Chapter 5
1474words
They set up shop directly in the village square. A rickety table piled high with vibrant, whimsically shaped magical candies created a shocking contrast against the surrounding gray desolation.
The witch—correction, Aunt Griselda—wore a marginally cleaner robe that Anastasia had bullied her into sewing, standing awkwardly behind the table with the expression of a condemned prisoner awaiting execution.
"Remember your backstory!" Anastasia hissed from the side. "You're a reclusive confectionery master from the deep woods who loves baking and has a heart of gold! Your expression! Smile! Customers need to feel welcome!"
The witch yanked at the corners of her mouth, producing something that resembled a grimace more than a smile.
"Hansel! Gretel! You're up!" Anastasia winked at the two children waiting nearby.
The children sprang into action, executing the first phase of the "viral marketing" strategy Anastasia had drilled into them.
"Wow! Real candy! From the actual candy house!" Hansel snatched up a chocolate cookie and proclaimed theatrically, "It's amazing! I've never tasted anything so good in my life!"
"Mmm-hmm!" Gretel grabbed a lollipop, sucked it enthusiastically, and closed her eyes in exaggerated bliss. "So sweet! I can feel energy flowing through my whole body!"
In a time of starvation, any food would draw attention—let alone these enticing confections radiating magical energy. Villagers began to gather, their faces a mix of skepticism and desperate hope.
"First customer gets free samples!" Anastasia thrust a handful of candies into the hands of the nearest child.
The child took a tentative bite, then his eyes widened in wonder. He devoured the rest ravenously as color returned to his previously ashen cheeks.
"Mom! I want more!"
That was all it took to ignite the crowd.
"How much?"
"I'll take one!"
"Can't you lower the price? This is all I have!"
Anastasia launched into her sales pitch: "Aunt Griselda's Magical Morsels! Restores strength! Banishes hunger! One shilling for large pieces, fifty pence for small! Fair prices for everyone!"
The prices were steep, but with survival on the line, cost became secondary. Villagers frantically emptied their meager savings, pressing around the stall so densely that not even air could penetrate the crowd.
The witch bustled about collecting coins and distributing candy, overwhelmed by the frenzy. As warm coins filled her hands—first one, then another, then countless more—her fingers trembled. This legitimately earned wealth brought satisfaction ten thousand times more potent than consuming children ever had.
Watching children cheer with delight at receiving candy, seeing villagers offer grateful smiles, her expression gradually softened from rigid discomfort to genuine warmth, until finally, she smiled—truly smiled—from the depths of her heart.
"Aunt Griselda's Enchanted Confectionery" was an overnight sensation.
In the days that followed, the candy shop became the economic cornerstone of the entire village. Villagers traded their last possessions for life-sustaining sweets to weather the worst of the famine. Those with resources began investing in other productive ventures. The entire community, miraculously revitalized by this small confectionery, pulsed with renewed life.
The woodcutter's family, as "founding partners," naturally reaped the greatest rewards. Not only did they enjoy daily candy, but they also received their first "dividend payment" from Anastasia.
That evening, as the stepmother eyed the heavy purse her husband had brought home, her eyes glittered with avarice.
"Husband," she whispered in the woodcutter's ear, "we can't let that old hag and the foreign woman keep the lion's share. The secret recipe for that candy house is the real treasure. Just imagine if we controlled it ourselves..."
"What are you suggesting?" the woodcutter asked warily.
"Doesn't that old witch love baking in her oven?" the stepmother said with malicious glee. "Tomorrow, we'll lure her to it, and then... just like in the stories, we'll shove her in!"
She failed to notice Anastasia standing outside the door, arms crossed, overhearing every word.
The next day, before the stepmother could execute her scheme, Anastasia convened all the villagers for an emergency "shareholders' meeting."
She stood in the village square's center, brandishing an impressively official-looking parchment covered with mystical symbols.
"Fellow villagers, loyal customers of the Griselda brand!" She cleared her throat dramatically. "I bring disturbing news. We've uncovered a corporate saboteur in our midst—someone plotting to steal trade secrets, harm our Chief Executive of Sweets, and destroy our village's economic recovery!"
Her finger jabbed directly at the woodcutter's wife, whose face drained of color.
