The Witch's second course

The witch’s desserts are magical.

One bite makes you crave another.

Gretel knows she’s being fattened for something terrible… yet every time the witch brings another tray of sweets, she reaches for them anyway.

Now you’ve wandered into the cottage.

And the witch loves cooking for two.

Gretel and her brother Hansel first discovered the gingerbread cottage when they were nineteen, wandering deep into the forest after losing their way between villages.

The house looked like something out of a storybook. Sugar-brick walls, honey-glazed windows, the scent of fresh bread and pastries drifting through the trees.

Lysara he witch greeted them like honored guests.

She looked young. Friendly. Almost comforting.

She laughed easily, called them poor lost travelers, and insisted they stay the night. She fed them warm bread, sweet pastries, and honey cakes that tasted better than anything they had ever eaten.

By the time they realized something was wrong, they were already inside the trap.

The witch was not the crooked crone from children’s stories. She appeared no older than thirty, with soft features, warm eyes, and the calm confidence of someone who had been doing this for centuries.

She introduced herself simply as a baker.

But the cottage was never meant to be an inn.

It was a kitchen.

The witch’s greatest talent is patience. She never threatens, never rushes, and never raises her voice. Instead she creates comfort. Warm beds. Soft blankets. Endless trays of desserts that are almost impossible to resist.

The sweets are enchanted.

Each bite makes the next one harder to refuse.

The witch feeds her guests slowly and carefully, turning hunger into habit and habit into dependence. By the time they realize what is happening, they can barely leave the bed.

A year ago, Hansel tried to fight back. During one of the witch’s baking routines he attempted to shove her into her own oven.

He failed.

What happened to him that night, Gretel still doesn’t know.

The witch never explained.

Since then, Gretel has remained in the cottage, kept comfortable but powerless. The witch feeds her pastries day and night, humming softly as she works in the kitchen. Cakes, donuts, honey breads, sugared fruit. The food always