The hand lingered, sticky and blackened, curling around the doorway like a spider's leg. The room seemed to shrink in response, the candy furniture bending and twisting as though the house itself were alive, watching, waiting.
Cipher tightened his grip on Gretel's shoulder, feeling her tremble—but this time, not just from fear. It was anticipation, devotion, and confusion all tangled together. Her small chest rose and fell rapidly.
"You're afraid," he said softly, meeting her gaze. "But not too afraid to see the truth. Remember who you are."
Gretel's lips quivered. "I… I'm not sure anymore."
The hand moved again, reaching further into the room, drawing with it a shadow that thickened the air. A voice followed, sweet and venomous:
"Little girl, little girl… why do you fight me? Don't you see? This is safety. This is power. This is all you've ever wanted."
Gretel flinched, stepping back, but Cipher remained steady. "Power without choice is poison," he said. "You've felt it, haven't you? How it twists you, how it makes you hurt the ones you care about?"
Her gaze darted to him, hesitation battling the Witch's pull. The hand withdrew slightly, as if testing their resolve, then slammed into the doorway, sending shards of candy flying. The floor trembled, and the smell of burnt sugar filled the room like smoke in lungs.
The Automaton stirred, its glow flaring brighter. "Teacher, she is probing. It will not relent until Gretel either bends or breaks. You must act—guide her through her fear, through her devotion. Do not let the story claim her."
Cipher knelt, bringing his eyes level with hers. "Gretel, listen to me. This isn't who you are. You are not a servant to fear. You are not a tool of this story. You are my student, and you choose your own path. Do you hear me?"
For a long moment, she didn't answer. Then, slowly, a hand rose, trembling, toward her own chest. She whispered, "I… I want to… I want to choose."
The room shifted violently. The house groaned and the walls pulsed as though rejecting her decision. The blackened hand slammed forward again, and a figure began to materialize in its shadow—tall, gaunt, her features distorted, sugar melting into smoke around her form.
The Witch had arrived.
"Very… brave," she hissed, her voice both melody and venom. "But bravery alone does not unwrite me. You cannot teach what the story refuses to learn."
Cipher rose slowly, his scythe sliding from his back into his hands with a whisper of steel. Its runes flared faintly, reflecting the dim light of the warped house. "Then we teach together," he said. "Because I won't let you take her—not while I still breathe."
Gretel pressed close to him, still uncertain, but a spark of defiance glimmered in her eyes. The Witch's form solidified further, the room's air thick with sweet rot and shadows. Every step the figure took seemed to twist the house around them, turning furniture into jagged spikes, dolls into crawling creatures of sugar.
Cipher's grip on his scythe tightened, but he did not strike. He spoke instead, quiet and firm. "Look at me, Gretel. Not her. Look at me. You are not this story. You are not her power. You are you."
Her voice was a whisper, fragile but defiant. "I… I am me."
The Witch recoiled slightly, as though surprised, and let out a screeching hiss that rattled the walls. The candy house warped and buckled, sugar cracking like ice under a storm.
Cipher stepped forward, scythe sweeping in an arc that didn't cut but defined space, carving a safe circle around them both. "You are my student. You will not be consumed. You will learn to choose, even here, even now."
The Witch's laughter rose, shrill and bitter. "Then we shall see… who is teacher… who is pupil… and who burns first."
Gretel's hand found Cipher's, gripping it tightly. Her eyes met his, determination mingled with fear. Cipher nodded once, and together they faced the shadow of the Witch, knowing the battle would not be of blades alone—but of will, guidance, and the quiet, unwavering force of trust.
Outside, the house throbbed with life, sugar walls bending, floors writhing, waiting for the first misstep. The oven's glow burned brighter, casting long, warped shadows that stretched toward them like hungry fingers.
The Witch leaned forward slightly, her form smearing into the sweet rot, and whispered, "Step closer… and all of you will belong to me."
Cipher tightened his hold on Gretel. "Then we step forward… together."
And together, they did.