Nice is different than good

[andhiswife]

Greta hasn't been back to Cabeswater since she spoke to Jesse, and she's been avoiding the rest of the woods as well. There hadn't been much point to venturing out there, really -- and certainly no comfort to be had.

But she's heard some rumors of a strange cottage, and decided she needed to see it for herself. She doesn't think it'll prove to be anything from home. One heard stories there, as well, but she'd never actually seen such a thing, or spoken to anyone who claimed to. Such tales tended to filter into the Village thrice-removed, at least. Not so outlandish as to be unbelievable, but fantastic enough that you'd be forgiven for doubting some of the details.

And there are details ripe for doubting. She knows gingerbread, and she'd be the last person to suggest building an entire cottage out of it. A tiny one, perhaps, no bigger than a dollhouse. But she has a fair number of kitchen disasters under her belt, and she's yet to pull anything out of an oven that could function as well as a brick, even if it might pass for one at a glance (or, if she's being brutally honest, at a taste).

So she tromps into the forest -- the reassuringly unmagical one -- and she doesn't have to wander too far before she comes across it: a candy cottage, as advertised. She doesn't approach it, but her shoulders do slump a little. She should probably make sure Simon and Baz know about this. Goodness knows they don't need any of the children stumbling across it.

Comments

[ghost_holder]

Aggie has been described as precocious more than a few times in her life but she's not stupid. Since the gingerbread house arrived, she's gone exploring through the woods but has yet to come particularly close. The temptation of candy is a lot easier to ignore as a teenager, even if the temptation of her own curiosity keeps telling her to range forward.

She has her book of tales in her backpack today, though Aggie has to admit she's not sure what it'll accomplish. She's still nervous to read from that book, at times, so maybe it's even worse to bring it so close to something so obviously magical, but she finds herself hoping that maybe one of her stories will have an answer.

Hearing someone else's footsteps, Aggie turns and waves to Greta. "Well this definitely doesn't look suspicious, right?"

[andhiswife]

She's a little surprised to come across someone else, though she supposes she shouldn't be. If she's heard about it, of course others have, too. That it's Aggie gives her a brief pang of maternal alarm, but it doesn't seem as if the girl's gone inside or anything mad like that.

"Not in the least," she says drily, crunching through last year's leaf litter and coming to a stop beside Aggie. "You haven't--there's no one in there, is there?"

[ghost_holder]

"If there is, I haven't gotten close enough to look," Aggie admits. When Greta comes to her side, Aggie leans over for an impulsive side hug. For all that the cottage looks cheery, it unnerves her and Aggie thinks they could both use the reassurance.

"Think there's a witch or something? That's what happens in fairytales, right?" Maybe just one, but one story is red flag enough as far as she's concerned.

[andhiswife]

The little hug is a surprise, too, though a pleasant one. She curls an arm around Aggie's shoulders, giving her a friendly squeeze in return.

"It is," she replies, giving the cottage a wary look. "I've never seen anything like this, but... Witches do seem to have close relationships with food, in my experience." Maybe she ought to be grateful that whoever built this cottage went for something glaringly off, as opposed to an ordinary-looking garden full of Cursed vegetables. Maybe it means this Witch isn't particularly cunning.

Not that subtlety is required, when you're using magic to ruin someone's life.

[ghost_holder]

"They do," Aggie says. It seems obvious when put like that, though as a witch herself, Aggie's relationship with food is mostly whether or not it will taste good for dinner than if she's going to curse someone with it. Well, except for that one time that Flavia upended milk on a bully, but Aggie hadn't asked for that even if she enjoyed it immensely.

Glancing around behind them, Aggie finds a log a good dozen feet further back from the house but still well in view. She nods at Greta before seating herself on it and opening her backpack, taking out her storybook as well as some sandwiches wrapped in wax paper. "Want one? It's just peanut butter and bacon. No curses involved."

