Gretel and Hansel
Hansel wanted to go back.
Even after endless weeks in a cage, even after Gretel had scrubbed and swept and scoured for the witch, even after she’d pushed the frog-skinned crone into the oven, Hansel wanted to go back.
They stood at the edge of the forest, where the grass grew wild and sharp, and brambles grabbed at their skin. The trees above reached their branches toward the ground as if they might scoop the two up and carry them away.
“She’s dead,” Gretel said to him.
Hansel stared into the woods.
“I killed her,” she added.
He shook his head, the movement so slow that at first, Gretel didn’t take its meaning.
“You didn’t kill her,” he said, his words as dead as the witch should’ve been. “She’s alive.”
Was she? Could she be? Gretel stretched her hands in front o
