Sugar Addiction

Rewrite. Version 2.2

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A Sequel to Hansel and Gretel

Chapter 1

They say beauty is only skin deep, and I guess that’s true. Most people have heard the story of Hansel and Gretel, but very few of those people know what was really going on. However, to find that out, we have to look into what happened after Hansel and Gretel found their way back home. It’s a tale of danger and passion, heroes and villains, magic and the power of a belief long forgotten. Nothing you haven’t heard of before, I’m sure, but it’s a story worth telling.

Once upon a time, within this world’s oldest remaining forest, an elderly witch lived in a house made of sweets. The witch was not cruel or mean, but she preferred to be alone rather than around people if she could help it. Her face was kind, if you really looked at it, but it was crooked and horribly scarred from her younger days when she was adventurous and far too daring for her own good. And that’s all I’ll say about that.

The witch’s house was very beautiful. It was hard to tell that it was made of candy, unless you took a close look and realized that there were too many bright colors and that it smelled strongly of sugar, cinnamon, chocolate, and various baked goods. The walls of her home, at first appeared to be wood, but it was actually light colored gingerbread, marbled with darker streaks. Her roof was shingled with toffee, and at a second glance of her windows, one would realize that it was a thin layer of the hard, sugary glaze that lollipops are made of. This particular glaze happened to be lemon flavored, or in other words, it was yellow; making the house appear constantly illuminated. The door handles and stiff drapes of her windows were made of caramelized sugar with a silvery-blue color dyed into them. Her chimney was a pecan cluster and billows of smoke wafted from it, sprinkled with protective magic to confuse any unwanted visitors; like you who happens to be reading all this.

Against the backside of the house, a pile of freshly chopped Buche de Noel logs was piled neatly. It is here where we meet the witch, who was sitting warily on the pile. She wiped her hands on her apron of mint leaves, leaving behind thick streaks of brownie-dirt, and sighed. Her limp, gray hair flowed over her shoulders down to her hips, and her wine-red eyes sparkled with the brilliance of youth, despite her age. Her pet gummy bear tottered over to her, its bright red, translucent body mutilating that light of the three flittering sprites on its back. The witch bent down and patted his head, smiling in her awkward way. The gummy bear was no larger than a house cat or small dog, and that fact that it didn’t eat or drink made having a pet like it all the easier. The only problem the witch had with it was keeping it away from the fireplace, the curious little fool.

The witch pulled herself to her feet and, grabbing her candy cane, walked over to the pond. As the candied trout looked up at her, she grabbed the dish of frosted flakes that lay above the small waterfall and tossed a quarter of the contents into the pond. Several of the larger fish leaped up to the surface greedily, snatching the first few pieces of food and splashing the surrounding sprites with fizzing water. The witch laughed, but the sprites twittered and squeaked in annoyance. One leaned over the water and shook its tiny, blue fist at the candied trout, only to receive a splash right in the face.

As the sprite gurgled and spat, the witch stooped and picked the tiny creature up into her hands, affectionately brushing the water from its large, blue, butterfly-like wings. Once she had dried it, she plucked a small bud from a cotton candy orchid and handed it to the tiny creature. It chirruped gleefully in response and, taking the sweet in its hands, sucked on the bud like a tiny child with a lollipop.

Gently, the witch set the sprite back down by the pond, onto a mature buttercup blossom, and limped away toward the back door. The gummy bear instinctively followed her, causing the sprites to fly off from its back. They squeaked and waved goodbye, then flew back to the others of their kind.

The inviting, but bittersweet smell of chocolate soup wafted into the witch’s nostrils as she entered her home. She inhaled deeply, scenting the air, and limped over to the heavy cauldron hanging over the hearth. With bony, but dexterous fingers, she removed her mint-leaf apron and hung it off the back of a chair, reaching for a large ladle with her other hand.

The mixture flowed thickly under the force of the ladle, rich and brown and pungent. The witch drew the ladle out slowly, allowing the excess soup to drip off before bringing it to her nose, lips parted as if to drink.

