Rosina approached Hansel the next morning as he stood by the kitchen. He stared at its gleaming copper pots and the brick oven that hummed softly with life.

“This kitchen,” Rosina said, “is alive in its own way. It responds to care and patience. I want you to spend the day tending to it. Clean it. Watch how it behaves. Listen to what it tells you.”

Hansel blinked, confused. “Listen?”

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Rosina gave him a pointed look. “You’ll figure it out. Trust me.”

Reluctantly, Hansel began his task. He scrubbed the sticky caramel floor, polished the pots, and wiped down the counters. At first, it felt pointless—just chores in a house that seemed to clean itself. But as he worked, he began to notice small changes. When he moved gently and carefully, the kitchen seemed to respond. Ingredients slid forward on the shelves, almost as if they were offering themselves to him. The oven’s warmth grew steady and comforting.

But when he grew impatient, slamming a pot down in frustration, the magic withdrew. The oven flickered, its heat turning uneven. The pots seemed heavier, more cumbersome.

By the end of the day, Hansel was exhausted but satisfied. He realized that the kitchen mirrored his own focus and mood. The calmer and more deliberate he was, the more it rewarded him.