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downy hair above his upper lip; she's memorized the lay of the land that is his body. every last mole, eyelash, freckle. she has them all counted. if he asked, she could give him the exact number of every repeating part of him.
he is her only salvation in this hellhole.
it's wrong
they'd run away together, into the forest, away from the stepmother that saw through their charades and cursed them and wanted them gone. there was a burn on penina's arm, still raw from the panful of boiling water her stepmother had thrown at her. shon had wrapped it in one of his shirts, shining white against penina's skin, but it didn't help. she still cried from the pain as they fled deeper into the woods, branches tangled overhead.
it's wrong
there were no breadcrumbs dropped behind them. they didn't want to find their way back home.
it's wrong
the house was gingerbread. dimly she had recalled warnings, words from the soft voice of her long-dead mother; go not to the witches of the woods, my daughter--but shon was eager, hungry, tearing chunks of food away from the house, stripping the skeleton of its skin. he hadn't heard the warnings. when penina sat inside with her mother, hearing stories, shon had been out with their father, learning not to be afraid. even of dangerous things.
it's wrong
so it had been easy for the witch to snare them. she promised food and sanctuary; they had no choices. hands clasped, they went forward into the trap.
it's wrong
penina becomes the witch's maid, sweeping up, gathering herbs and frogs to bake into more false gingerbread. she is thrown into shon's cage at night, where they cry and embrace and ask each other when they will escape. so close to each other, they study bodies; even when they kiss, penina wonders if this was not their punishment for doing something forbidden. but she has always been the daughter, afraid; shon fears nothing, even the wrath of something more powerful than themselves. she thinks there is no wisdom in this. he will not listen to her when she says this, and makes her quiet with her downfall, with what she cannot resist.
it's wrong
she is always quiet, except in the cage.
it's wrong
three months pass this way. even as she eats less and less, penina's stomach swells. one day she sneaks into the kitchen when the witch is busy elsewhere, mixes herbs the way her mother taught her. blood takes the swelling away.
it's wrong
she finally finds the opportunity, one day, to kill the witch. the old woman has been trying to fatten shon up all the while, and she tells penina, gloating, that on the next day she will kill shon and eat him. penina sobs that night in the cage when she tells her brother.
it's wrong
“kind heaven help us now! if only the wild beasts in the wood had eaten us, then at least we should have died together.”
it's wrong
shon holds her. he says nothing.
it's wrong
the next day, she kills the witch. she pushes the witch into her own oven and cooks her, a bony turkey slowly baking alive. she doesn't know how she did it; she's in a daze when she runs to the cage and unlocks the door to free her brother. he kisses her. they forget the witch and run away.
it's wrong
the gingerbread house burns down that night. by then, they are far gone.