“Do you plan on aiming at the back of my head all day, young man?” She asked, dropping the ladle and whipping around in one graceful, swift motion. An arrow flew at her, the twang of a bow echoing within the room, and she raised her hands swiftly, catching the black-fletched projectile between two fingers.

The stranger’s hazel eyes widened in surprise.

The witch lowered her hand, clicking her tongue. “Goodness, children are so rash these days. Not at all like when I was a little girl. No manners, they have, no manners at all! What are you doing in my house?”

The chestnut-haired man’s expression swiftly turned into a glare and he quickly notched another arrow. “This is for all the evil things you did to me, witch!” he growled.

The red-eyed woman tilted her head. “Did to you? I swear I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about. I have never seen such a rude person in my life. For goodness sake! At least put the bow down like a civilized person, young man! One can’t have a proper conversation with an arrow pointed at their face, you know!”

The man eyed the witch warily before slowly lowering his bow, though he did not slacken his grip on the smooth, rosewood handle.

The witch sighed. “There, isn’t that better? It’s better because you are not being rude, yes! Come now, tell me your name.”

He hesitated. “Hansel.”

The witch nodded. “I am Vira. Just Vira. I cast aside my surname many years ago, yes, bad memories that.” She turned, tossing the arrow she held into the fire. She grabbed the ladle once again and waved a hand carelessly. “Why don’t you sit down, rude Hansel, and we’ll talk. Stories always taste better with a full meal, yes. That is good manners, introductions first, then we eat and make merry before exchanging tales! Go on, rude Hansel, sit, sit, and we shall eat!”

The man inhaled sharply and, within an instant, had his bow aimed to kill once again. Vira turned around, frowning.

“What-?”

“I’m not eating anything.” He snapped viciously. “You think I’d chance that again after you imprisoned me last time? Cannibal!”

The arrow was loosened, faster than before, but Hansel’s eyes widened when Vira caught it once again and drove her fist into his stomach faster than his eyes could fully interpret. He doubled over, coughing up a spray of saliva as his breath was knocked out of him. Vira withdrew her fist and watched as the young man collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

She sighed. “So rude, rude, rude! These young ‘uns are so hasty these days.” She mumbled, kneeling to drag him over to her settee. “Heavy too.”

The man slumped onto the sponge-cake sofa like a sack of iron ore. Shaking her head, yet possessing a strange sort of motherly gaze, the elderly witch straightened Hansel’s body out and removed him of his bow and arrows. The gummy bear waddled up alongside her, placing its forepaws on the settee in curiosity.

It was only a few moments later than the brunette man began to awake, his eyelids fluttering open as a muffled groan escaped his throat. He began to sit up, placing a hand on his forehead, but was pushed down by a strong hand and a cup of something bubbly was placed at his lips.

“Drink,” Vira told him firmly, supporting the back of his head with one hand. Hansel did so obediently, but didn’t take his eyes off the red-eyed woman. The fizzing substance took him by surprise, burning his tongue and throat, and he sat up quickly, coughing. He winced at the pain that sprung to his abdomen at the movement, and clutched at the folds of his tunic.

He blinked upon seeing the cup thrust in his face again, and saw Vira looking at him with an emotion somewhere between determination and annoyance. Her wine-red eyes, glaring at him from within that heavily scarred visage, cowed him and he took the cup, forcing down the strange drink. The witch’s expression softened and she smiled crookedly as she stood. Hansel suppressed a shiver; her smile, though kind and sincere, was not pleasant, disfigured by the gouges carved into her flesh.

“Well, that’s better, don’t you think? Honestly, young man, why were you trying to kill me? It’s a rude and rude can be, and so many things can just be sorted out by talking, you know. Though not all, I’ll admit. I mean, wars do exist, after all. But I can hardly call our conflict a war. I haven’t seen you before in my long life. Tell me, Hansel of the Forest, what are you doing in my home, spouting terrible words like ‘cannibal’? I am no Black Witch, oh no, I did not pass the exam, no, it was far too horrid for me to withstand, and they are all extinct now anyway, so it does me no good to be one, no good at all. If I were to be one, why, I would go extinct too!”

Hansel tilted his head slightly at the witch, lowering the ceramic cup in his hand. “You’re not the same witch that imprisoned me here years ago, are you?”

