Once there was a picturesque old village, in which there sat a quaint old house, in which there lived an old woman who loved to bake. The old woman particularly liked to bake cookies, especially ones that looked like people or animals. She had no family, so baking kept her occupied and relatively happy. All her cookies were extremely detailed and realistic, and looked as if they were alive. But they weren’t, and this was the one thing that saddened the old woman. Until the day she saw an ad for magical cookie dough. 

The old woman bought the cookie dough, and spent the next day meticulously rolling and sculpting it in the shape of a gingerbread man. After placing it in the oven with care, she pulled a chair into the kitchen to rest her back. She watched her creation like a hawk, making sure that the cookie wouldn’t burn or underbake. When she was sure it was done and had left it steaming on the counter to cool, she gathered the ingredients for the icing. This was where the magic happened, according to the instructions. Whatever she wished for while icing the cookie would activate the magic in the dough and bring her desires to life.

As she carefully traced the golden curls that would be the cookie’s hair, and dotted her deep blue eyes, she thought and wished and hoped for someone to keep her company, someone to talk to, someone she could teach all she knew about life. Someone almost like a child, but who she could still talk to at a deeper level and would understand her.

When at last she sat down the bag of icing, the gingerbread man’s arms bent back and pushed herself to a sitting position.

“Hey, Nan,” she said. “ ‘Sup?”

The old woman was shocked. She had never been called Nan before, and the joy almost brought her to tears. Though she was confused as to what ‘ ‘sup’ meant, she brushed away her puzzlement, figuring it was just something the kids were saying these days.

“Hello, darling,” she said kindly, pulling the chair closer to the counter so could sit eye to eye with the cookie.

The cookie looked around the room, drawing her knees to her chest and resting her short arms on top of them. “Nice place you got,” she said, rocking back and forth slightly as she took in the room. “Bit big though, don’t you think?”

“I- Thank you, I guess,” the old woman said, still slightly flustered. “I suppose it would seem rather large to someone of your size, no offense intended.”

The cookie waved an arm in dismissal. “None taken, Nan.”

The old woman gazed at the cookie in puzzlement. She had wished for a companion so desperately, but a cookie who called her Nan was a bit unsettling. “Would you like a tour, Ginger?” she asked. Ginger sounded like a good name for a gingerbread.

But the cookie looked around the room, as if thinking that the old woman was talking to someone else. “Who, me?” she questioned after realizing they were alone, pointing a stubby arm at herself.

“Why, of course dear,” the old woman said, trying desperately to keep a pleasant smile on her face. This wasn’t exactly how she had imagined this going.

“My name is not Ginger,” she snapped. “Like, seriously, that’s so basic. I’m literally a gingerbread cookie! Also, that sounds like a name for a cat. And I am not going to be one of your silly little pets!”

The old woman was taken aback by this sudden outburst from her cookie. She had envisioned someone she could talk to and show life, not someone whose opinions clashed so heavily with hers over the most trivial of matters.

“Then what is your name?” she asked, desperately trying to hide her mounting frustration.

“Harlow,” the cookie stated matter of factly.

The old woman simply nodded, trying not to show her bewilderment. Best not to upset little Harlow. “I’ll show you around,” she said, getting stiffly to her feet. She headed out of the room, then looked back.

“Can’t exactly get off here without snapping my neck, Nan,” Harlow sneered, gesturing annoyingly to the counter.

“Oh, I’m so sorry dear!” the old woman exclaimed, rushing back to the counter, which must have looked massive to the cookie. She reached out a hand as if to pick the cookie up, but pulled back when Harlow flinched away.

“Umm, no,” she said. “You’re not gonna pluck me off the counter and cart me around. Like I said, not a pet. Hold out your palm and lower me to the floor, like an elevator.”

“Like a- A what?” the old woman spluttered.

“Hold up,” Harlow said, raising a hand. “What century are we even in?”

The old woman just looked at her.

“Never mind,” the cookie sighed. “Just get me off this stupid counter.”

The old woman helped Harlow to the floor, and led her out of the kitchen. She thought the cookie would have trouble keeping up with her, but Harlow’s little legs moved surprisingly quick. She showed her new companion around, ending the tour at the top of the stairs by a closet.

“What’s behind that door?” Harlow asked, pointing a stubby hand at a door to the left of the closet.

“My room,” the old woman replied, moving to go back down the stairs to the kitchen.

“What about my room?”

The old woman blinked. She hadn’t even thought about a room for Harlow yet. “I suppose I could move some things out of the closet-”

“The closet?” the cookie started to laugh. “You’re joking, right?”

