He remembered the incident; it was years ago, when he was seven and Jongin was five –children barely out of their mothers’ wombs.

He was the big one, the older child expected to take care of his too-curious, clumsy- little half-brother. He took this job seriously, because that had always been his word to his father. Minseok remembered early mornings when the sun had barely risen, lines of light blue permeating through the sky’s velvet darkness like banners of paint, where he sat at the porch, watching his father lace up his boots. They were old boots, soles too worn and laces too long, but the leather was so moulded in with his father’s feet that they were too priceless to replace.

He’d ask his father if it would take long, his trek through the forest, and his father would laugh, shouldering his rifle and telling him that he would be back when the dusk painted the sky pink and the sun burned like crushed embers over the horizon.

“Take care of your brother,” he’d say, patting Minseok’s head, running his fingers through his son’s ash-and-down hair. “Make sure he’s alright.”

And so it was with this promise in mind that he took Jongin by the hand, leading him through the underbrush while the other laughed, giggling over the tiny beetle he’d captured and let skitter over his other hand.

“Look Hyung. It tickles,” Jongin said in between giggles, beaming as he lifted his finger, the beetle scurrying restlessly at the tip.

Minseok nodded absently, too caught up with their trail to take much notice. He had been dropping pebbles onto the ground, where they landed, thump muted by dense greenery and damp earth. It was still in the afternoon, but light could barely permeate through the thick foliage overhead, where branches and boughs bowed out of their trunks and leaves crisscrossed like a never-ending spider’s web. Cracks of gold outlined the green, and little sheets of light somehow managed to push through, lighting the wizened roots and lush green leaves. Minseok was squinting deeper into the forest, frowning.

“Jongin, don’t kick the pebbles!” he exclaimed, horrified as he tightened his grip on Jongin’s hand and tugged at him harder, pulling him away so that his little feet couldn’t reach the pebbles he’d set as their trail. “We need them to get back.”

Jongin pouted. “But my beetle ran away. I want something to play with.”

“We’re looking for a place to play in, aren’t we?” Minseok said, pulling his little brother closer and placing a warm hand over his shoulder. “We’re going to the glade, remember? The little glade Daddy told us about? The one with rabbits hopping and berries we could munch on. You’ll have plenty of things to play with there.”

Jongin was still pouting, but he left the little stones alone. Minseok smiled in relief and relinquished his grip on his brother’s hand for just a second in favour of patting his head. Jongin, like him, had really soft hair, like spun down and silk, but Jongin’s was darker, thicker. Minseok always thought it looked like the coal his father sometimes brought home, just like his eyes.

Minseok grabbed his hand and started forwards again, letting his brows furrow in waves he was turned away from Jongin. They’d been walking for almost an hour now, but where was the glade? Where were the thick bushes with hidden rabbits and the brilliant patch of light that intimated its closing distance?

He dipped his free hand into the little pouch by his side. He had gathered the pebbles after breakfast, when his stepmother had been too busy airing the laundry to notice what he was doing in the garden. They were carefully chosen stones; he made sure that the edges weren’t too sharp so that they wouldn’t be able to cut his and Jongin’s hands, and that they were large enough to be seen when he dropped them over green grass and fallen russet leaves.

The plan itself had required meticulous preparation. Minseok made sure that Mother had been too busy at the kitchen cooking dinner before quietly slipping into the forest, holding his finger softly over his lips to quieten the excited Jongin as they darted between trees and scrabbled over exposed roots. It had been his promise to Jongin, a promise that couldn’t be broken because it had been made on Jongin’s birthday. Minseok had whispered to him his gift, repeating the tales their father had regaled him about the glade and catching Jongin’s little arm when the other began jumping excitedly, nodding and grinning to Jongin’s demands that he wouldn’t forget it.

But the glade was nowhere in sight and Minseok’s hands were starting to get sweaty. Discreetly, he checked his pouch. The pebbles he had in his disposal had significantly decreased over time, and Minseok knew that it couldn’t get them very far. He could go on without the pebbles, but he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to find their way back, and he’d end up condemning Jongin to life in the forest. He bit his lip. He wouldn’t let that happen. He would lie and tell Jongin that he forgot something at home and make him turn back, where dinner awaited and they had warm sheets to blanket their bodies at night.

“Minnie-hyung, I’m hungry,” Jongin whined, just as Minseok was busy drooling over the prospect of dinner. An image of mother’s meat pie and her delicious caramel puddings flitted through his head unbidden and he shook them off, forced them away before his stomach could grumble even louder. He stopped and squeezed Jongin’s hand.

“Would you like to go back then?”

Jongin had his nose in the air, sniffing it. The image was not unlike a little kitty with its nose up high when someone was cooking fish for dinner. “No, I smell candy Hyung!” He jumped up excitedly, and Minseok had to drop himself onto his knees to hold Jongin’s shoulders, desperately shushing him to make him calm. “Don’t you smell it, Hyung? I smell candy and gingerbread and chocolate chip cookies.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jongin –” Minseok chided, and then stopped midsentence when the scent smacked onto his face and wafted into his nose. He breathed it all in, his mouth watering automatically as the aroma of cookies filled his nostrils, leaving no crevice untouched. It soon morphed into the sweet scent of candy, invoking in his head images of swirls on candy canes and the looping whirls of lollipops. And then the scent began merging together and all Minseok could think about was tempting sweetness that filled his whole being but could never really melt onto his tongue.