Vira placed her hands on her hips. “Well, that all depends on how many years ago this was. I don’t recall capturing any young ‘uns other than my daughter while playing hide-and-seek-tag, but then, I’m an old woman. And what an old woman like me would want with a hale and hearty and rude young man like you… well, I just wouldn’t know! Doesn’t mean that the house wasn’t here ago then, of course, I mean, I have been living here for centuries, but not constantly! Would you like another drink?”

He stared at the old woman with a puzzled gaze. “Ah, no, thank you.”

“Are you sure? You’re going to sport a nasty bruise for a couple weeks, and the mint soda will help you heal faster. Sorry for having to knock you out like that, but people don’t usually point arrows at my head and I’ve no tolerance for rude characters.”

Hansel blinked and heaved a sigh. “It’s okay. But I guess my journey here was all for nothing. I was hoping to get revenge on the witch that kept my sister and me here, but if this is rightfully your home, then I guess that person must be long gone.” He turned and placed is feet on the floor, preparing to stand. “I am sorry for troubling you. I’ll be on my way.”

“Wait.” Hansel tensed in alarm as Vira’s hand pressed on his shoulder with surprising strength, preventing him from standing. He eyed her with suspicion and fear at the unexpected action. The witch continued.

“It’s already dusk, rude Hansel. The forest is a dangerous place, very dangerous indeed, especially at night and especially to a human. You are welcome to stay here for the night, as long as you stop being so rude and bad mannered, yes, and I advise you to do so. Evil things have been stirring as of late. I wouldn’t want to have someone’s death on my conscious, no, not at all.” She smiled at him.

The young, hazel-eyed man allowed his eyes to scan over the elderly woman standing before him, smiling in that eerie way of hers. He was more than wary of the witch and the house he currently sat in, but he could not deny that the wine-eyed woman had a point. He had brushed against death twice just trying to find the enchanted grove that house was placed in and trying to make his way back, in the middle of the night no less, was sure to be even more risky, regardless of the fact that he now knew the path. His sister would never forgive him if he died.

“Very well,” he said at last, “But only this night and no longer than necessary. I have to return to my village quickly.”

The witch’s eyes lit up like fire and she clapped her hands together joyously. “Wonderful! It’s been many years since I’ve had a proper guest, far too long, if I do say so myself. We witches aren’t very solitary beings, you see, young man. There’s always something to be learned! Can I offer you something to drink, something to eat? No? Well then, lad, feel free to look around. And the garden too! Everyone finds it quite lovely, quite lovely indeed. I’ll be getting out the futon.”

Hansel watched with stunned eyes as the energetic old woman scuttled up her staircase and out of sight, chatting away with her one-sided conversation until she was out of ear-shot. He rubbed his sore stomach as he stood. The old woman sure had a mean hook… she didn’t even use magic on him!

The brunette heaved a sigh; it seemed he still had a long way to go before he was strong enough to fight someone with magical prowess. Oh sure, he could beat down some of the nastier rogues that passed through his home village and most of the feistier boys, but with no real training or battle experience to speak of, Hansel could not call himself the warrior he wanted to be. Gitu was a village of orchards, not military development.

He sighed again, casting away his bitter thoughts and focused on the situation at hand, allowing his eyes to observe everything in sight.

The home was nothing short of magnificent, and was drastically different from his time there as a child. Her table and sitting-pillows had doilies of almond lace and chocolate lace, and a small gumdrop tree by the window was frosted in a fine layer of powdered sugar. A few bubble-lamps of hand-blown sugar-glass floated aimlessly above his head, each filled with six or seven fireflies. The hearth was the only thing not made of sweets in the whole house, because, obviously, it was a hearth, and the witch couldn’t have the fire melt her house now, could she? No, it was made of granite, but of various colors, so, even though it was made of stone, it still looked vaguely like some sort of sweet. I would explain to you, what the witch’s bedroom looked like, but it’s rude to invade in on people’s privacy, so we’ll leave that room untold.