[andhiswife]

"Peanut butter and bacon?" Greta repeats incredulously. That isn't a flavor combination that's ever occurred to her before -- though, to be fair, peanut butter wasn't really a thing, back home. She follows Aggie over to her improvised seat, sweeping her skirt aside so she can join her.

It feels a bit ridiculous, really, the two of them just hunkered down in front of the cottage as if it might put on a show for them. Part of her wonders if it wouldn't be wiser to stay on their feet, in case the cottage's owner shows up and they need to make a hasty retreat. But the rumors haven't spoken of anyone living in the cottage, and they're far enough away that she doesn't think there's any immediate danger.

She's a little hesitant to try one of the sandwiches -- more because of the ingredients involved than because she thinks Aggie's done anything magical to them -- so she nods at the girl's book, instead. "Been reading up on the subject?" she asks. Her own story almost certainly isn't in there, but it still gives her a pang to see a book of fairy tales: stories similar to her own, and just as inaccessible.

[ghost_holder]

"Peanut butter and bacon," Aggie says, doing her best to sound sage. "Either you like it and you make a friend for life or they think you're crazy and you don't have to share." She still holds one out to Greta, taking a big bite of her own and frowning at the book. Though she doesn't necessarily have much reverence for it, it's still a three hundred year old book and she doesn't want to get peanut butter on it.

With a squint and a nod of her head, the book floats in front of them, buoyed on a faint stream of green energy that always accompanies her powers. "This was mine, from home. I...don't actually like reading it and I really don't want any of it read out loud, but it seemed like something to bring." She doesn't know if it's to do with her family, which clearly had more magic users than just her, or the book itself, but she's not going to risk it.

[andhiswife]

Greta still looks a bit dubious, but relents, taking the offered parcel. She's doing better than she has been, her clothes no longer hanging as loosely as they did at her worst. The prospect of a dog has proven to be rather invigorating. But she could still stand to eat more, and it's not as if the girl will be horribly offended if she ends up not liking the flavor combination.

She's gingerly unwrapping the sandwich when Aggie floats the book out into the air before them. Open displays of magic have become more commonplace -- working with Baz and Simon would do that -- but she's still faintly shocked to see it. The book is a sight, too: it looks like the sort of volume she might have owned. It's clearly old and well-worn, but fashioned in a manner more akin to her own time than what you might find at a bookshop in Darrow.

"It's beautiful," she says, sandwich momentarily forgotten. Is her story in there? She doubts it, but the idea is hard to shake. "May I?" she asks, lifting a hand, but not presuming to grab it. It clearly means something to the girl, and even if it didn't, it would be foolish to just stick her hand in that glow of power surrounding the book.

[ghost_holder]

"I used to think so too," Aggie says, managing to actually be wistful about it for once. In the end, she knows that the book itself isn't the source of her suffering. There had been a time when the reading of the book had been a tribute, a statement of love but family lore changes with the passage of time.

"Yeah, just be careful. It's old." She glances significantly at Greta's hands, still clean, and then gestures for her to take it. "Like I said, just...don't read out loud from it."

They're not standing at the tree that marks her grave and she's been awake for a long time, becoming slightly more alive as she grows, but that book once decided her fate every year. Not again.

[andhiswife]

The sandwich is carefully set aside -- the wax paper will keep it safe enough until she's ready to sample it -- and then she reaches for the book, taking care to handle it gently. It seems to be holding up well for its age, but she doesn't want to risk damaging it.

And that's despite Aggie's evidently mixed feelings towards the volume. Greta glances over at her, wondering if it would be too prying to ask her about it.

"I won't," she promises, because at least that part's easy. Even if she did stumble across her own story, the last thing she'd want to do is start reading it aloud. "Is... is it magic or something?" The question hadn't even occurred to her before now, though it's a more likely explanation. It doesn't look like a spellbook or anything (otherwise she definitely wouldn't have reached for it), but that doesn't mean it doesn't have some sort of magic about it.

