A Heart as Soft as Poisoned Sweetbread

My sister had always had a soft heart. Soft as candy. But sometimes softness is like a knife, slowly piercing without you noticing until it reaches the depths.

She cried after the old woman, despite everything. Maybe because of everything. I remember holding her as she shook with tears, both of us covered in soot, her fingers burned from holding the burning oven door. She was like a child lost in a storm, but it was inside her.

After the tears, she was silent. A heavy silence, like the fog that shrouds the forest at night. She followed me through that hideous house, its walls like candy and its windows like melted sugar. She found the clothes we had come in, offered her her dress, and she put it on without a word. She didn’t react when we found the treasure in the attic, only nodding vaguely when I asked her to help me fill the bags we could carry through the forest.

Maybe… perhaps that would be enough. Enough to protect us from our stepmother’s whims.

“I don’t want to go back there.”

It was the first word she had spoken in hours. I stopped outside the witch’s hut, looking over my shoulder at her. She was standing there, her eyes glassy, as if she saw something I couldn’t.

“I don’t want to go back to them.”

She sighed. “Neither do I. But where can we go?”

She clenched her fingers in the front of her skirt, her eyes lowered, her teeth biting her lower lip. Finally, she nodded. “Okay. You’re right.” She looked back at the house. “Wait a minute. There might be something left in the kitchen.”

“The kitchen?” I repeated gruffly, but she just nodded.

“Yes. She didn’t think I was paying attention, but I was. I know which of her potions might be useful… At least we can sell them when we get back.”

I nodded slowly and followed her back into the hut, though I stopped at the open doorway leading to the kitchen itself. She moved easily through the space, a painful reminder of how long she had been under the witch’s control while the hideous old woman tried to fatten me up like a pig for slaughter. She gathered about ten bottles and vials, carefully placing them among the silk and satin rolls we had stolen from the attic before she returned to me.

“Let’s go.”

Although there was no path this time, she seemed to know her way through the trees. I asked her how, once, when we stopped to wait out the dark. But all she would say was that she simply knew now. It was as if the forest spoke to her in a way it had never done before.

I felt my first twinge of fear at that. But I knew she was still very afraid… I refused to show her. I tried to get her to imagine what kind of life we might have with the witch’s stolen treasure and succeeded in earning a faint smile for my efforts. But it was cold and dark, and soon we were huddled together under a twisted tree as we waited for the deepest part of the night to pass.

As the gray light of dawn began to filter through the leaves, she was the first to stand. She fell silent again, answering only with soft murmurs or single words as we continued on our way. She seemed more at ease leading us now, but something about the way she held her shoulders reminded me of...  Something I couldn’t place.

Eventually, she sank into silence.

When the trees parted to reveal the familiar outline of our father’s house, she stopped. Then she took off running, me half a step behind her.

The door was already opening when we reached the threshold, and our father met us with open arms and tears in his eyes. He hugged us tightly and apologized, over and over, praising the name of the Lord.

I hugged him back, but along with the relief in my chest, there was anger deep inside me. It had started as a spark, but it had grown into a steady flame all the way through the woods.

I met my sister’s eyes over our father’s shoulder and felt a chill run through me.

If my anger was a flame, hers was the bitter cold of the darkest winter night.

Our father told us that his wife had fallen ill, shortly after we left. She was in her room now, asleep, and had been for days. He hadn’t expected her to recover, though he had been following the doctor’s instructions as best he could.

“Maybe she’ll get her strength back to see you,” he said hopefully.

When neither of us answered, he sighed and ran his hands through his thick beard. There was more ash in it than I remembered.

“I know you must be... angry with me. With us,” he told us miserably. “That I... that I lost you so easily. It’s an unforgivable failure in a father.”

“Lost us?”

I shivered slightly at the sharpness in my sister’s voice. And our father’s, too. She always had a soft voice that suited her heart.

“We were lost?” She repeated, staring at him intently.

