She is sweet, like her house; her smile is gentle and her words honeyed. They are too young and too naïve to notice her sharp teeth. They are surprised when she whisks them into cages, though they shouldn’t be; doesn’t the witch’s betrayal play itself out again and again in a thousand stories?
But this time, it’s different. The children are wolves. When they push her into her oven, they do it without regrets. They wait until her corpse is charred and juicy, and eat every last bite, even break open her bones. The magic’s in the marrow, after all.