Hazel, One.

In retrospect, Hazel had to admit: she was lucky. She had so much.

She had grown up surrounded by love, with a mother and two wonderful aunts in a house that smelled always of cookies and sweets. She had been given an extraordinary education in the forest that surrounded her home on all sides, learning from her family and from the woodland creatures in equal measure, and eating up every morsel of knowledge they had to offer.

She had never wanted for food, or friends, or fun.

* * *

The two children had been trudging through the forest all night and were exhausted. They had begun their journey in high spirits, but in the waning light of the setting sun, with empty stomachs aching, and weary feet smarting painfully, both had to admit that running away from home did not, any longer, seem like such a clever idea.

“Jane, I’m tired.” The little boy tugged at his sister’s skirt and cast glassy eyes too big for his head at her, hoping for some sympathy.

“I know, Albert.” She tried not to look at his puppy-dog eyes, knowing they would be her downfall.

“Jane, I’m hungry.” Somehow, Jane was sure, his eyes had gotten even bigger.

“Albie, I know.” If he started crying, she was done.

“Jane, I’m scared.” And now that his lip was quivering, it was all she could do to keep her heart from breaking.

“Oh Albie, we’ll find somewhere soon, I promise!” She knew she shouldn’t promise, because she had no way of knowing if she could keep it, but if he kept looking at her like that…

Blessedly, Albert didn’t say anything, and Jane had a moment to gather her thoughts. When her little brother spoke again, though, she finally did break down into tears herself.

“I’m still glad we left, Jane.”

“Oh Albie, you’re so terribly brave,” Jane wept, great wet tears rolling down her pink cheeks in waves as she threw her arms around her brother and squeezed him tight. “I wish we were at home, even with horrible old Gertrude. At least she was better than our last stepmother. She’s only a little ugly, and she only beats us every other Thursday.” In hindsight, it didn’t seem so bad at all.

“And she made lovely lemon tarts for her desserts, and even blueberry treacle sometimes, and every so often she would make the most wonderful gingerbread, why I can smell it even now…” And she could.

“So can I!” Albert cried excitedly, charging off towards the scent before Jane could say another word.

“Albie, no!” Jane cried as she dashed after her brother, crashing headlong through a bush before stopping dead in her tracks, right next to little Albie. For before them was the most wondrous sight either of them had ever laid their little eyes on.

It was certainly the most splendid house that had ever been built, all made from gingerbread, with marzipan shingles and pulled sugar windows, and a little door made of pink shortbread. Gumdrops lined the sugar windows, and jellybeans dotted the gingerbread walls with bursts of colour. Best of all, tiny candied birds alighted on the powder pink branches of cotton candy trees, too tiny and darling to be real. And yet, there they were.

“Is it real, Jane?” Albie asked, his eyes as wide as the peppermint doorknob.

“Oh, it couldn’t possibly be,” Jane breathed, her voice thick with delight.

“Do you think it belongs to anyone?” Albert asked, glancing this way and that before taking a hesitant step towards the delicious little cottage.

“Like who, a witch?” Jane asked incredulously. Everyone knew there was no such thing…

“Probably,” a voice posited behind them, and it was a testament to the house that it was a full ten seconds before either child was able to tear their eyes from it and turn around.

Behind them was a girl only a little older than Jane, but certainly much taller, and much willowier. Jane had to admit that with her long raven black hair and her large violet eyes, she was beautiful. Or, well, she would have been if not for the gargantuan hairy mole on the end of her nose. But she was still beautiful enough that it nettled Jane, who was only a little pretty.

So she snorted. “Witches aren’t real,” she told the older girl, crossing her arms over her chest in what she hoped was a superior gesture.

“Oh no?” the girl asked, smiling softly at the pair of them in a way that almost made her lovely enough to forget the mole, and which consequently nettled Jane further. “This is the Black Forest, you know.”

“Do witches like the Black Forest?” Albert asked, hiding behind his sister and clutching at her skirt.

“Haven’t you heard of Hansel and Gretel?” the girl asked him curiously.

“Of course we have,” Jane nudged her brother. “And everyone knows that after Hansel and Gretel came home, the word was spread to all the kingdoms, and all the witches in the forest were killed during the Great Gingerbread Purge, and now they’re all dead.” Jane smiled smugly at the girl, feeling much better knowing that she was at least much better educated than her.

The girl smiled prettily and shrugged, “well, then I suppose you’d best come inside and have something to eat. You both look positively famished.” With that, she beckoned them towards the house as she started towards it herself.

“It’s your house?” Jane asked uncertainly, glancing back at the wonderful little house and hoping her stomach wasn’t growling too audibly.

“Mmhmm,” the girl agreed, “I live here with my mother and my aunts. They found this lovely little house in the woods before I was born. I suppose it’s a relic from the Gingerbread Purge, but it’s stood up quite nicely.” The girl smiled so warmly that Jane almost forgot how much she disliked her, and when she held open the door for them, she almost went straight in.

“Oh, please Jane! I’m so hungry!” Albert said when she hesitated.

His eyes had once again doubled in size and his lip was already quivering, so all Jane could do was swallow a little sob and guide him through the door.

“Are you sure your family won’t mind if we stay for a little food?” Jane asked, belatedly remembering her manners as the girl closed the door behind them.

“Oh no,” Hazel smiled, “they won’t mind at all.”

* * *

Hazel was certainly lucky to have all she did. But just as lucky, her mother and her aunts would have said, were the things that Hazel didn’t have.

Growing up, she didn’t have any mirrors, so she had never really noticed the huge, hairy mole that dominated the end of her nose. She had never quite gotten the hang of telling time, so she didn’t wonder why her mother and her aunts never seemed to get any older. And she had been kept far away from the nearby village, so she didn’t know that plump village children weren’t part of every growing girl’s diet.

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