The knock came just as the last light of day faded, a faint sound that felt far too human for this strange, enchanted house. Hansel and Gretel both froze, their gazes snapping to the door.

"Who would be out here?" Gretel hissed, her voice low but sharp. Her hand instinctively moved to her side, though she carried no weapon.

Hansel shrugged, standing slowly. “Maybe it’s someone who needs help,” he said, though he didn’t sound certain. He moved to the window, peering cautiously through its sugar-glass panes.

Outside stood a figure cloaked in shadow and the tatters of a worn, dirt-streaked cloak. The figure shifted slightly, the faint light of dusk revealing the pale, thin face of a girl no older than sixteen. Her cheeks were hollow, her lips cracked. She looked like she’d blow away with the next strong gust of wind.

“Please,” the girl called weakly, her voice barely carrying over the evening stillness. “I need shelter… just for the night. Please.”

Hansel looked back at Gretel. “We have to let her in.”

“Are you insane?” Gretel snapped, her eyes narrowing. “We don’t know who she is. For all we know, she could be lying—or worse.”

“She’s alone,” Hansel countered, his voice soft but steady. “If we were out there, wouldn’t we want someone to open the door for us?”

Gretel opened her mouth to argue, then shut it, scowling. “Fine. But if this is some kind of trick…”

Hansel didn’t wait for her to finish. He crossed to the door, pulling it open slowly. The girl—Manon, she would later introduce herself as—stumbled forward, clutching her cloak tighter against the evening chill.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice hoarse. “I won’t be any trouble. I swear it.”

Manon settled near the hearth, holding her hands out to the warm glow of the fire. She was small and slight, her ragged clothes hanging loose on her frame. She didn’t meet their eyes often, instead casting glances around the house as though trying to take in every detail at once.

“This place is… beautiful,” she said after a moment, her voice tentative. “And warm. I haven’t felt warm in days.”

“Where are you from?” Gretel asked abruptly, her tone hard. She leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, her eyes never leaving the stranger.

“A village to the south,” Manon replied, her gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s gone now. The famine…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I’ve been walking for days. I thought I might die out there.”

Hansel felt a pang of guilt and pity. “You’re safe here,” he said quietly. “Would you like some water?”

Manon nodded gratefully. Hansel moved to the kitchen, cautious as he retrieved a cup. He half-expected the house to react—some warning rumble or flicker of disapproval—but the air remained calm.

When he returned, Manon took the cup with shaking hands. “Thank you,” she whispered before taking a careful sip. Her eyes flicked to Gretel. “You don’t trust me,” she said simply.

“You’re a stranger,” Gretel shot back. “Trust isn’t something we can afford.”

Manon smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I suppose I understand. It’s hard to trust when the world has been so cruel.”

The fire crackled softly as Manon spoke, weaving tales of old villages and forgotten travelers. Her voice was low and soothing, though her words carried the weight of caution.

“There was a man once,” she said, her gaze fixed on the flames. “A wealthy merchant who turned away a starving family, thinking they had nothing to offer him. He didn’t know the father was a powerful sorcerer in disguise.”

“What happened to him?” Hansel asked, leaning forward slightly.

Manon’s smile was thin. “The sorcerer cursed him, of course. Took everything he had, leaving him to wander the land as a beggar himself. He learned the value of kindness too late.”

Gretel rolled her eyes. “A nice story, but not exactly realistic.”

Manon tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “Isn’t it?” She set down her cup, her fingers brushing something shiny. A silver pendant, tarnished and old, slid from her cloak. She didn’t seem to notice as it clattered to the floor.

Hansel moved to pick it up, holding it out to her. “You dropped this.”

Manon’s eyes flicked to the pendant, then back to him. “Did I? Perhaps it’s yours now.”

Hansel frowned, confused. “No. It’s yours.”

Manon’s smile returned, softer this time. “Thank you.”

Gretel snorted. “What’s the point of these stories? Are you trying to teach us a lesson?”

“Perhaps,” Manon replied. “Or perhaps I’m just passing the time.”