After Shoving Hansel In The Oven, The Witch Turns To Gretel - Who Is Currently Fending The Witch Off

After shoving Hansel in the oven, the witch turns to Gretel - who is currently fending the witch off with a gingerbread chair - and says:

“I can’t believe you thought a trail of breadcrumbs would save you. I mean, honestly, this is a forest! It’s full of animals. Honestly, the very idea that a dumb shit like you thought you could get the better of me is absurd.”

Gretel hits her in the face with said chair. To be fair to the witch, she takes the chairshot like a champ.

“Ow!”

“Did you know,” says Gretel, “that crows are capable of facial recognition?”

“Eh?” Says the witch, clambering to her feet and pulling a candy cane sledgehammer off the wall. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Not only that,” Gretel continues, “but they can remember both friends and enemies. And they’ll often follow people they remember as friends.”

The two fence with their sugared weapons for a moment, before the witch knocks the chair out of Gretel’s hands.

“Enough with the bird facts! Honestly, this whole attempted escape has been utter clownshoes. Get in the fucking oven!”

She seizes Gretel by the collar. Gretel immediately sandbags, letting her whole body go limp. This eminently practical defense forces the witch to try and deadlift her. Which is hard, as the witch often skips leg day.

“For example,” Gretel says, as the witch struggles and grunts, “if you feed crows a lot of breadcrumbs, they’ll probably start to see you as a friend and follow you in the hope of more food.”

The witch stops. Outside, she hears the thunder of wings.

“They’ll even bring you shiny things they find as presents!” Says Gretel, as a corner of the gingerbread ceiling is suddenly cut away by a large crow with a knife in its mouth.

“Oh shitballs.” Says the witch, as the crows descend. “I hope you know this is a great unkindness.”

“Technically,” Says Gretel, “It’s a murder.”

lonely

Villain hadn’t cried after battle for a long time now.

They’d remember how they’d cry, though. They’d crawl into bed, hurt and bruised, tears staining their face because of how much it hurt. They didn’t know at what point they’d fall asleep, but they would, and then they’d wake up.

Sometimes they’d wake up in the middle of the night, when the coldness of the hero fighting them seemed to manifest as the cold of the air, aching. Sometimes they’d wake up in the afternoons, when the cars would honk their horns below their studio apartment and their phone would buzz with texts from their college classmates telling them what they’d missed from their lecture, overwhelming them too much, aching.

They didn’t cry often after battle these days. Sometimes, they’d remember those instance, though. They’d remember how much their past self would miss the warmth of someone else caring for them, the warmth of someone else’s presence. Someone who didn’t just know them as a spiteful villain who only caused a ruckus or their classmate who didn’t have many friends.

That would make their throat close up, pausing their patchwork on their bruised, sometimes bleeding limbs. It would make them sob silently, as the same cold truth would come up in their mind, no one to comfort them.

Villain was lonely.

They never got used to lonely.

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“I don’t know what my goals are, no. Thanks for asking.”

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