“Er...”

“Wait, wait, wait. Hold up. You’re actually considering having a closet be my room?” Harlow asked incredulously.

“Well, I thought you wouldn’t need much space-”

“That’s absolutely absurd!”

“I-”

“Hold on,” the cookie said, raising an arm as if to lecture the old woman. “I’m not done yet. If this is going to work, we’re going to have to talk about some things, establish boundaries. I know what your hopes are, but I’ve got some terms too. One-” the cookie was now pacing along the floor in front of the closet door, and the old woman watched, stunned. “-I’m not ignoring the fact that I’m a cookie, and that there’s a size difference between you and I. But don’t treat me as lesser for it, unless you want me to treat you as lesser for being human. Two-” the cookie shook her hand again, “-I’m glad you’re my Nan, and I’m looking forward to talking with you and stuff. But you’re gonna have to be open to my way sometimes. Three; Ask before you touch me. I’m not a sweet little pet of yours you can cart anywhere you want. Also, I’ve got an aunt who’s a black belt ninjabread, and she’s taught me a couple things. Just saying.”

The old woman stared down at her new companion for a moment. She hadn’t expected such an opinionated little cookie with such demands. “I understand,” she said when words finally came back to her. “But what would you like me to do about your room?”

Harlow thought for a moment, before asking, “Could we build a gingerbread house, Nan? I think it would be a good way to get to know each other. And we could probably put it on the table, like a centerpiece.”

The old woman smiled. The cookie sounded more like the child the old woman had wished for now. Surely she had just been overreacting at her outburst; she seemed like such a sweet, darling little creature. She led Harlow back to the kitchen, the argument already fading from her mind, and they began to bake.

Later that evening, after saying goodnight to her Nan and climbing into her now completed house, Harlow reflected on her situation. She figured the outburst had been too much too soon; she had caused the old woman to doubt her decisions already. But at least now she knew anytime she strayed from the old woman’s wishes, it wouldn’t be pretty. She had to admit, though, it had been relatively enjoyable building the house together, and Harlow thought she could make it work. For now.

When the old woman awoke the next morning, she went down the stairs to the kitchen and found Harlow mixing something up in a small bowl.

“Harlow, darling, what are you doing?” she asked, still blinking sleep from her eyes. How had the cookie managed to get into the on the counter and into the cabinets without any help?

“Mixing up some icing,” she said, focused on the bowl in front of her. She carefully added a few drops of black dye, and began to stir it again.

“What for?” the old woman asked. “Oh, were you making some cookies for me? That’s so sweet.”

Harlow looked at the counter, appearing to be slightly ashamed. “I… wasn’t making anything for you,” she said. “I was mixing up some new icing for my hair.”

“What’s wrong with your hair?” the old woman asked, frowning. She had spent so much time making the painstakingly beautiful curls of the rich, light gold color.

“I just don’t like it,” Harlow said, shrugging. “Wanted something different.”

The cookie picked up the small wooden spoon, which was still almost as tall as her, and began to stir again. But the old woman reached out and yanked it from her grasp.

“No,” she said firmly at Harlow’s questioning look. “No, you’re not changing your hair. It’s just fine the way it is. And you should have talked to me before doing something reckless like this; you could have fallen off the counter and got hurt!”

Harlow was upset, but pushed away her growing feelings of bitterness towards her Nan. She supposed it was partly her fault; she should have asked before making the icing. But if something as frivolous as hair got this reaction out of Nan, she wondered how long it would be before they both tired of keeping up the act that everything was perfect between them.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll put the icing away.”

“No, no,” the old woman said as Harlow moved to clean up the mess. “We can use it to decorate the glorious cake I was going to show you how to make today.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” Harlow chirped, and the old woman smiled at her creation. She was a handful sometimes, but when she happily went along with what she was told, she was a fine companion.

But as the weeks went by, the two had trouble keeping their true feelings about each other hidden. There were numerous explosive arguments about the littlest of things, and Harlow grew tired of always going along with the old woman’s every wish and whim.

“Why do you even keep me around anymore, Nan?” the cookie asked one day, after the old woman had scolded her for the umpteenth time. “Nothing I do is ever good enough for you.”

“Oh, Harlow, darling,” the old woman said, feigning regret at her choice of words. “That’s not what I meant. There’s just so much you have to learn still, so much I haven’t taught you.”

