Hansel Lost — The Icy Flecks Melted

Hansel couldn’t see. The world was full of white.

White ground.

White sky.

White air.

White light.

No other color existed in this world.

Color existed in that other world. The world where Gretel died.

Brown. So many shades of brown. Black. Orange.


Red everywhere.

But none of those colors were here.

Just white.

Hansel kept running. Much to his surprise, there was a texture and a taste to the whiteness. Soft. Powdery. Sweet.

Sweet as honey.

Sweet as sugar.

Powdered sugar.

Sweet and cold, the whiteness fell on his arms, his hands, his fingers, his feet. It flecked his face. It froze and thawed on his tongue and in his breath. Every breath.

And still she called to him.

Her voice was oats in milk. It was buried deep in sugar and honey and delicate snow. Calling to him. Beckoning to him.


And, for several sharp gasps and stuttered heartbeats, he saw her.

Just a moment.

Just a glimpse.

Right there.

Just out of reach.

Shrouded in white.

So much white.

Crystalline white.

But he knew it was her.


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