The candy cottage was warm and inviting, but the atmosphere inside had shifted. Hansel and Gretel had felt it for days—Rosina wasn’t herself. She still cared for them, still ensured they were safe and fed, but her sharp tongue had grown harsher, her patience thinner. It wasn’t just the occasional snap; there was a distance to her, a weight pressing on her that neither child could quite place.


    “Do it properly, Gretel,” Rosina snapped one afternoon as she watched the girl attempt to sweep the kitchen floor. “You’ll never learn anything half-heartedly.”


    Gretel stiffened, her small hands tightening around the broom. “I am doing it properly,” she muttered through gritted teeth.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Rosina’s silver eyes narrowed. “Then perhaps you need more practice.”


    Hansel, seated at the table carving a small figure out of wood, glanced nervously between them. “Maybe she just needs a better broom,” he offered hesitantly.


    Rosina’s gaze flicked to him, softening briefly before hardening again. “Excuses won’t teach her responsibility, Hansel. A poor workman blames his tools.”


    The tension hung heavy in the air as Rosina turned and left the room, her oakwood cane tapping sharply against the floor. Gretel glared after her, then slammed the broom against the wall.


    “She’s been like this for days,” Gretel muttered, her voice low but angry. “What’s her problem?”


    Hansel hesitated, his carving knife paused mid-cut. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “But I think something’s bothering her.”


    “Well, she needs to figure it out,” Gretel snapped. “It’s not our fault she’s mad.”