Harlow remained silent while they finished baking the loaf of cinnamon bread they were making, stirring the batter while the old woman carefully added ingredients. She wondered what life would be like without her Nan, if the world really was as dark as she had been told. She fantasized about running away, living a life of adventure free from the demands of anyone but herself. What fun it would be, to travel the world and explore all it had to offer besides baking. She wondered about the creatures she could meet, the friends she might make…

“Harlow, dear, are you all right?” the old woman’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts and brought her hurtling unwillingly back to reality.

“Hmm?” she asked, still not quite ready to give up the daydream. “Oh, yeah, I’m good. Just spacing out.”

“Penny for your thoughts?” the old woman asked while she moved the dough into a pan.

Harlow almost didn’t say anything, but the old woman seemed to be in good spirits again, so she took a chance and asked, “Have you ever traveled outside of this village? Like, explored different places and met new people?”

“Of course not,” the old woman said, slightly offended. Harlow knew she was on a slippery slope now; the old woman’s temper often came on suddenly and harshly. “Why would I need to? I was born and raised here, and I’m happy creating such delicious sweets every day.”

“But surely there’s more to life than baking?” Harlow blurted out before she could stop herself. The old woman’s gaze grew heavy and fierce. This was sure to be one of their worse arguments.

“Of course there is, but I know nothing other than the ways of the kitchen. And you are my companion, you are to stay here and keep me company. That is what I decided for your life when I gave it to you. The best you could do is honor my wishes and be grateful for me, because if it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t be here!”

Harlow wanted to lash out at her Nan, give her a piece of her mind. But instead she began to help pick up the mess and returned to her daydream, but this time the daydream was more of a plan than a fleeting, happy thought.

Later, when the bread was baked and had cooled, Harlow wandered in from the kitchen to the living room, where her Nan had been sitting, silently sewing a quilt and ignoring her.

“Hey, Nan?” she asked tentatively.

“Yes, dear?” the old woman said, looking up from the quilt.

“Would it be alright if I take some of the bread out to the yard for the birds?”

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea!” the old woman said, setting down the quilt and getting to her feet. “I’ll cut you a piece and you can take it out.”

“Great, thanks!” Harlow said, and the old woman thought the smile on her face was more genuine than usual, and wondered why feeding birds had made her so happy. What a strange creature.

The old woman carefully sliced a small piece off the loaf, and gave it to Harlow. She marveled at the strength of the little cookie; how was it possible that she could easily lift things twice, sometimes three times her size?

“Thanks, Nan!” Harlow said, heading out the back door. “I’ll be back in a little bit!”

The old woman stood at the kitchen window, and watched the cookie carefully tear chunks off the slice and scatter them around the garden. She seemed to be making some sort of design. After a few minutes, the old woman went back to the living room to work on her quilt some more. A strange creature indeed.

Outside, Harlow sighed. Finally her Nan was gone. Abandoning the bread, she went to a bush by the fence and dug around for a little bag she had put together out of the old woman’s sewing scraps. Checking that all her supplies were still in it, she looked back at the house.

Like the old woman, the house and village was all she knew. Nan was all she knew. But Harlow also knew that she couldn’t continue on with Nan and the way things were between them. She started to back away slowly, thinking of how distressed she would be when she realized she was gone.

Harlow turned her back to the house and made for the gate at the back of the property. But when she reached it, she stopped. What if Nan just thought she had been snatched up by birds? It would be ironic that the very creatures she was feeding instead feasted on her, but that wasn’t the gut punch she wanted to give Nan. No, the old woman had to know that she had left of her own free will.

Turning back towards the house that had trapped her once more, she yelled, “Run, run, as fast as you can, but you won’t catch me, Nan!”

Satisfied, Harlow turned her back again and for the final time and fled into the woods beyond Nan’s house, into adventure and life.

But it turned out a life full of adventure wasn’t always as easy as roaming wherever she liked. Multiple creatures from the woods thought she was a peculiar, but still delicious, meal, and if she neared too close to a village, young children would attempt to eat her sometimes.

But she saw many unique and exciting sights that she never would have if she had stayed with Nan. One day she happened upon a tree that had branches seemingly plucked from each of the four seasons, and another she glimpsed the sight of a tall, beautiful stone castle when she was traveling along the edge of a particularly dangerous part of the forest.

Harlow met some people along her journey, mainly forest sprites and herbivorous creatures, but none that she could call friend. While she didn’t miss Nan, she missed having someone to talk to.

One day a peculiar smell came to her, one that was familiar but out of place in the forest; someone was baking. Having nothing better to do, she decided to follow the scent and find out who was baking in the middle of nowhere.

