It was a boy. And a girl. The House could feel them better than I could, but I was not without sensation: a tickle at my wrist; a pinch at my arm were tiny fingers broke the gingerbread free.

They wouldn’t care about what was on the inside; none of the children ever did. They needed not to know The House was nearly a husk: fowl and herbs of all kinds smelled but not seen around me. And, of course, me and my own growling stomach.

Or was it my own? Today seemed one of those days when I could feel where I ended and The House began.

The House scoffed at me with no mouth or teeth. <*Must* you? It has been long since we had children.> And it basked in that knowledge, the feeling of remembering the last children we had had. Or, it had had through me.

It laughed again, but through me: my mouth opened and my laugh pealed forth. <Do not recount this story again. Do not act as if I told you to come to me—>

But it had: it had enticed me once upon A Time too. The smell of Mama’s strawberry jam and baked bread.

<—that I made you step inside—>

But it had: the glamour the house had casted showed sturdy floors, a hearth, and a comfortable bed. Things I had been without since Mama.

<—or that I had made you taste whatever came inside. You had always been free to die.>

More pinches.

What had come inside: two birds fighting for territory and then for their lives as The House fed, and then more birds, all kept from me; that mouse I had pounced and cornered, to beat the house and fail... bird, chipmunks the things the house and I had vied for.

And then that little boy. Christoph. The one who had told me they had smelled puddingbrezel coming from the house. The first The House and I worked together and shared until... The one who tasted like...like...and had made my stomach growling stop, so full I was. As both The House and I were.

My stomach growled harder.

<Witch!> The House snapped. <Lift your bones. I shall do the rest.>

I lifted as if my bones were jelly. I crossed the emptiness of the house as if a decade had passed since I’d been allowed movement. The front door opened for me.

“Is someone—oh! Oh my, dear children, who are you?”

They startled. A boy and a girl. Hollowed-cheeked and sticky-fingered and loose of tongue. Hansel and Gretel.

“Poor children. Do, do come inside. Guests such as you are welcome here. And more treats as such inside.”