Dreadlilocks followed the gingerbread girl into the recesses of the cave…which, gradually, as if by magic, morphed into the marzipan-paved road to a mystical new world.
Cotton candy clouds floated through a coffee-colored sky, casting shadows over fields of shaved coconut. Powdered sugar began to fall, coating the pair in patches of white. On a whim, Dreadli licked her free hand, and it was sweet.
“…Blizzard’s on the way,” the gingerbread girl murmured. “I could make it stop, but this is what I had planned for today…let’s just hurry inside.”
She led her to a gingerbread house on a hill, and opened the door. In the front room was an already roaring hearth, and a table covered in bowls, spoons, flour, and other baking supplies.
“Sit by the fire and dry off,” she said. “Even on the moon, you can still catch cold.”
Dreadli did as she was told, removing her boots and stockings. “Um…so, who are you…?” she asked.
“Just call me Gin,” answered the gingerbread girl.
“Okay…Gin,” said Dreadli, squeezing the water from her locs. “Why did you help me just now?”
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“I felt obligated. You’re one of the last stories Jack wrote before he was locked away, and against all odds you made it to the moon…I figured he would have wanted me to help you.”
“…What??”
Dreadlilocks stared at her host, wide-eyed. “Jack…wrote me…?”
Gin stared back, then smiled. “Oh…you don’t know anything, do you?? It’s been a long time since I interacted with someone from LaConte…I forgot how limited your perspective is. Of course, I used to be just like you, once upon a time...”
She joined Dreadli by the fire, although she made a point to sit a bit further away. “…I burn easily,” she explained. “Now: do you want to hear the story of the universe…?”
Dreadli nodded, nervous but curious.
“Okay. I’ll just speed through the beginning stuff; that’s not as important…besides, you already know most of it, don’t you? Mère L’Oye made the world, and then she made a son. They live here and work together…but I guess you weren’t aware that Jack did any writing?”
“Well, sort of …I guess we knew he could write, but we never really thought about him actually writing…or doing anything, to be honest. I know I didn’t, not until everyone explained about the unwriting and said it was his fault…” Dreadli looked at the floor. “The…the Odsplut said that wasn’t true, though…and I guess you’re about to tell me the same thing.”
“Of course! You know, when Jack told me about that, I almost didn’t believe it. It’s just so unnecessarily cruel…dragging his name through the mud just to make herself look sympathetic…it’s not as if anyone will be around to read her story in the end…”
“Wait, whose story??”
“Well…Mère L’Oye’s.” Gin sighed. “You see…she’s going to die soon.”