The path led her through some of the more dangerous parts of the woods, and she had to stop and let predators pass multiple times. Once, when she felt like she was being watched, she noticed a bag labeled ‘Funyuns’ laying on the ground. She didn’t know what the word meant, or whose it was, but she didn’t want to find out. She hurried along, the smell getting stronger and stronger.

At last, the forest broke into a small clearing, in which sat the most peculiar house. It was made entirely out of candy and baked goods, not unlike her house on Nan’s dining room table. Except the house was massive. It seemed as though someone was actually living there; smoke was curling out of a chimney, which had the same sickly sweet smell that had lured her there.

Harlow wasn’t sure what to do, as this was the first house she had happened upon this deep in the woods. She moved closer to the house and touched it. It actually was made of sweets; it wasn’t some insane feat of engineering.

Harlow looked at the door. Should she go up and knock? What if the owner wasn’t friendly, though? Nan had been proof enough that people weren’t always as they seemed.

But she didn’t have to think for long, because the front door opened and an old woman peered out and called, “Nibble, nibble, little mouse, who is nibbling at my house?”

“That was me, sorry,” Harlow said, raising a hand to draw the old woman’s attention to her small form. “Didn’t mean to bother you.”

“Oh, no harm done. Many people enjoy admiring my house. What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

For some reason, Harlow felt that she could trust this person, despite having no idea who she was. Something about her voice made her feel seen, like her opinions mattered and the old woman genuinely cared about what she said. “I ran away from home,” she explained. “Just been wandering around since, and I ended up here.”

“Oh, you poor thing! Come in, come in, you must be tired,” the old woman said, moving aside to let Harlow in. Harlow marveled at the interior; it was just as beautiful and magical as the outside. The house was only a simple one room structure, but it was exquisitely crafted and looked well loved. It appeared that the old woman liked to bake just as much, if not more, than Nan, because almost every available surface was covered in ingredients, tools, and mouthwatering confections.

“You have a beautiful home,” she said, unable to hide her awe.

“Thank you,” said the old woman, nodding her head slightly as she closed the door. “I’ve enjoyed baking since a young age. I always dreamed that I’d live in a house like this one day, even though people laughed at the idea. I’ve worked hard for my dream, and now I’m even beginning to start a business.”

“Oh?” Harlow inquired, genuinely curious about the story behind the house and its owner.

“Yes, you see I don’t just bake,” the old woman said slyly. “I dabble in magic too, and I’ve been experimenting with combining my two passions recently.”

“That’s awesome!” Harlow exclaimed. “I’ve always been interested in magic, but never had the opportunity to explore and play around with it.”

“I’m sure I could show you a few things,” the old woman said, smiling as sweetly as her house. “I don’t like most people, but you seem alright.”

Harlow laughed, for the first time in days. “I totally get that. I’d love to learn some things, but I don’t want to intrude.”

“Oh, it’s no bother,” the old woman said, waving a hand dismissively. “I get lonely from time to time. And in exchange for my knowledge, you could help me with my business.”

“I’d love to help!” Harlow said enthusiastically. “What would you need me to do?”

“I grow most of my ingredients here, but some magic ingredients are harder to get. Especially in my old age,” she added with a laugh. “If you don’t mind running around and getting them, that would be great.”

“No problem,” Harlow said, thinking that that sounded easy enough. “What do you need me to get?”

“Oh, don’t bother yourself with that just yet. You deserve a night off after all your troubles. Here, sit down,” she said, pulling out a comfortable looking chair and holding out a hand to lift Harlow onto it. Then she busied herself at the fire, preparing tea. “Enough about me, tell me about yourself. What brought you to run away?”

Harlow sighed, settling into the chair, and began to tell her story.

When she opened her eyes, light poured beautifully through the multihued sugar windows. She must have fallen asleep not long after finishing sharing her story to the old woman, whose name she had learned was Iris.

“Good morning, Harlow,” Iris said from what seemed to be the main kitchen.

“Morning,” she replied groggily, stretching as she sat up.

“I figured I’d make us breakfast, then we’d head out so I can show you what I need you to gather.”

Harlow nodded. “Sounds good, but don’t worry about making me breakfast. I don’t really eat.”

“Ah, that makes sense. Should have figured that out when you didn’t drink the tea last night,” she said with a laugh, tucking some baked pastries into a basket. “I’ve already had enough to eat, so we’ll head out now if that’s alright with you.”

“Sure,” Harlow said, standing and moving to climb down the chair to the floor.

“It is a bit of a walk, though. You could ride on my shoulder, if that doesn’t make you too uncomfortable.”

Harlow considered it for a moment, before deciding she’d give it a try. No matter how many times she had reminded Nan, the old woman had just scooped her up whenever she liked. She liked how Iris was considerate.

