– A fragment of the confectioner’s soul: one apple of sucre d'or
– The yolk of a blue ostrich egg, beaten seven times, acting as a gelatin to seal the hearts
– Four Rosalia thorns, whose venom bleeds green once brought to a boil
– Sucremort: press the cursed heart until it stops screaming
For the crystalline sugar shell:
– A fairy’s wing, offered, to awaken what has been stolen
– Raw sucre d'or, caramelized slowly until transparent
– Sucre d'or’ snow, to soften the bite
I tied my hair back with a spatula, strands sticking to my neck from the heat of the cauldron. A candy was never more than a spell you could bite into.
Even if no confectioner had ever managed to tame the sucremort without being slowly consumed by it.
The fire caught beneath the copper. First, the Coulis of the Bound Heart. I poured in the equivalent of one apple of sucred'or. Mine. If he was the incarnation of sucremort, then I would be the incarnation of sucre d'or.
The sugar melted slowly, the bittersweet smell stinging my nose. Then I cracked the blue ostrich egg, and the yolk spilled in a viscous stream, midnight blue, veined with gold. One, two, three… seven precise rotations. With each turn, my own pulse aligned with the rhythm of the satin syrup as it thickened.
I wrapped a cloth around my hand and plucked the Rosalia thorns, which writhed in my fingers like hungry creatures, eager to bite into my skin. One by one, I let them fall into the cauldron. A sinister crack sounded, and immediately, a bubble of green smoke burst on the surface, releasing a toxic cloud. The stench burned my throat, a suffocating blend of acid and iron. I pressed a rag against my nose, staggering under the harshness of the poisoned breath.
“You won’t get me.”
With a hasty gesture, I flung open the window. Cold air rushed into the room, sweeping away the stifling fumes in a single gust. The venom bled a deep green, seeping into the starry blue coulis. The gold was extinguished. The mixture blackened, swallowing the light.
It’s working.
Finally, I grabbed Arawn’s heart. It was burning hot, heavy, faintly pulsing. “Forgive me.”
I clenched it in my palm, and the heart screamed. Scarlet drops beaded and fell. A wave tore through my arm—a shiver of fever, of ice, of coals mingled. The sucremort slid down my arms. My heart screamed in harmony with his, as if it wanted to leap out of my chest. The pages of the grimoire flew in every direction. Voices bled through my ears.
You were never wanted.My parents.
You will never be a confectioner.Nyla.
You are empty.The witch.
I cannot love you.Arawn.
You’re nothing but a clumsy fool.Aignan.
The sucremort seeped into my soul. It searched out every fracture, crawling across my skin, leaving behind violet veins and little blisters on my trembling hand.
“You’re wrong,” I panted at the sucremort.
You were never worthy of my love. That’s your loss, not mine.My parents.
You wanted the best for me. That’s why you were so hard on me. You believed in me when no one else would have bothered.Nyla.
Without you, I would never have met my family. Thank you for that wish.The witch.
I will not let you go.Arawn.
Maybe that’s true, but you always stayed by my side.Aignan.