Our father stared at her, his eyes wide and a little afraid. “…Lost,” he finally confirmed in a voice barely above a whisper.

I lowered my eyes, unable to continue looking at him.

My sister didn’t.

Suddenly, she stood up from our little table. “We’ll go see her, then.”

I blinked, surprised by the sudden movement and determination in her voice, but I followed her into my stepmother’s sick room. The flames of anger rose slightly in my chest, and I found that I couldn’t move more than two steps inside the door.

My sister knelt beside the hateful woman and gently brushed her hand across her forehead in a gesture so delicate that it made me want to break something.

“Here.” She tilted one of the witch’s vials to her lips. “This will help.”

I almost reached out to stop her, but as if she sensed the movement, she raised her hand to stop me.

When the vial was empty, she stood and wiped her hands on her skirt. She did not look at me as she left the room.

I hesitated a moment longer behind her, staring at the woman who had left us for the forest and the wilderness. Indeed, her breathing seemed easier.

Anger and love for my sister clashed, twin flames in the center of my chest.

She had always had a soft heart.

Our stepmother was up and fresh within a day. Though shocked by our return, she was calmed enough by the treasures we had stolen that she pretended to cry and told us she was sorry we were “lost in the forest.”

My anger flared even more, and my sister grew colder.

“We should celebrate your return,” our stepmother cried, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders but no other sign of her illness. “What do you want for dinner, sweetie?”

“Dessert.”

I quickly turned to stare at my sister, my eyes wide and my mouth open. She didn’t even look at me, but I felt her hand take mine under the table.

I smiled at my stepmother, my throat dry.

“But you’re still recovering, stepmother. I feel fine, all things considered. I’ll make it myself,” she offered gently.

I could have stopped her then. I could have grabbed her hand and pulled us away. We could have taken the treasure and left… It was foolish of me to think that we had nowhere to go; we could have gone anywhere. Seeing our father again, hearing him refuse to acknowledge what they had done, made me sure of that.

But my sister looked at me, just for a moment, and the ice in her gaze froze me in place.

She didn’t ask permission, but I nodded anyway.

Our stepmother shouted that she was a “kind and caring girl” as she moved into the kitchen. The smell of baked goods quickly filled the air. It was all I could do not to gag.

My sister served the plates while the bread was still steaming gently, even pouring the last of the honey onto our parents’ portions. “We can always get more from the market now,” she said with a hollow laugh.

Our stepmother happily agreed, though our father hesitated for a moment before doing so. He watched my sister with slight caution as she sat down next to me.

“Come on, let’s eat!”

They did.

We sat in silence.

My stepmother struck first. A slight cough, her brows furrowing. She looked at us in confusion, which quickly turned to horrified realization as she stared at my sister.

“You…!”

Our father choked, red spots dotting his lips. I looked away, gripping my sister’s hand tightly as she took her under the table again.

“We were… we were desperate,” the words came out choked out, reaching out towards her pleadingly. “I didn’t want to! She made me!”

My sister shook her head. “You let her.”

He collapsed on the table, his breathing turning into a wheezing sound that grew weaker with each passing moment.

My stepmother tried to lunge at us, but her legs faltered and she fell to the floor. A red streak, like sweetened jam, leaked from the corner of her mouth.

“You…” She took another gasp, glaring at my sister in exasperation. “You… little witch…”

They both began to shiver. I buried my face in my sister’s shoulder. I felt her hand stroke my hair… even without looking up, I knew she hadn’t looked away until their last breaths faded into silence.

Then she simply stood up, her hand still in mine. We were both silent as we gathered our bags, still unpacked at the front door, and walked out into the cold evening.

“...You’re scared.”

I swallowed. “Y-Yes.”

She smiled at me, squeezed my hand again, and all I felt was cold. “You don’t need to be like this. I’ll protect you.”

My sister had always had a soft heart. Soft as poisoned candy.