The duo left the house and headed down a path through the woods. Iris showed her the various plants she used, some with magical properties, and some with properties that seemed magical but were in fact, not. For instance, the venaberry flower, whose toxicity could kill a person on the spot. Harlow tucked that information away. Never knew when it might come in handy.

“But the hardest ingredient for me to track down,” Iris explained as they neared the edge of the forest, and Harlow thought they were headed in the general direction of a village she had narrowly escaped from a few weeks earlier. “Are those.”

Harlow looked to where her friend’s hand was pointing. “Children?” she asked, slightly puzzled.

“Yes. They make my creations all the more sweeter, and, if they’re of exceptional quality, they can add magical benefits as well.”

Harlow nodded. This was slightly unsettling information, but she wondered if it was really any different than the livestock humans lovingly raised just to slaughter in a few months.

“If this is something that bothers you, I think we should part ways,” Iris said softly. “I know it’s a bit... different than what most consider ethical, but if it is something you can not handle, this partnership will not work.”

“I can handle it,” Harlow said firmly. “Just caught me off guard a little, that’s all.”

“Understandable,” Iris said. “Now, I want you to try and lure one back to the house. Look, here comes a group of them now, young ones too, by the looks of them,” she said excitedly, before explaining, “Young ones are best, they’re less likely to distrust you, and they’re so loved and bursting with happiness, though occasionally I do get one that’s been mistreated. Those ones are always bitter and rotten. Off you go, now.”

Harlow leapt off Iris’ shoulder, and stalked off towards the group of children. As she neared them, she realized they were chanting the same word over and over again, “Cookies, cookies, cookies!”

She smiled, realizing she could use this to her advantage. From her cover in a bush, she hurled a stone at the nearest child. It hit him in the leg, and he stopped to look around, puzzled. His face lit up when he saw Harlow, and he broke off from the group. She let him get closer and closer, but when he reached out, saying, “My cookie!”, she jumped back.

The boy looked at her, startled. But then, just like Iris had said, he smiled again, pushing away his doubts. He took a step forward, and reached again. They continued on this way all the way back to Iris’ house. Harlow thought it was like a strange, delicate dance; letting the boy think he could get her, but never actually letting him and keeping the both of them on course. A few times, she thought she saw Iris hiding among the trees, keeping an eye on them and leading them home.

When they reached the clearing, the little boy gasped in delight, and, forgetting all about Harlow, ran squealing towards the house. He promptly began to try and tear pieces of it off, presumably to eat it.

“Nibble, nibble, little mouse, who is nibbling at my house?” Iris called, opening the door.

The boy appeared to be frightened for a moment, but when Iris invited him inside, promising him lots of candy and treats, he greedily ran inside. Before she closed the door, Iris said, “Harlow, it’s probably best if you stay out there. I’ll be quick.”

As the door closed, Harlow turned away from the house and busied herself identifying all the plants her friend had pointed out to her earlier. She pretended not to hear the screams.

Later that night, as Iris was mixing up some fresh dough and putting it in boxes, she asked, “Harlow, my friend, are you troubled by today’s events?”

Harlow shrugged. “Slightly, but it was easier than I thought it would be.”

Her friend nodded. “I wondered if the children would take to you quickly, seeing as you’re a living cookie. The very thing of their imaginations!” she laughed, before quickly adding, “I hope that wasn’t rude of me. I’ve never met someone like you before.”

“It’s fine,” Harlow said. “But thank you for checking, and thinking about that. Nan never did, even when I pointed it out to her. Honestly, it seems like it got worse when I did point it out to her.”

Iris frowned. “That saddens me, that someone who should be so close to you knowingly hurts you. I am glad that you left her. I think you’ll have a much better life here.”

“I already am,” Harlow said.

The duo continued this way, Iris teaching Harlow about magic, and also how to effectively source ingredients. There was only one child she hadn’t been able to successfully bring in, a young girl who sat and read under the shade of a tree in the forest and refused to speak with anyone if it didn’t suit her. Other than the one child, Harlow’s skills were unrivaled. They figured out that Harlow could lead larger and larger groups of children away, even from farther distances. This, Iris told her one day, was good because her they could collect children from more villages than just the ones nearby. It would draw less attention to them, and the plentiful amounts of ingredients meant business was booming.

“Why do we have to hide, if people like our products?” Harlow asked one night as she sat on the counter, helping her friend make their signature cookie dough.

“It is true, people love our baking products,” her friend agreed. “But if they knew some of the ingredients in the ingredients, they would be revolted. We would lose our business, not to mention be hunted down and brought to their ideas of justice.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Harlow conceded.