He could not deny that he was impressed, but by no means did he trust the red-eyed woman he found himself in the company of. The strange gummy bear sniffed at his boots curiously. Annoyed, he stamped his foot and sent the innocent thing skittering as far away from him as possible: into the garden. He tilted his head as the creature disappeared from his sight and followed, only to pause and stare in awe at the elaborate garden.

It was a lovely, but crammed little plot, a wide assortment of strange plants blossoming from every corner. The witch had sugar-bell flowers, sugar cane, sweet grass, a caramel apple tree, a candied cherry tree, a cinnamon tree, a cocoa tree, marshmallow, peppermint, spearmint, apple mint, vanilla, licorice ivy, cotton candy orchids, meringue mushrooms, truffles, buttercups, several bon-bon bushes, a maple tree, and a enchanted bees that made honeys of many different flavors. There was even a small pond filled with carbonated water and edged with rock candy, swimming with candied trout, which the gummy bear was currently staring at, several glittering sprites lounging beside it.

A strange sort of peace settled within the young man’s chest, and his suspicions of Vira began to melt away. By no means was he allowing himself to trust her, his past with witches was less than lovely, but he’d give her the benefit of doubt. Hansel could think of no one who could go through such a drastic change in only a few years, human or otherwise. People, in general, just lacked the ability and will to change. Vira had to be a different witch.

Several sprites flew over and flittered about him, smiling, and he tilted his head in wonder at them. The tiny blue creatures were rarely seen in his village in favor of the nocturnal, moth-like pixies. The sprites flew about him, tugging on his clothes and hair until he allowed them to guide him to the pond. The gummy bear looked up, startled, as he approached, and ran off. The pond was more mesmerizing up close; the fizzing water tumbled down a small waterfall and the colorful fish pecked at the surface, sending across ripples. The air here was practically humid with magic.

His hazel-colored eyes trailed up the waterfall and to the small pool where the water apparently originated from: a small, bubbling fountain. A sprite flew past his face and for a split moment, something glinted in the water. He frowned, wondering if it was just a trick of the bubbles, but he tilted his head and the gleam came into sight. Curiously, or perhaps just foolishly, he reached into the fountain and plucked the item out of the water. His fingers tickled with fizz.

It was a tiny thing, a ring, he thought at first, but also not. It looked like a coin that someone had cut the middle out of. A thick, silver coin with several odd symbols on its side. It seemed a simple thing, and he wondered if it was magical; it had been hidden in the witch’s fountain after all.

He looked around the garden. None of the creatures seemed upset or alarmed that he’s taken the item. Perhaps it wasn’t so special after all, he thought.

“Hansel!”

He jumped slightly at the sound of Vira’s voice and slipped the ring-like thing into a pocket as he turned to face her.

The elderly woman’s face was twisted into a horrific smile. “Find the garden yourself, did you, yes?”

He smiled back uncertainly. Her scarred face was almost painful to look at, but witch or not, he was too benign to ask her to stop smiling. Her red eyes shimmered with happiness. How long had she been alone in this place, he wondered?

“It’s a lovely garden, don’t you think? I can’t even begin to tell you how many years I’ve worked to perfect it! My pride and joy, it is! So much time and magic…”

“If I may ask, Vira,” Hansel interrupted, “Why sweets?”

The smile on the woman’s face vanished, replaced by melancholy. “My daughter had a mighty sweet tooth, she did, and I’m afraid I spoiled her rotten. And her friends, you know,” she gestured to her face, “they were scared of me. They were willing to come visit so long as I allowed them to eat as many sweets as they wanted.” The witch sighed. “Ah, I spoiled her so. Too much, I daresay.”

He was surprised. He hadn’t considered the fact that the witch had family. “What happened to her?”

“She grew up. Children do that, you see. Even I was a little, plump babe once, but that was many, many, many years ago. Decades ago, it was, long before the war started. You know, we witches have never had reason to start war between ourselves? That’s a human mannerism. Well, and the White Crown, but they haven’t been seen around these parts for centuries, so I don’t think they truly count. How goes the war on the outside world, anyhow? Such a nasty thing, that sort of thing is.”

