Page 31 of Sugar & Sorcery
When I took my cursed form, I could devour entire mountains. But ever since I had forced myself into this vegetarian diet, a primal frustration lingered—my body was always starving. It was like a void demanding to consume more and more.
I trudged through the forest, passing Yeun’s cabin, its chimney tucked into the hollow of a tree. I never understood why he insisted on sleeping there when the will-o’-the-wisps piled on top of each other for warmth. But he was always alone.
A tiny Spirit nestled against my neck, its damp, icy mist brushing my skin. Others, just as small, crawled across my shoulders, clinging to my boots like a swarm of wasps. Newborns. The worst kind.
“You’re looking for her.”
I plucked one of the Spirits between my fingers and flicked it carelessly into the air. It reformed at once into a little ghost. “I’m not looking for her.”
“You lie,” one whispered in my ear.
“You’re never outside with us, usually,” another added.
“Shut up.”
They giggled, whirling around me. One brushed against my hair while another slipped into the folds of my coat. My patience, already thin, frayed further. I pressed on, and that was when I saw her, a pink ponytail swaying side to side through the half-open kitchen window. I arched a brow, a faint smirk twisting my mouth. Persistent, wasn’t she?
The Spirits latched onto my shoulders again like parasites. “You’re smiling.”
“I’ll exterminate you.”
This time, they fled for good.
I loathed my dependence on her presence. Me—capable of leveling a kingdom with a single blink—reduced to this. Worse still, I should have known purple was a bad choice when I’d admitted (out of sheer irritation) that she was right about my favorite color. That damn shade was everywhere. Me. The lake’s reflection at night. Yeun, when he grew melancholy. My heart. I hated it.
I clenched my fist hard, and thunder rumbled in the distance. My gaze slid to my own hand. The same hand I had extended to the confectioner. I never touched anyone (unless it was to take their life). I was nothing more than a Cursed with two hearts: one buried in Zelda’s kingdom, beating faintly, and the other consumed by eternal rage.
My humanity? Forgotten. And good riddance. I was condemned, and I knew that condemnation was irreversible.
I realized I had stopped in the middle of the path. Not that the confectioner had noticed. She had dared spy on me before, so I saw no reason not to return the favor. I slipped behind a tree, crouching near a bush, thorns snagging my coat. Hiding in my own realm. Pathetic.
“Hey, intruder, that’smybush! Go find another and see if I’m in it.”
I turned and found myself face-to-face with the confectioner’s lamb. The beast raised wide eyes at me, then immediately backed away, tail low, fur trembling. Fear. I knew it well. I had seen it far too often. After all, there was a time, at the start of my transformation, when Zelda fed me lambs.
“I’m not going to eat you,” I said flatly.
“I don’t believe a word that comes out of a sorcerer’s mouth,” the lamb sniffed loudly. “You’re monsters.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“LEMPICKA!” the lamb bellowed, its voice half choked. “The sorcerer’s here!”
Her head popped out the window, and she waved me in with a broad gesture. I instantly revised my judgment: this beast was insufferable.
“And your kitchen’s a disaster!” the lamb declared, tail snapping upright before it kicked at the dirt, head held high. “A complete dump!”
Then it scampered off to its mistress, leaving me with a moral dilemma of following him or strangling him with its own tongue.
With a sigh, I stepped toward the threshold just in time to catch a spectral arm swiping sweets from a tray. The Spirit met my eyes and froze like a startled post. Then vanished into the mist with the stolen platter. I shoved the door open. The confectioner jumped.
The kitchen I had left behind was a disaster: dusty, chaotic, an insult to any notion of order. But what I had before me nowwas almost worse. She had clearly waged an all-out war against filth—only to spread her own chaos in its wake. A precarious pile of utensils threatened to collapse across the counter. Towels were flung everywhere, stained with melted sugar, and something was burning in the corner.
The confectioner, of course, didn’t seem to notice the brand-new disaster she had created. And perhaps that was the worst part.
“I didn’t expect you so soon.” She turned back to her stove, sweeping the room with her gaze. “The first batch is… Oh no! They’re gone! Chouquette, is it you?”
Was this naïveté innate to her, or a conscious effort? The creature squeaked and covered its head with its long ear tails.