“Do you smell it?” Jongin asked again, eyes bright and hopeful.

“I do,” Minseok said, taking another long, indulgent whiff. “I smell it, Jonginnie.”

“Then come on!” Jongin tugged at his arm and Minseok stumbled, not quite as ready for flight as Jongin’s enthusiasm prepared him to be. “I know where it’s coming from. This way, Hyung.”

“Slow down, Jongin,” Minseok wailed, stumbling over roots to keep up with his little brother, who had all the determination of a hound after a scent. “We don’t even know if its –”

And he was struck dumb at the sight before him.

There was a house in the middle of the forest –a house, that, from afar, looked like it had been made out of gingerbread. The walls were brown, the healthy bronze of freshly baked bread, and the door was as red as liquorice. Huge ivory and crimson candy canes formed a cross on the path leading the front door, and Minseok was half convinced that it was the real thing until he saw the tell-tale smudges of paint where the wood wasn’t as smooth as it had been made out to be. The windows looked like they were frosted with cream, flecks of white against glass that looked like melted sugar panes. Little swirls decorated the frame of the door; they looked meticulous, as if someone had punched an icing bag and swirled the icing all over the walls into patterns of vines and leaves.

Minseok didn’t realise that Jongin was gone from his side until he saw a mop of messy hair dart down the lane, running wild with the wind. The little devil had let go of his hand.

With a cry, Minseok surrendered the cover of the shadows and darted after his little brother, arms outstretched, desperate to catch him. Jongin was a fast little thing though, and was already at the door when Minseok’s old shoes had just ground over the gravel. The sound was akin to the delicious crunch of bitten candy, but Minseok tried his best not to wallow on that.

With an eager bounce in his step, Jongin pulled the door open and stood before it, mouth open, as if transfixed, before darting inside like lightning.

“Wait, Jongin!” Minseok cried again, already huffing from the exertion. There was a stitch on his side that burned him, made him gasp and double over in pain. He kept at it though. Jongin was prone to breaking almost everything he got his hands on; he had to catch Jongin before he touched anything.

Once Minseok was at the doorframe, he gaped at the interior.

Laid out before him was a large table, easily spanning the length of the room, with mounds and mounds of sweetmeats on it. There were at least three cakes, each with icing the colour of soft clouds, cotton candy, golden sunshine and all other beautiful things in the world. There were plates and plates of cookies, big and small, thick and thin, some speckled with brown chocolate chips and others white; some with colourful sprinkles on and others plain. Then there were the chocolates, the fondants and the truffles, the eclairs overstuffed with cream.

Jongin was already at the table, grubby hands holding a cookie while happily munching on it.

Minseok knew it was wrong, trespassing into another person’s home. He remembered a tale his father told him about a girl with golden locks who snuck into a family of bears’ home, eating what she shouldn’t and sleeping on beds that weren’t hers. The bears had been mad at her. Wouldn’t the person who owned this cottage, this fantastic feast, feel the same way?

But the sweets were beckoning, calling at him from their plates. Chocolate had always been his undoing and to see so many laid out before him, just for the taking, was crumbling his resolve to be a good big brother. He found his hands reaching out for one of the truffles (beautiful little things, perfectly round like a ball and embellished with streaks of white and caramel) and popping them into his mouth.

The moment the chocolate slid down his throat, shrill laughter pierced the air.

Minseok almost choked, deceptive sweetness turning sour on his tongue as he coughed and rubbed his chest, trying to force it down. In front of him, Jongin’s cookie dropped from his hand, scattering crumbs and chocolate chips all over the pristine floor. His mouth was hanging open as he stared over Minseok’s shoulder, and his eyes had taken on the watery shimmer of fear and regret.

Minseok whirled around and his limbs froze in place. He stared at the old woman before him, at her gown of green and black that spilled down like tar towards her ankles, below which peeked out a pair of black boots with expensive silver buckles. Her face was wrinkled and her hair was the mottled grey of unpolished steel, and her eyes...

Minseok had never seen such hungry eyes.

He was swaying on his feet. It was as if the old woman’s gaze had petrified him, stilled him, and was now wrestling him out of consciousness. Groggily, he saw Jongin struggling to stay on his feet and reached out a hand. His little brother clung at his pleadingly, desperate for comfort in this sudden bout of confusion. Minseok tried to his hair with his other hand but he couldn’t seem to find Jongin’s head. His vision was hazy now; he knew he was slipping away.

“Oh dear children, you shouldn’t have done that,” the old woman rasped. Her voice sounded like grating gears in Minseok’s ears. “Those weren’t for you.”

The last thing he saw before he out was the old woman’s smile, the blacks of cavity creeping over her yellow teeth like moss, framed by a pair of chapped, blood red lips