“I know, my friend. What a strange, twisted world we live in. Here, I have some extra icing I want you to practice your magic on. Try changing the color or something.”

Harlow walked across the counter to the bowl Iris gestured at. It was just a basic opaque glaze, and she frowned. How boring. Concentrating on the lessons Iris had been giving her, she thought about the deep black of the midnight sky. How the darkness was terrifying in the way it easily spread across the atmosphere, how it was effortlessly beautiful.

Eventually, a small drop in the center of the bowl turned the exact shade she was thinking of, at first spreading slowly to encompass the entire contents, then faster and faster.

“Well done!” Iris said, leaning over to check on Harlow’s progress.

But Harlow squinted at the bowl. “It’s still plain, though. And I took forever to make even that happen.”

“Magic takes time, my friend. It took me decades to get to where I’m at!” she said with a laugh. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Most don’t even know that magic exists, so anything you accomplish is extraordinary in its own right.”

Harlow nodded, but was focused on the icing once more. The darkness was beautiful, but it was the stars amidst that that made it special. The visual metaphor of light thriving in a void of powerful nothingness.

Her friend gasped in shock when the very stars Harlow had been thinking off appeared in the icing, softly glowing just enough to contrast stunningly with it.

“Oh, Harlow, that’s wonderful!” she said, and Harlow knew it was genuine. “I think we could actually sell this, people would pay such prices to get their hands on icing like this.”

“Thanks,” Harlow said, shuffling her feet on the counter. She still wasn’t quite used to receiving praise for her work.

Her friend seemed to sense something was wrong, and said, “But it’s your creation, I’ll let you do what you wish with it.”

“No, no, I would love to sell it,” Harlow said. “It’s just… Are you sure it’s actually that good? You won’t hurt me if you say it’s not.”

“Harlow, dear, look at me,” Iris said, setting down the dough she had been working with. “It’s absolutely beautiful. And even if it wasn’t, you should still be proud of the things you accomplish. Never let someone else tell you who to be and what to think. Never.”

Harlow just nodded. She wasn’t sure if cookies could cry, and she didn’t want to find out. Then she got an idea, and asked, “Could I use some of this first batch to redo my hair?”

“Oh, that’s an excellent idea!” Iris exclaimed. “And I’m sure it will grab the childrens’ attention even more.”

Harlow smiled, and Iris helped her remove her old hair and re-ice with the new icing. She smiled when she looked in the mirror. This was much better than the golden curls the old woman had given her. The midnight icing fell in sheets around her head, but the twinkling stars kept the darkness from being too overbearing.

As the weeks passed, the icing sold so well, Iris asked Harlow to design more magical icings. Harlow enjoyed the challenge, and found it was not only a good way to practice growing her skills with magic, but also as a way to relax after a busy day or two of luring children to her friend’s house. She designed icing that could change color on command, icing that glowed in the dark, and even blue icing that moved like waves across the top of desserts. Iris complemented her ingenuity each time she showed her her newest creation, and Harlow felt that this was where she was meant to be; helping a friend while also staying true to herself.

One day when she was wandering around the forest, she happened upon two children that seemed to be terribly lost.

“Of course I know where I’m going, Gretel!” the boy snapped.

“Well, I haven’t seen a pebble in ages,” the girl said, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. “I think she’s gotten rid of us for good this time.”

“I-”

“Hello there,” Harlow interrupted, walking out of the shadows of the trees. “Are you lost?”

“Yes-” the girl, Gretel began, but the boy cut her off.

“We’re just fine, thank you,” he said, stepping in front of Gretel.

“Hansel-” Gretel began to protest.

“We are not trusting a talking cookie, Gretel,” he said firmly. “Remember what Father said about speaking to creatures in the woods? And what about the talk among the younger children about a cookie luring their friends away, never to be seen again?”

“Oh, I’m not going to lure you away or anything,” Harlow said before Gretel could say anything. “I just want to help. I’ve gotten lost in here quite a few times myself,” she added with a laugh.

“We’d love someone to show us the way back to our village,” Gretel said, smiling. Harlow smiled back, but not for the reasons Gretel thought.

“Gretel, I don’t-” Hansel began.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Hansel. You’re in good hands,” Harlow said sweetly.

“You’re a cookie,” stated Hansel, and Gretel frowned and swatted his arm.

“Hansel, don’t be rude!” she scolded. “I apologize for him, he doesn’t think before he speaks.”

