The licorice forest thickened with every step, its twisted trunks glistening as though varnished in tar. The air grew heavy, syrupy sweet, clinging to Cipher's lungs like smoke. He shifted Gretel's trembling weight, keeping her close while his free hand brushed his scythe.
The Automaton flickered on his shoulder, eyes glowing faintly. "This place… the sugar rots itself. The tale refuses stability. It has been gnawed hollow."
Cipher said nothing. He could feel it too—the story pulling tighter, like a snare. Every path seemed to bend inward, drawing them toward the same destination.
Gretel clutched his sleeve suddenly, her nails biting into the fabric. "Did you hear that?"
He froze. The forest creaked—not like wood, but like bones bending under strain. Then came a voice, soft and childlike, carried on the sticky air.
"Gretel…"
She stiffened.
The whisper slithered between the trees, mournful and accusing all at once.
"Why did you leave me?"
Cipher set her down gently. She swayed, her torn dress brushing the licorice roots, eyes darting through the gloom. "Hansel…"
A figure emerged from the sugar-dark: a boy about her age, hair matted with soot, eyes hollow and glowing faintly gold. He stepped barefoot over shards of hardened candy that cracked like bones underfoot.
"Why did you leave me in the oven?"
Gretel staggered forward a step before Cipher's arm barred her path. Her voice cracked. "No, Hansel, I—I didn't—"
The boy tilted his head, too smoothly. His body flickered, glitching at the edges like a broken memory.
"You pushed me aside. You wanted to live. You closed the door."
Each word struck her like a stone. She covered her ears, shaking her head. "That's not true! That's not—"
Cipher crouched slightly, keeping himself between them. His eyes stayed locked on the shadow, but his words were for Gretel. "Listen to me. That isn't Hansel. That's what the story wants you to believe."
But she was unraveling. Her knees buckled, lips trembling as tears streaked her cheeks. "I can hear him… his voice… he's real, Cipher! He's real!"
The Automaton spoke sharply, its mechanical timbre vibrating. "Correction: he is a fragment, a false continuity. A shadow cast by corrupted narrative law."
Cipher shot it a look. Too clinical. Too distant. He softened his tone again.
"Gretel, think of your brother—your real brother. Would he accuse you? Would he curse you like this?"
Shadow-Hansel's voice broke into two tones at once, both pleading and condemning. "I burned because of you. I screamed for you. You didn't come back."
Gretel let out a strangled sob and lurched forward, reaching toward the phantom. Cipher caught her wrist firmly, grounding her.
"Stop," he said. Not harshly, but steady—like a teacher refusing to let a student fail themselves. "Look at me."
Her wide, wet eyes lifted, meeting his calm, burning gaze.
"You think this is about guilt. But guilt is a story the shadows want you to tell yourself. They twist truth until you can't see where it ends. So tell me, Gretel… do you want to live?"
Her breath hitched. "I… I don't know."
Cipher leaned closer, his voice low, unwavering. "Then let me remind you. Courage isn't about knowing. It's about stepping forward even when you don't."
Shadow-Hansel shrieked suddenly, voice tearing like parchment. His form swelled, candy shards embedding into his skin, his eyes blazing brighter. "She left me! She left me! She left me!"
The forest echoed the refrain. The licorice trees groaned, their branches bending toward Gretel like accusing fingers. Sap oozed down their sides, glowing like molten sugar.
Cipher rose to his full height, his scythe slipping into his grasp. The runes pulsed like constellations in the dark. But instead of raising the blade in attack, he planted its end firmly into the ground.
"This isn't your grave, Gretel," he said, voice ringing with quiet authority. "Not unless you choose to stay in it."
The Automaton flickered brighter. "Choice stabilizes narrative. His presence depends on her surrender."
Cipher extended his hand to her, palm open. "So. Do you surrender to him? Or do you write something new?"
The air hung heavy, the shadow circling them like a predator. "Don't listen… don't listen… you killed me…"
Gretel stared at the hand, her small frame shaking. The voice of her phantom brother clawed at her ears. For a moment, Cipher saw her falter—her foot shifting toward the shadow, her lips parting in a broken apology.
Then her hand shot into his.
Her grip was weak, trembling—but it was there.
"No," she whispered, voice raw but firming with every word. "You're not him. Hansel wouldn't blame me. Hansel wouldn't… wouldn't want me to suffer like this. You're not him!"
The forest screamed. Shadow-Hansel writhed, his face fracturing like glass. "Gretel! Don't leave me again!"
She squeezed Cipher's hand tighter. "I didn't leave you. And I won't leave you now. But you're gone… and I have to live."
With those words, the shadow shattered. It didn't vanish cleanly—it broke apart into shards of syrup and bone, scattering into the licorice roots. His cry lingered a moment longer, then dissolved into silence.
Gretel collapsed against Cipher's chest, sobbing freely. But her sobs were not hopeless—they carried release, like poison drained from a wound.
The Automaton dimmed its glow, voice hushed. "Fragment neutralized. Narrative strain reduced."
Cipher rested a hand on Gretel's back, steadying her as the forest shifted uneasily around them.
But he knew this wasn't over.
The licorice trees shuddered, syrup dripping faster, their branches knotting together overhead. From the distance came a faint sound—the creak of a door opening, hinges groaning.
Cipher looked up, eyes narrowing.
The house was waiting.