“They say the guide leads to what one desires most,” she whispered, her rabbit perched on her finger. “But in truth, it guides to what the heart refuses to see. What we hide from ourselves. Me? I need customers. So Lapine leads me to those whose desire can be bargained for. Like you.”
She placed the silver thread in my palm. It was surprisingly heavy.
“I don’t have coins,” I said, stepping back a little, embarrassed.
“I don’t take coins. Only trades. What about your broom?”
I glanced down at my broom. It was only a broom, after all. Easily replaced. But Arawn had enchanted it for me (even if originally it was to throw me out of his office).
I shook my head firmly. “I can’t. It’s a gift.”
“Then… your most precious memory,” she suggested with a little laugh.
I hesitated. My gaze lingered on the heavy thread in my hand. He seemed attached to that lighter, no matter what he claimed. And who would give him a replacement? Charms had to be given. Otherwise, their magic was void.
Magic always came with a price. I knew that. If this girl asked for a precious memory, it was probably because she had none of her own. If I could give her mine, to comfort her, then so be it. I had plenty of others.
I gave her a small smile. “All right.”
The girl clasped my hand. I wondered which memory she’d see. Which was truly the most precious. And then the scent of apples and warm, flaky croissants enveloped me, and I saw my younger self, crying on the threshold of Nyla’s bakery.
“We can’t feed you anymore. You were a mistake that should never have been born. Maybe the confectioner will pity you if you stay quiet.”Those were the last words of my parents before they left me there, with nothing from my old life. I didn’t even remember their faces, only their voices.
The girl’s hand trembled. She hadn’t expected my most cherished memory to begin with such brutal pain. But often, the brightest light is born of the deepest shadows.
I smiled, squeezing her hand as she lived my memory for the first time. Nyla had opened the bakery door. Without a word, she knelt before me. She had always understood me without needing words. I had clung to her with all my strength, and Nyla had accepted the embrace, her fingers gently brushing my hair.
“I’ve always counted only on myself, just like you. But now, you’ll have us too.” Her voice had rung like milk and honey in my ears.
That was also the day I tasted my very first pastry: a cinnamon roll shaped like a tree. That day, my hollow, gray heart had blossomed into color. And Aignan, grumbling as always, had curled up beside me at night, keeping my trembling body warm in the hay.
That day, I had known love. A true home. A family that cherished me. A family that would never abandon me. A warmth strong enough to withstand even the fiercest storm.
A single tear slipped beneath the vendor’s mask.
“Thank you,” she whispered, pulling back her hand. “I’ll cherish your memory. You’ve paid the price.”
I frowned as the memory faded. I recalled something of Nyla and Aignan, but all that remained was a deep, comforting love, a warmth in my chest. And a taste… a hint of melting butter mingled with caramel sweetness, like the tenderness of flaky pastry dissolving on the tongue. Unlike anything I had ever tasted, yet utterly divine.
Only then did I notice the charm was still in my palm.
“Seems like you’ve caught some attention with your curse, Confectioner,” said the girl, tilting her head toward a commotion in the distance.
I turned, and my blood froze. Sorcerers masked in black and red had spotted me. Their bodies angled toward me, and they advanced. I tightened my grip on my broom, slipping the charm into my pocket. With a snap of her fingers, the girl conjured a gust of wind, shoving the masked sorcerers back.
“Thank you!” I yelled, darting away.
I slipped between stalls, my cape snagging on trinkets and hooks. I tore it off, leaving it behind, my glowing skin and hair flying free. Murmurs erupted behind me. I didn’t need to turn around to know the sorcerers were giving chase.
I darted into an alley, only to realize it was a dead end too late. The masked sorcerers closed in.
“By order of the illustrious Wish Witch, the great Zelda,” one rasped, “you cannot remain in service to the Mist Sorcerer. Serve her under an eternal contract… or perish.”
I glared, raising my broom like a sword. “Over my dead body.”
Who did this Zelda think she was, imagining I’d just roll over? She had already sent a Category Eight Cursed into Arawn’s domain, and now her lackeys! Maybe I was only a confectioner, but I wouldn’t go down without a fight. I tightened my grip, closed my eyes, and prayed that… something… anything… would happen.
Silence.
