The candy cottage was quiet, bathed in the pale light of the moon. Inside, Hansel and Gretel lay soundly asleep in their warm beds, their dreams untouched by the chaos that had surrounded their lives. Ruprecht, however, was not so fortunate. His body, still under the effects of Rosina’s sugary-food-induced coma, stirred restlessly.

Without waking, he rose from the bed Rosina had reluctantly placed him in and stumbled toward the door, his steps uneven and slow, as though drawn by an unseen force. The faint glow of Rosina’s protective magic shimmered around the children, ensuring they remained safely oblivious to his departure.

Ruprecht wandered into the forest, his eyes half-open but unseeing. The sweet haze of the spell lingered in his mind, dulling his senses and clouding his thoughts. The ground beneath his feet was cold and damp, but he felt none of it. He was drawn deeper into the woods, his path erratic yet purposeful, like a leaf carried by an invisible current.

From the doorway of the cottage, Rosina watched him go. She had sensed his movements, felt the disturbance in her magic as he passed beyond its protective bounds. Her cane rested lightly in her hand, but she didn’t move to follow him.

The forest grew unnaturally quiet as Toltzel, the Tatzelwurm, slithered into the clearing. Its massive, sinuous body shimmered faintly in the moonlight, its feline eyes glowing with a primal hunger. The creature moved without sound, its presence an overwhelming force that seemed to draw the air from the clearing.

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Ruprecht, unaware of the predator closing in, stumbled forward, his breathing shallow and labored. His steps faltered as the earth beneath him shifted slightly, the faint tremors of Toltzel’s approach passing unnoticed in his dulled state.

From her vantage point at the edge of the cottage’s clearing, Rosina could see him—small and fragile against the immense presence of the Tatzelwurm. Her sharp eyes narrowed, her grip tightening on the cane as she weighed her options.

He abandoned them, she thought, anger flaring in her chest. He left his children to die.

But beneath the anger was something else—an uncomfortable pang of guilt. He’s still their father, she reminded herself, her jaw tightening. What does it say about me if I let him die?

Her magic stirred faintly, the silver in her cane glinting under the moonlight. She could intervene. A single spell, a burst of light, and she might scare the Tatzelwurm away. Yet she stayed rooted in place, her heart and mind locked in a battle of their own.

Toltzel struck with terrifying swiftness, its massive jaws closing around Ruprecht in a single, fluid motion. The man’s body disappeared into the creature’s maw, leaving no trace behind. The clearing was silent once more as the Tatzelwurm lifted its head, its glowing eyes scanning the forest before it retreated into the shadows, its hunger sated.

Rosina exhaled slowly, the tension in her chest easing as the creature vanished. She turned back toward the cottage, her steps heavy and deliberate.

As she crossed the threshold into the warm glow of the cottage, Rosina paused, her hand resting on the doorframe. The children were still asleep, their small faces peaceful and untroubled. She let out a long breath, her thoughts swirling with conflict.

“I did nothing,” she murmured to herself, her voice low and bitter. “And yet, it feels like I did everything.”

She closed the door softly behind her, shutting out the darkness of the forest. For now, the children were safe—and that was all that mattered.