Hansel bristled a bit at the mild insult to his people, but could not retort against fact. Those that held positions of power were always greedy for more wealth. The provinces were always fighting at one point or another, though true war had only broken out during the last fifteen years when Prince Gallagher preceded his late father.

“It’s not getting any better.” He admitted reluctantly.

Vira clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Such spoiled youngsters, today. Not much that can be done though, I suppose. Every parent wants to spoil his or her offspring, ‘tis the way of the world, you see. Wants the child to be as happy as possible, but then the children never learn that they can’t have everything. They expect to get the world served to them like a meal and go about a throw a fit when one says ‘no.’”

He tilted his head, but didn’t trust himself to speak. They way she spoke made him wonder if Vira was talking about her own child.

The witch sighed. “Ah, ‘tis a sad thing when one treats his or her children like royalty and they grow up thinking they actually are so. But shall we drift away from such gloomy thoughts! So you do like my garden, young man?”

Hansel smiled lightly and nodded his head. “Yes, Vira. It is incredible. I have never seen anything like it.”

“I should hope not! The younger witches never seem to have my patience for such things, and most of them live in our hidden villages and such now, with the forest shrinking and all. Don’t understand why, though, far too cramped. Well, safety in numbers I suppose, but I think that really only works for animals. It was the downfall of the AElfeuesh, after all!”

He frowned. “The what?”

“The AElfeuesh, Hansel! The AElfeuesh! The fair people! The long ears! War of Tears!”

“Oh, you mean the ‘elves.’”

The witch scowled, causing him to take a step back in fear. “No, no, no, no, no! ‘Elf’ is a human word, not correct at all! There are no such things as ‘elves,’ Hansel-san, dear me. Calling them that is such an insult to their memory. It’s ‘AElfeuesh,’ boy, come on, say it!”

“All frush.”

“No, no, no! All wrong! AElfeuesh!”

“All free…”

“No ‘r’ sounds! Goodness no wonder you humans came up with such a silly word! You all have lame tongues! Come now, try it again!”

He scrunched up his face. The word was difficult. “Alu feesh.”

“Terrible! Just awful!”

He frowned at the woman. “It’s not my fault, my mouth just isn’t the right shape.”

She threw up her arms. “Nonsense! Your mouth is the same shape as mine; you simply need to practice it! Like learning a new language, you see, a very difficult language lest it’s in your upbringing. Try one more time!”

He sighed. “Al free rush.”

“Heavens, my ears threaten to walk right off the sides of my head! You really are no good at this, I’m afraid. Such a shame, but you have some skill in other areas, I’m sure. Really no good at all, you poor thing. Well! I shan’t be asking you to be my interpreter any time soon, surely!”

He raised an eyebrow, wondering if Vira realized that she was insulting him. And he certainly wasn’t poor.

She sighed suddenly. “Ah, but that was a long time ago! Come inside, Hansel, dusk is nearly here.”

He followed her, somewhat perplexed. “What was a long time ago, Vira?” he asked as he ducked through the doorway into the house.

“Nothing, rude Hansel! Sit down, sit down!”

He knelt at the table.

“Can I get you anything to eat? To drink? Anything at all?” she asked as she pulled up a ladle-full of chocolate soup and poured the thick mixture into a wooden bowl. Hansel stiffened at the offer and shook his head. He was giving her the benefit of doubt, but he wasn’t about to risk a stranger’s food. Vira shrugged and sat opposite of him, her bony legs tucked beneath her.

“So, dear boy, tell me what exactly it is that brings you to my home. You were imprisoned here by a witch, that much I understand, but the details are known to you, not to me, yes, yes. Care to tell them?” She whisked her hand over the tabletop, and a glass full of red liquid appeared beneath her fingertips.

Hansel went ridged and she eyed him curiously, tilting her head. “You do not trust magic, do you?”

“No,” he responded somewhat stiffly, “Not in the least. Usually, I won’t have anything to do with it. Coming here was an exception.”

“Most humans are the same, quite the same.” She said softly, taking a sip of the drink. Its smell was pungent; some kind of liquor. “There was once a time when your people weren’t afraid of magic, oh no, not at all, they learned the art alongside all other species, they did.”

