011

The chimney stood, blackened but absurdly intact. The rest of the house had burned quickly. The old iron pot and the heavy kettle lay cracked and misshapen amid the glowing embers of what had been the hearth. The air smelled of smoke, charred flesh and burnt pumpkin, the scents easily mistaken for the beginnings of an evening meal. Ella stood where the clearing gave way to woodland, glad of the breeze that refreshed the air. She watched the smoke and ash swirl and eddy against the late afternoon sky, feeling the comforting weight of the shoe in her apron pocket. Only when she heard voices approaching did she back away into the woods. She’d soothe her burned and sooty hands in the stream and retrieve her meager belongings -- a bit of sack-cloth concealing the other shoe and a single gold coin -- before leaving this place for good.