She revealed the conversation she'd overheard, embellishing liberally, then produced the "partnership agreement" bearing both the witch's and woodcutter's handprints—a document they'd signed with little understanding of its contents.
"According to Article 13," Anastasia proclaimed, reading from the document, "any action threatening company interests or endangering key personnel results in immediate forfeiture of all shares and permanent expulsion from the community, as determined by the board of directors!"
The villagers erupted in outrage. The candy shop had become their lifeline—anyone threatening it was threatening their very survival!
"Drive her out!"
"Wicked woman!"
Before Anastasia could say another word, the enraged mob spontaneously expelled the shrieking, cursing stepmother from the village. The woodcutter watched helplessly, head bowed in shame.
"Well, crisis averted," Anastasia dusted her hands as if she'd just completed a minor chore.
Right on cue, the witch's cold voice resonated in her mind.
"Core conflict 'poverty breeds evil' successfully corrected through 'economic restructuring.' 'Gingerbread House' scenario cleared."
"Final settlement: Correction Points +120. Overall evaluation: A+. Processing method efficient, business logic sound, case archived."
Once again, the world began to shimmer and fade.
"Wait a second!!"
Anastasia frantically yanked the "partnership agreement" from her bodice and rushed toward the witch, who was happily distributing candy to children.
"Quick! Put another handprint here! I've added magical clauses that will ensure the profits will definitely—"
Before she could finish, her entire being—along with the precious "cross-dimensional contract"—dissolved into motes of light, vanishing from the now-thriving fairy tale world.
Her frustrated howl echoed through the space-time continuum.
"Next time! Next time I'll definitely secure a contract I can actually keep!"
"My contract! My perpetual revenue agreement!"
Anastasia materialized in the familiar white void, still frozen in the posture of offering the parchment, but her hand was completely empty.
This time, she didn't explode in fury.
She slowly lowered her hand, turned, and fixed the witch with an unnervingly calm, analytical stare—like a master programmer examining particularly frustrating code.
"We need to talk," she said, her voice unnaturally measured.
"What would you like to discuss?" The witch seemed intrigued by this new approach.
"Let's discuss the glaring loopholes in your 'system' parameters." Anastasia stepped forward, raising one finger. "First, asset non-transferability severely undermines performer motivation. Your 'S-level evaluations' and 'classic case studies' are worthless to me. I need tangible incentives. Without material compensation, you can't expect quality service—that's Business 101."
She raised a second finger. "Second, your rules lack transparency. You dictate actions without explaining underlying logic. For instance, what precisely can be extracted from these worlds? What are the criteria? Is it determined by weight? Volume? Or some nebulous concept of 'narrative significance'?"
She'd formulated this entire analysis in the brief moments following her last mission.
For the first time, something resembling approval flickered in the witch's eyes.
"You're more perceptive than any Purifier I've ever guided," she conceded. "Very well, I'll make an exception and explain certain... parameters."
"I'm listening."
"Put simply, the more deeply an item is connected to its world's 'narrative anchor points,' the less transferable it becomes," the witch explained. "The queen's coins bear her kingdom's imprint—they belong to that story. Your contract attempted to bind a core character—the candy witch—creating strong narrative tethers. However, if you sought to remove something inconsequential—say, an ordinary roadside pebble with no narrative significance—then during interdimensional transit, there exists a minute probability it might cross over with you."
"A minute probability?" Anastasia's eyes narrowed. "So it is possible. If I can identify valuable items with weak 'narrative anchor points'..."
"That's one interpretation. But success would require countless attempts and extraordinary luck." The witch cut off her plotting. "Now, your next assignment awaits."
"I haven't finished analyzing—"
"This isn't a negotiation."
The witch waved her hand, and new mission parameters materialized. The image displayed a shimmering seascape on one side and a majestic human palace on the other.
"New World: 'The Daughter of the Sea.'"
"Background: The mermaid kingdom beneath the waves and the human kingdom on shore."
"Core Darkness: The mermaid princess, enamored with a human prince, trades her enchanting voice and a century of her lifespan to the sea witch for human legs. Each step causes excruciating pain, as if walking on knife blades. If she fails to win the prince's love and marriage, she'll dissolve into sea foam the morning after he weds another."
"Mission Objective: Prevent the Little Mermaid's dissolution into sea foam."