[ghost_holder]

"Maybe? Kind of? I don't know," Aggie says, clearly less certain with each phrasing. "They used to read the stories every year at my grave and it would send me back to sleep, kept me from waking up." Maybe, once, the ritual had been one of good intentions but over time all it had done was maker her angrier and angrier, less herself until there was nothing left but hate.

"I don't know if it was their magic or the book or what. But I don't want to sleep for years, not again."

[andhiswife]

That answer probably ought to be alarming. And it is, really -- all that talk of being in her grave, being sent to sleep every year, is chilling. As is the thought that it might happen again.

Unsettling as it all may be, though, Greta's heart goes out to the girl. Who is she to judge someone for dodging the grave? She's done the same, though it was only Darrow's magic and not her own that saved her.

It's not a kinship she much wants to emphasize, but she still finds herself reaching over to tuck back the girl's hair. It's a maternal gesture, one that she often bestows to the children at the Gardens. Aggie's probably too old for it, but oh well, it's already done.

"Definitely no reading aloud, then," Greta says, before turning her attention back to the book. She gingerly leafs through the pages, less concerned about any potential magic they hold -- which might be 'none,' and which poses a greater threat to Aggie than anyone else, from the sounds of it -- than the book's age. There are bits she recognizes, off-kilter versions of people she knows, but no Baker and his Wife.

There are also illustrations, and she pauses when she comes across one of a cottage not unlike the one that sits before them. "Well, it's not a perfect match," she says, angling the book so Aggie can see it, "but it's not far off."

[ghost_holder]

Aggie would say she's too old for that kind of thing, but there's no real denying how comforting the little touch is. Her hair falls down past her waist still and she can feel the shift as Greta tucks it back. For a second, the woods seem to quiet as she lets the world focus simply on the warmth between two people who care very much. The family she's found here in Darrow is the thing she fears losing most and why she's so cautious about that book, even now.

"Even if it wasn't in a book of fairy tales, you can't convince me that something's not seriously off about this situation," she says, face screwed up in suspicion. "Random candy house appearing? In Darrow?" No way. No one could possibly be that stupid.

"Doesn't even need a red flag on the roof."

[andhiswife]

"Well, the roof might fall in if you put any extra weight on it," Greta drily replies as she eases the book shut. "I imagine there's a fair amount of magic just holding the whole thing together and..." she gestures pointedly towards the cottage, "upright."

She carefully sets the book aside, then picks up the sandwich, eyeing it dubiously. "You don't think anyone's gone in there, do you?" It seems to go without saying that no one would be that foolish, but it's hard to take 'gingerbread cottage' and disentangle it from 'trapped children.' Not that she's heard any cries for help or anything, and she and Aggie haven't been making any effort to keep their voices down. If anyone was in there now, they would have come out.

[ghost_holder]

"In this place? With these people?" she asks. "Of course someone has." Even with all the red flags, she knows plenty of people curious, daring, or foolhardy enough to decide the hell with it and look anyway. She makes a note to herself to discourage Krem and his boss, for instance. Dorian too, maybe. Probably.

"And I know people who'd go in and try to make sure no one's getting made into stew either."

She looks forward at the house, clearly debating her levels of altruism.

[andhiswife]

Greta snorts quietly. It's a fair point. There could be people who wouldn't recognize the danger, she supposes, and people who would go inside in spite of it. Especially if they thought anyone was being made into stew, and she winces at that mental image.

"I suppose we could... peek in the windows," she says. "Just to be sure."

[ghost_holder]

"We could," Aggie says doubtfully. In her four years of living in Darrow, nothing has ever been quite that straightforward but it's no reason to avoid the obvious solution if it can be tried. First though, she finishes her sandwich. If there's something evil in that cottage, she's not losing good food to it.

Balling up the waxed paper and stuffing it into her backpack, she looks to Greta. "Ready?"