“Art?” Hansel frowned. He’d never heard of magic being referred to as an “art.” Few people ever spoke of it; to many, to speak of such things was a bad omen. To even think about using magic was often enough to get someone stoned.

“Of course!” Vira exclaimed, looking offended. “You think magic is just ridiculous waving of the hands and willing whatever you want to appear? Cha! Most certainly not! If that were the case, no one in this world would ever have to suffer and we would all be very fortunate and fat and humdrum. No, no, goodness no. Magic is much, much more complex than that. I do not know how much you are educated in the study of science, but magic can be just as complex as molecular studies!”

The blank look on the man’s face said more than words ever could: he hadn’t the slightest idea what she was rambling on about.

The witch sighed heavily and placed her hand on the glass of liquor, turning the red fluid into creamy white. “This glass is now full of milk, Hansel. Now, let us say that the milk is a ghost, and the glass is a child. The ghost is inside the boy just like the milk is stuck inside the glass, so does that make the boy a ghost?”

He didn’t see where this was going. “No. They’re separate.”

“Even if they share the same body?”

“Well, yes.”

The corner of her mouth crooked upward. “You are correct… in scientific terms, or, in other words, the terms that the terms that the basics of life follow. You plant a seed, water and nurture it, and it grows into a tree, yes. However, with magic, one can plant a seed and grow a horse, yes indeed. The milk and glass share a body, though they are naturally separate, but using magic, the milk and the glass are the same, they are. They must share certain properties, for it is impossible to defy all laws of nature, but the principle is there, yes indeed, it is there.”

“But making a tree seed into a horse isn’t natural.” He said, puzzled.

“No, it’s supernatural. Magic only follows the most primitive of natural laws. It can be manipulated into a wider variety of things, but because of this, it is much harder to control. That is why it is an art, you see. Many people can paint, but few of them can all themselves artists, much less paint a masterpiece. It requires a certain balance of one’s mind and body for even the basics to be taught. You have to understand the world, learn how everything works, and yet, while you know all of these true facts, you have to be able to understand that they are also untrue. If I smash my glass, will it become sand again? Fact says not, but if I do this,” she lifted the cup and threw it onto the table and Hansel watched with astonished eyes as it crumbled into a mess of harmless, pure white sand and not hundreds of deadly glass shards, “I have made it un-fact. Untrue. Fact says that it should not have become sand, but using magic, I have made un-fact into fact, and fact into un-fact. There have been some who call magic the ‘Reverse Order.’”

He stared at the white mounds of sand on the table. “It’s very difficult, but I think I get the gist of it.”

Vira smiled brightly, ignoring Hansel as he flinched, and began eating her soup. “Now, I believe you have a story to tell me, Hansel. Yes, a story, and do not forget to start with ‘once upon a time’ for the best and most memorable stories start out as such, yes they do.”

The brunette blinked dumbly for a moment. He had been so enraptured by the witch’s lecture that he had forgotten her initial request. Muttering an apology, he explained his childhood situation to the wine-eyed woman. His bitter stepmother; the trails of white stones and breadcrumbs; the beatings his sister suffered at the hands of the cannibalistic witch; his trick with the chicken bone; and Vira listened raptly throughout the entire tale. Hansel himself was lost in the memories, the words falling from his thin lips with surprising ease. It was rare for him to talk about his childhood, especially of this particular incident, but he couldn’t help but be at ease in Vira’s presence. Her whole demeanor spoke of someone who cared nothing for social niceties and urged those around her to do the same, whether they willed it or not.

It failed to cross his mind that it could be dangerous to let his guard down around someone he did not know and whose kind he did not trust. Though the causes were long forgotten, there were reasons why humans came to dislike magic.

-

I know, I know, I rewrote this chapter AGAIN. I know I need to be shot and put out of my misery, however, we're all just going to have to deal with it. Actually, you should expect this chapter to be rewritten at least one more time, as I am trying to think of a magical object to replace the "coin with the center cut out of it."

On the bright side, Vira is finally starting to sound as crazy as she is meant to be. She's so wonderfully mad. Before, she sounded far too sane, and sane is one thing Vira most certainly is not.

Read, review, and all that jazz,

Megii