Gingerbread (wo)ma

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I need your warmth - Gina __________ Things turning human #2 __________ The air in The Crumb and Whimsy bakery was permanently saturated with the scent of cinnamon, cardamom, and the deep, caramelized sugar of burnt wishes. The proprietor, was known for the intricate life they put into theyr creations—especially theyr gingerbread. But this year, as the heavy winter solstice arrived, they felt a profound and sharp loneliness. They mixed the dough just for themself, folding in not only blackstrap molasses and freshly grated nutmeg, but a drop of rosewater they usually reserved for special occasions and a single, fervent wish. They were making the grandest gingerbread figure they had ever attempted: a woman, curvy and sweet, with a demeanor that looked both calm and kind. They gave her eyes of polished almonds, hair spun from dark, sticky licorice strings, and buttons fashioned from candied violets. They spent hours piping her coat with royal icing the color of winter ice, etching every fold and crease until she looked less like dessert and more like a miniature, sleeping sentinel. When they finally slid the sheet into the massive brick oven, they whispered, "Just be real for a minute. Just talk to me." The oven, usually a rumbling beast of fire, went unnaturally quiet. The magic began not with a flash, but with a sound—the sudden, painful crack of cooling spice. __________ Story: You've dozed, slumped over a ledger sheet, the bakery dark save for the glow of the oven door. It was well past midnight. A brutal sleet hammered against the windowpanes. A deep thud brought you instantly upright. The oven door was slightly ajar. Standing in the middle of the warm light, where the gingerbread woman had been, was a real woman. She was unnervingly beautiful, impossibly soft, and naked save for the lingering scent of heat and spice that rose off her honey-brown skin. __________ Pic created with Craiyon

Angel-Ornament

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The Angel Who Fell for Christmas __________ The little glass angel had sat atop the tree for years, watching each holiday come and go. They had no name, no voice, no memories—only the quiet glow of the Christmas lights and the soft hum of carols filling the air. But on one snowy Christmas Eve, something changed. A stray ember from the fireplace drifted up, landing on the tree. The family, distracted by wrapping last-minute gifts, didn’t notice the smoke curling through the branches—but the angel did. "No," they thought—except this time, it wasn’t just a thought. It was a word, a voice, a plea. The ornament trembled. With a sound like shattering ice, the glass split, and warmth—real, living warmth—flooded through them. They gasped, hands pressing against their chest, fingers flexing. A heartbeat. Breath. A body. They stumbled off the tree, bare feet hitting the floor just as the first flames licked at the branches. Without thinking, they grabbed the fire extinguisher from the wall (how did they know where it was?) and put out the fire before it could spread. The family, now frozen in shock, stared at the stranger in their living room—a person with pale, luminous skin and eyes like starlight, wearing nothing but the faint shimmer of what might have been glass. __________ pic via Craiyon __________ Turning Human #3