Page 14 of How To Survive This Fairytale

In other words, how not to be afraid of the woods.

* * *

Three years pass.

Halfway there, Gertrude, you think.Don’t lose hope.

* * *

On a days-long trip into the woods, you finally find the courage to ask a question you’ve wanted to ask since the beginning.Laying on your bedroll, gazing skyward to identify constellations, you finally ask it.

“What about a witch?What do you do about a witch?”

The campfire crackles behind you.Somewhere in the darkness, a rabbit snaps a twig.The huntsman scrutinizes you for a long silence.

“Tricky business, witches,” he says.“Stab a witch fifty times, and she’ll walk away unscathed.Shoot an arrow through her eye and she’ll pluck it out like a splinter.Witches aren’t normal people.They’re not for the likes of you or me.”

“I don’t understand,” you say.

“If you ever meet a witch, Hansel, the best thing you can do is run away,” he says.“Only a prince or a princess can defeat a witch.Don’t ask me why.That’s just the way of it.”

But Gretel killed a witch, you think,and she was no princess.Unless…

Unless Gretel didn’t kill the witch.

Nausea tightens your stomach and warms the back of your tongue.If Gretel didn’t kill the witch—couldn’tkill the witch—then the house made of gingerbread still stands, and the witch still lives, and Gretel alone turned to ash after tumbling inside the oven.But how?How could anyone escape an oven unscathed?

You open your mouth to ask, but the words strangle themselves.In order to ask about the witch, you have to tell him about the witch.You’ll have to tell him you ran away when you could have saved your sister.

So instead, you ask a different question.“Have you ever met a witch?”

The huntsman surprises you when he answers, immediately, “Yes.”

“Did you run?”

“I didn’t know she was a witch until it was too late.”

Fireflies blink in and out of the shadows.Friend yawns and noses your palm for attention, which you dutifully give in the form of scratches to the base of her ear.

“What did you do when you learned?”

The huntsman offers you that strange, pitying look you’ve never been able to interpret.The shadows cast by the firelight deepen the lines of his face, under his eyes and astride his mouth.His eyes soften with pain.Then he shakes his head.He stares up at the sky, but that doesn’t hide his agony.

“I did what I had to do,” he says, “to survive.”

* * *

Another year passes.Then another.

Until, suddenly, three more years have slipped through your fingers.At the end of this year, if Gertrude succeeds, the swans will be human again, and she will know you were taken, and maybe you will see them again.So many nights you have lain awake on the floor, rehearsing how you will ask the Fair Queen if she will grant you leave to reunite with them.So many mornings, you have nearly asked.For reasons you do not understand, the request always turns to ash on your tongue.

(One day, you will be glad you never let her know who you love.

One day, you will see you were keeping Favorite safe, even at a distance.)

* * *

Though you are nearly a grown man, with dark stubble pinpricking your jaw, you cannot help but feel petulant as you help the huntsman pack for a solo trip.