“It’s alright,” Harlow said, backing towards the way she had come. Hansel glowered at both of them. “Just follow me, I’ll get you back in no time.”

On the way back to Iris’ house, Harlow and Gretel struck up an interesting conversation. It turned out that their stepmother had convinced their father to abandon her and her brother, Hansel, in the woods to starve.

“I’m sorry,” Harlow said, not having to fake sympathy. “I had a difficult relationship with my Nan, so I get where you’re coming from. Are you sure you want to go back to a place that treats you so cruelly?”

Gretel pursed her lips, considering what Harlow had told her. But Hansel jumped in before she could say anything. “Yes, and I think we know the way from here. Come on Gretel, let’s go.”

“Hansel, we don’t know where we’re going-”

“Exactly!” he snapped. “I don’t trust this. We’re better off on our own.”

But just then, the trio entered the clearing where Iris’ house sat. Gretel gasped, and Hansel seemed intrigued, though he tried to hide it.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” Gretel said happily.

Harlow beamed. “I know, I figured I’d bring us by here before heading back. I stumbled across it one day, and it’s a charming little place.”

“Is it really all made of sweets?” Hansel asked, peering at the house but not daring to take another step closer.

“As far as I can tell, yes,” Harlow answered.

“I’m going to go get a closer look,” Gretel announced, before running off towards the house.

“Gretel!” Hansel shouted. “Come back here! It isn’t safe!”

“Oh, she’s fine,” Harlow said, walking over to the house after Gretel. “Come on, just a quick look and we’ll be back on our way.”

Hansel glanced back at the path they had come from, then back at Gretel, who was running her hand curiously along the house. He mumbled something under his breath, then hurried after his sister.

“Look, Hansel,” she said. “They’re marshmallows! Touch them, they’re so soft!”

Hansel hesitantly touched one, but yanked his hand back when Gretel plucked one off the house and stuffed it in her mouth. “Gretel!”

“It’s so fluffy and sweet!” she exclaimed. “Try one, Hansel!”

“Gretel, you don’t know whose house this is,” he explained angrily. “What if it’s poisoned?”

Just then, the door opened and Iris called out, “Nibble, nibble, little mouse, who is nibbling at my house?”

“Now look what you’ve done,” Hansel shot at his sister before addressing Iris. “I’m sorry. My sister and I happened upon your house and I couldn’t keep her away. I’m sorry if we’ve disturbed you.”

“Oh, don’t worry darling, it’s quite alright. My little home catches peoples’ attention all the time. Oh, hello Harlow,” she added, upon seeing her friend.

“Wait, you know this person?” Hansel asked, turning to the cookie.

“Yes, that’s my friend Iris. She’s very nice,” Harlow said. “She took me in when I ran away from Nan.”

Iris frowned. “Yes, I am often a safe haven for weary souls who have been mistreated by those around them. It saddens me that people choose to hurt one another.”

“Me too,” Gretel said sadly. “Our stepmother left us in the woods to die.”

Iris gasped, right on cue. “Oh, you poor dears!” she said, opening the door wider. “You must come in. Let me make you some tea.”

“We don’t want to intrude-” Hansel began.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Gretel sighed, going inside the house. “We’ll be fine.”

Hansel anxiously hurried after his sister, and Iris waited for Harlow to enter as well. But the cookie didn’t move.

“Everything all right, Harlow?” her friend asked.

“I just… I don’t know about these two,” Harlow said softly. “You heard what their stepmother did. They’re not like the other ones-”

“Harlow,” Iris sighed. “I know our job is hard, but business is business. You know what has to be done. You can’t be attached.”

“But business is growing; we could use the help-”

“You can stay outside, if you wish,” Iris said gently.

“No, I… I want to be there. I guess just to make sure they don’t suffer or anything.”

“You know I’m very humane in my methods,” Iris said. “But… I also see where you are coming from. In the future, it would be better for everyone involved if you don’t become fond of them. They’re ingredients, Harlow.”

“I know,” she mumbled, heading inside. Hansel and Gretel sat in the comfortable chairs, and Gretel was helping herself to the desserts stacked on the table, much to Hansel's disdain.

“So, children, tell me all about yourselves,” Iris said, clapping her hands as the door closed behind her. She headed over to the fireplace and began to make tea. Harlow saw her slip some venaberry into it.

Hansel scowled at the floor as Gretel once more launched into their story. Iris gasped and frowned at all the right moments, her attention fully on the children as she finished up the tea.

“My poor dears, you must be so exhausted,” she said, sliding two steaming cups of tea towards them. “What a terrible thing you are going through. Here, drink this. Rest. Everything will be alright.”

