Miranda didn't give Annabelle any time to calm down. Barely five minutes later, Annabelle found herself opening the old trapdoor magically and walking again down the gingerbread hallway. Down the steps she marched, and through the parlor room into the kitchen. Her hands began to move of their own accord as she stirred, spooned, and added several weird looking ingredients from some white wafer cabinets on the side of the wall.

Annabelle left the bubbling pot on the yellow wafter stove and walked into the parlor room where Miranda, still fuming, was hastily throwing things into a toffee rucksack. Annabelle wanted to move closer so she could see the contents of the bag, but her body moved itself into a corner. Now hidden in shadow, Annabelle stood idle there for a few minutes.

When Annabelle moved out of the corner and walked back into the kitchen, she saw out of the corner of her eye that Miranda had finished packing her rucksack. She was tucking in the drawstrings and muttering something that Annabelle could not hear.

Annabelle reached the kitchen and began silently ladling the bright purple stew into crystallized sugar bowls already on the table. She noticed there were two bowls.

Which meant either Miranda was having someone over, or that was her dinner.

She guessed the latter, and was not at all looking forward to dinner tonight.

Annabelle was thinking that if she regained control of herself that she would just eat a part of her walls after dinner when Miranda walked into the room, her dark muttering stopping abruptly when she saw the steaming purple soup.

"Melted sugar, mmm," she said happily, taking a whiff of the air.

"But why is it purple?" Annabelle blurted, finally able to move herself again.

Miranda gave her an exasperated look.

"It's called food coloring..." she said dryly.

Annabelle mentally kicked herself.

"Well, no point in waiting for it to harden, eat your sugar already," said Miranda impatiently, sitting down on a wafer chair. Annabelle followed suit after a few moment's hesitation.

"But..." she started reluctantly. Miranda looked up from her quickly draining bowl expectantly. "But... won't I get cavities?" Annabelle asked, feeling stupid.

Miranda burst out laughing. It wasn't nice laughter either, it was the kind of laughing that was meant to humiliate someone.

"Cavities!!! Ohh, Chrissy will laugh SO hard... my God..."

Miranda collapsed in another fit of laughter. "Cavities..." she said with a contented, exaggerated sigh, her eyes fixed on the celling dreamily. She wiped a small tear out of her eye.

Annabelle hastily sat down and began to hurriedly spoon the liquid into her mouth.

It tasted like heaven.

It was warm and sugary, with a strong cinnamon flavor. The texture was smooth and creamy as well, like a milkshake, but not lumpy.

Annabelle couldn't get enough. The contents in her bowl vanished in a few seconds.

When she looked up again, Miranda was looking curiously at her.

"So... how was it?" she asked sarcastically, but Annabelle could hear a little bit of uncertainty in her voice.

"Ok, I guess," said Annabelle cooly, not wanting Miranda to know that she'd liked it. She didn't know why Miranda couldn't know that, but she had a gut feeling that this was not something to share. But Miranda was still looking at her suspiciously, so she quickly stood up and collected both bowls. After depositing them in the sink, she found herself back under Miranda's control. Under Miranda's influence, she washed down the table and scrubbed the dishes until they shone. After putting the sparkling dishes away, she strolled over to the gingerbread staircase and climbed up it slowly, as though Miranda was distracted, which, Annabelle thought, she most likely was.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><>

When Annabelle woke up the next morning and went downstairs of her own accord, the first thing she saw was Miranda, pacing the parlor room and talking to a bright purple parakeet.

"-not sure if I'm right, but she's odd, that's certain," she said nervously tugging on her pink hair.

Annabelle inched closer, twirling her own strawberry blonde hair around her pointer finger.

The bird twittered something incomprehensible.

"I mean, I haven't really learned all the human customs, but she definitely enjoyed the melted sugar last night, and that much sugar for a human would have been disgusting," she continued.

Annabelle carefully maneuvered to a new hiding place, which happened o be under the table. She listened to the bird's twitters, and she realized that if she listened hard enough, she could somewhat decipher what the bird was saying.

"-if she really is a ... ... then you can ... your plan and ... ... the king, Miranda," the bird said sweetly, ruffling it's feathers.

"I know, Violet, but even if she is, she has no idea what it's like to be one! She'll only be captured like the others!" Miranda said, her frustration evident.

Annabelle was confused. Could they be talking about her? And if they were, what did they think she was? Annabelle was too caught up in her thoughts to hear the first part of Violet's reply.

"-ask her, she's right behind you," Violet twittered.

Much to late, Annabelle jumped backwards, but Miranda had already swiveled around with an astonished look on her face, which quickly turned to anger. In a flash, Annabelle was back under Miranda's control. Annabelle crawled out from under the table, bumping her elbow on the corner in what Annabelle was sure was a way to show her what Miranda was really thinking about her little eavesdropping adventure.

"And what were you doing under there?" Miranda asked casually, leaning against a gingerbread pillar, her swirling pink eyes staring at Annabelle intently.

Annabelle gulped.

"So... what's for breakfast?" Annabelle asked, trying in vain to keep her voice unconcerned.

Miranda was not amused. Annabelle felt the now familiar feeling of losing control over her muscles. She marched into the wafer kitchen and began to make breakfast.