Chapter 7
I-II. The Witch of the Gingerbread House
The soft crackle of burning wood echoed around her. Then came the pain. Her whole body ached as if she’d been lying on a hard surface for too long. Her hands and feet wouldn’t move as she wished.
Hansel realized she was lying on her side, her hands and feet bound. Her wrists, tightly secured with coarse rope, throbbed in pain. Unconsciously letting out a soft groan, Hansel opened her eyes.
The pale light of dawn seeped into the unfamiliar room, mixing with the golden glow of a fireplace burning behind her.
Fear quickly replaced the pain. The sweet aroma wafting from somewhere nearby was overwhelmingly close. Before she could lift herself, a heavy and low voice reached her from directly in front.
“Why did you do it?”
Hansel’s body stiffened. She turned her head slowly toward the source of the voice.
There he was.
He was perched casually on the edge of a desk near the window. Backlit by the moonlight, his silhouette was all she could see.
With his robe discarded, his form was far more defined than it had been in the forest. Even as a mere shadow, his figure was imposing—broad shoulders, long, lean limbs, and tousled gray hair.
It wasn’t admiration for his appearance that made her chest tighten. The fear of being crushed in an instant by that honed physique was suffocating.
“I asked you why,” he repeated, his voice dropping even lower.
Snapped back to her senses by his pressing tone, Hansel stammered.
“Wh-what do you mean, why…?”
Her ingrained habits were hard to break. Despite being the ugly duckling at home, Hansel had lived as a princess. She had never used honorifics, even in desperate situations, and her usual casual tone slipped out instinctively.
“You begged me for help.”
Fortunately, he didn’t seem to care about her tone.
Hansel wasn’t one to misunderstand others easily, but in her current terror, her thoughts were frozen. She couldn’t grasp the context of his words. She feared that asking for clarification might provoke him further, so she hesitated, her lips trembling.
The man, who had been watching her silently, turned his head and picked something up from the desk—her glasses. That’s when Hansel realized she wasn’t wearing them.
He examined the glasses, fiddling with them as he muttered.
“‘Don’t kill me. I’ll do anything. Please save me.’”
He lifted the glasses, studying them. The moonlight outlined the sharp contours of his face—a straight, prominent nose and a jawline that flowed seamlessly into his throat.
“That’s all anyone ever says to me. You’re the first to actually ask for help.”
“Ah…”
Hansel had no response. She hadn’t wanted to be r***d and killed by a wolf or a group of men, and he had appeared at the right moment. That was all.
But she could sense it—that wasn’t the answer he wanted. Desperately, she forced her rusty mental gears to turn.
“I… I just thought you were someone who could save me.”
“I… see…”
He set the glasses down with a click. Hansel blinked, wondering if that was enough.
Before she could decide, he stood up.
“It seems those who ask me for help can’t be killed with my magic. Otherwise, your head would have already exploded.”
As he spoke, he slowly approached her, reaching into the loose pocket of his coat. He pulled out a sharp dagger with a chilling sound.
“Looks like I’ll have to break it myself. Your neck.”
Her stomach tightened.
“W-Wait!”
Hansel squirmed backward, her chest exposed as she tried to retreat. Her full figure jiggled with the movement, but with her wrists tied forward and ankles bound, she couldn’t rise.
The man closed the distance in one stride, grabbing her slender neck with one large hand. His grip was firm but not crushing—yet. Up close, Hansel finally saw his face clearly, lit by the flickering orange glow of the fire.
His features were sharp and defined—thick brows, predatory eyes like a hawk, a chiseled jawline, and a prominent adam’s apple.
In any other situation, Hansel might have thought him beautiful. But staring into his cold, emotionless expression only sent chills down her spine.
As his grip on her neck tightened, she managed to choke out,
“W-Wait, don’t kill me!”
“……”
“I know a lot! I’m really smart! I-I can do anything!”
“…Is that so.”
The man responded indifferently, as if he’d heard countless desperate pleas like this before.
Hansel’s mind raced frantically. If she wanted to survive, she had to say something—anything.
“I’m great at cooking! I can clean, too!”
“So can I.”
“I-I can… I can… gah…!”
He applied a slight pressure, and her breath hitched. Gasping for air, Hansel clutched his sleeve with all her strength.
“I’ll… I’ll suck your c**k! I’m really, really good at it!”
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