Harlow watched as Gretel raised the cup to her lips. She knew what was going to happen, knew she shouldn’t say anything. But she also couldn’t stand to see someone who was going through the same problems she had being so thoughtlessly taken advantage of.

“Don’t drink it!” she shouted, jumping up from where she had been sitting quietly, surprising everyone in the room including herself. “It’s venaberry poison!”

Gretel slammed the cup down, and Hansel shot to his feet.

“I told you!” he bellowed, but Harlow wasn’t sure who his anger was directed at. “I told you that cookie was up to no good! We’re leaving, Gretel, come on.”

Iris remained seated, but waved a hand lazily at the door as the children ran to it. No matter how hard Hansel pounded on it, it didn’t budge. It was stuck.

“How could you, Harlow?” Gretel asked, tears streaming down her face as Iris got up from her chair and moved closer to the children. “I trusted you!”

Harlow backed into a corner. “I…,” she started to say, but she wasn’t sure what to do. She’d led the children here, knowing full well what would happen, but then jumped in at the last minute to try and save them. Now all she’d done was provoked them, made the process take longer than it should have, made everything worse for everybody. And Iris. Harlow put her head in her hands. What did Iris think? Would she kick her out? Make her go find some other person’s life to ruin on top of her own? Or would she punish her, for failing at the one thing that was asked of her? Harlow felt like she was already being punished, felt like her mind was pulling her in a million different directions.

Then she realized there was something she could do.

She raised her arm at the door, much like Iris had, and concentrated more than she ever had before. She poured all of her energy into willing the door to burst open and let Hansel and Gretel run outside, escape their fate.

Iris inched closer and closer to the children; Hansel was now searching desperately for something to use to defend themselves, Gretel still banging on the door in vain. Harlow could have sobbed. Why wasn’t it working?

Just when Iris was upon the children, the door slammed open, and Gretel fell onto the ground. Hansel pulled her up, tugging her along. Someone was yelling, but Harlow couldn’t tell who. Maybe it was her. The brother and sister sprinted off into the woods and were soon well out of sight.

Iris sighed, rubbing her head. She turned around.

Harlow’s hand fell limply to her side, now drained from what her actions had cost her. What had she done?

“Harlow, dear,” Iris began, sighing again.

“I’m sorry!” Harlow blurted out. “I… I don’t know what happened. It was fine, and then it wasn’t, and I didn’t know what to do- It won’t happen again, I swear! I’ll-”

“Harlow,” Iris snapped. “Stop your blubbering. I’m not mad at you. I’m honestly surprised this hasn’t happened already. We all make mistakes-” she sighed yet again, “but please do not let this one happen again.”

“I understand,” Harlow said quietly.

“We’re almost done fulfilling orders for the week, so we should be fine,” Iris muttered, more to herself than anyone, glancing at the stacked boxes of dough and the order log laying on top of them.

“I think I’m going to go to bed early,” Harlow announced hollowly.

“Alright, my friend. Sleep well,” Iris said, returning to the kitchen to tidy up from making tea.

But Harlow did not sleep, no matter how hard she tried to shut down her racing thoughts. She lay awake all night, thinking about her situation. And when she grew tired of that, she got up and began to bake. It always calmed her nerves.

When Iris awoke the next morning, she found that Harlow had already made breakfast for her.

“Thank you, my friend,” she said. “But you didn’t have to do that. Please do not feel bad about yesterday, I truly understand. And I apologize if I made you think I was angry.”

“I just couldn’t sleep,” Harlow said, shrugging. “Figured I might as well do something productive.”

“Understandable,” her friend said, picking up and taking a bite of a golden pastry iced with frosting that looked to be sprinkled with cinnamon. “Oh, this is delicious!”

“Thanks,” Harlow said, beaming. “It’s a new recipe I was trying out.”

“It’s absolutely wonderful,” Iris said, smiling curiously. “But what’s that peculiar taste in the icing? It’s not one of my spices… Wait. Venaberries.”

Iris turned to Harlow with a wrathful expresion, eyes narrowed. “You-”

But she never got to finish her sentence. Harlow spent the rest of the day mixing up cookie dough and baking dozens, if not hundreds of gingerbread cookies. But she wasn’t getting caught up on orders. She began to prepare her strongest batch of icing yet.

When she was done, she stood on a table to address her army.

“I’m done hiding,” she announced, fury dancing in her eyes. “I’m done doing what others want of me. No one is ever going to take advantage of me again. Ever.”

She told the cookies her plan, and they dutifully marched out of the door when she had finished. Harlow smiled.