves into the corruption, someone who would see his intervention as weakness, a challenge to be crushed.
He adjusted his grip on the scythe, letting the runes flare faintly, like stars winking through a night sky. The weapon's presence alone seemed to stabilize him against the sickly sweetness and twisted gravity of the room.
"And yet," he said quietly, deliberately, "even fire can be tempered."
Gretel's eyes narrowed, amber light flaring brighter in response. The fire leapt and twisted around her hands, but a thin veil of stillness radiated toward him, a test, a challenge, a warning.
Cipher didn't advance. He merely watched, measured, calculated. His mind traced every possible path forward: persuasion, demonstration, containment. This battle wouldn't be won with a single swing—it would be fought with patience, cunning, and teaching.
Hansel continued to munch obliviously, syrup glinting on his fingers, unaware that the story's axis had shifted under his sister's command.
Cipher inhaled deeply. The candy walls seemed to pulse in rhythm with Gretel's defiance. Outside, the forest pressed closer against the windows, the Fades leaning in, whispering, The story bends. The story bends. Will the Teacher succeed?
And for the first time in this tale, Cipher understood fully: he was not here to save her from danger. He was here to show her another way—to confront someone who had chosen power over guidance, corruption over courage.
And he would have to do it without breaking her.
The house shifted slightly, candy tiles rearranging themselves under her control, the fire flickering with intention. Cipher adjusted his stance, scythe humming faintly, runes glowing softly in warning.
He took a careful step forward.
The game had begun.